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#downtown womens center
nakedcomedy · 24 days
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#LosAngeles We got a GREAT show for a GREAT cause this SATURDAY 3/9 at the Elysian Theatre!
Ramy Youssef (Poor Things)
Melissa Villaseñor (SNL)
Fat Tony (VICELAND)
Caitlin Reilly (HBO)
Mike Hanford (IFC)
Hosted by Miranda Meadows
Presented by Ahamed Weinberg
Get tix now and help us raise $$ for the Downtown Women's Center!
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newmosbiusdesigns · 3 months
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"Pandemonium on Pine Street"
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"Pandemonium on Pine Street" by TIA INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY Via Flickr: It’s the long-awaited sequel to “Miracle on 34th Street” -- Coming exclusively to Seattle theaters every December from now until Rudolph’s nose doesn’t shine so bright. . . Click on the notes to learn a bit about what you’re seeing here in the heart of downtown Seattle. I promise you might chuckle a few times. . .maybe. Westlake Center, 4th Avenue & Pine Street, Downtown Seattle. For those who observe it, I hope you had a very enjoyable Christmas holiday. For all, enjoy the final few days of our year 2012. WATCH ***TIA: YEAR IN PHOTOS 2012*** TIA INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY / TIA Facebook / TIA Twitter / TIA Blogger
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stylesloveclub · 2 years
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Pleasing
In which y/n is a broke waitress, and Harry thinks she’s cuter than a puppy. (part 1)
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Y/n didn’t really want to be a waitress. 
She doesn’t suppose anyone does, really. It certainly wasn’t the most flattering title― having to wait on other people, or deal with the nasty attitudes of the entitled celebrities and CEO’s that chose to eat at Pleasing―  the high class restaurant that she worked at. But, it was what she had to do. College wasn’t cheap, and y/n needed some form of income to help pay her way through.
She’d worked a lot of jobs to support herself before she ended up at Pleasing― she’d been a barista at the campus coffee shop, a receptionist at the bookstore, and had even tried becoming a tour guide for the little high schoolers that came for campus tours! But... the managers on campus expected far too much from their full-time student employees. Y/n swears they purposefully gave her the shifts that ended 10 minutes before her classes started so that she’d have to run all the way from one end of campus to the other. And, they didn’t even pay well! With the amount she was paying for tuition, she expected that her school would’ve at least been able to pay their employees more than just minimum wage! 
That’s why, after quitting her last attempt at a campus job, y/n decided to go job hunting in the nice part of town. Sure, it was a bit far from the one bedroom college apartment she lived in… but in her opinion, the 30 minute walk was entirely worth it.
The buildings downtown were a completely different world from the university buildings she had initially limited herself to. All the venues were high class, with chandeliers and marble floors and air conditioning. 20 floor tall corporate buildings painted the sky, bustling with men wearing $50,000 watches and women in pantsuits that probably cost more than y/n’s entire wardrobe. Across the street from those skyscrapers were shopping centers with department stores that had that same high-class, expensive look to them. They were the kind of designer stores that served their shoppers champagne while they looked at luxury bags and expensive shoes― the kind of stores that laughed at y/n when she stumbled in with her tote bag and tattered shoes, asking for job openings. 
She knew that she wasn’t the type of person who belonged in that area. She was a broke college student― the most expensive thing she had in her closet was a pair of boots that she’d splurged on after she soaked her only pair of sneakers while walking to class in the rain. But her brokenness was the precise reason that she needed a job in the part of the city where it was a social norm to tip more than 20%. 
She considers herself superbly lucky that she’d mustered up the courage to go into Pleasing after an entire day of being laughed out of stores due to her “lack of elegance and sophistication” or whatever the fuck they managed to criticize her for. Somehow, she’d stumbled into the restaurant on the very same night that one of the other waitresses had been fired! (If she thinks hard enough, she vaguely remembers a girl wearing an apron running out of the restaurant crying, but she hadn’t paid any mind to it at the time as she was too distracted by the glittering chandelier that hung from the sitting room ceiling.)
Pleasing’s staff manager (an older, balding man named Alfredo, who had a mustache that twisted up at the ends and carried a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off of his forehead every five minutes), had been so frantic at the fact that they were yet another waitress short, that y/n had nearly been hired on the spot. She only received a brief interview that consisted of a few questions about her past experience in the service industry and a quick briefing on the importance of maintaining a high class appearance and treating their customers with the utmost respect. Y/n blindly agreed to all of this, and even hummed her agreement a few times just to butter Alfredo up, figuring that it wouldn’t be too hard to maintain a classy facade while dealing with these high-class customers. If it paid the bills, then she could pretend to be anything. 
Her job offer was a quick, “You’re cute enough. Be here tomorrow at 6, your uniform will be provided― hair must be up, shoes must be black, and smile must always be on!” …and that was how she started. 
She had somewhat of an idea of how expensive a restaurant Pleasing actually was from the general atmosphere of the place― but when she saw the menu… that’s when she truly realized that she was in the world of the upper-class. Each plate was $70, at minimum, and there was always a bottle of $200 wine to accompany the meal. The food was served on the most expensive fine china y/n had ever seen, with the kind of silver cutlery that she thinks you could only find in Buckingham Palace. The patrons had an unspoken dress code, with the men dressed in well pressed suits and button downs, and the ladies in cocktail dresses and sparkling diamonds. There was no sign of children anywhere, and she wondered if that was just because the rich people who ate at Pleasing were too busy making money to make babies… or if it was just a child-free restaurant. 
When she showed up for her first day (with her hair twisted into a bun, a pair of black ballet flats that she got in the clearance bins of one of the department stores nearby, and an anxious smile plastered on her face!) Alfredo assigned her to spend the entire shift shadowing one of the other waitresses (Grace) to ensure that she knew exactly what kind of hospitality was expected towards the people they served. As they walked from table to table, she gave y/n the rundown of how Pleasing worked. Apparently, the restaurant was owned by this millionaire chef who rarely ever actually cooked at the restaurant. He had four Michelin stars (y/n doesn’t really know what that means but she guesses it means he’s a good cook) and usually was traveling around the world, cooking for royals and politicians and all sorts of important people. 
Occasionally, he would have special nights where he would come back for “In-Chef Nights” as they called it, nights where people were willing to pay nearly a thousand dollars just to have their food cooked by Chef Styles― the world-renowned, multi-millionaire, gourmet chef. Those were the busiest nights of the year at Pleasing, according to Grace, but they only happened maybe once a month. Even on the nights Chef Styles wasn’t there, however, having the Styles name tied to the restaurant was enough for people to want a table at the restaurant to try his famous recipes and quality service. 
“He’s kind of a big deal,” Grace had whispered to y/n while grabbing a saffron and lobster Risotto from the counter to take out to a couple seated on the restaurant balcony. “I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s super intimidating. Kinda mean too, he fires people all the time if they aren’t up to his standards.”
From that night when she was hired, all the way into about a month of working at Pleasing, y/n had never had an encounter with Mr. Styles either. She’d been allowed to start waiting on tables by herself starting her second night there, and quickly came to learn that the customers that she served were… not ordinary.
Simply put, the people who ate at Pleasing were all… pompous, rich assholes with no decency or basic manners. They barely acknowledged y/n when she was serving them, gave her nasty side-eyes when she smiled at them, and made her feel downright awful from the way they looked down on her. 
There was always some douchebag who would try to sweet talk y/n in exchange for a free cocktail, or a middle-aged woman who would complain about everything and demand that her food be sent back to the kitchen. They’d make up some bullshit about how they had asked for no sesame seeds on their curry, when y/n knew damn well that they hadn’t mentioned anything about any sort of seeds when she had taken their order. Old men would blatantly stare at her chest, while their younger, model dates would make snarky comments about how y/n’s ballet flats were so last season while she walked away from their tables. She didn’t even know that there was a season for shoes, but it still hurt her feelings! 
Now normally, y/n was able to put up a strong front and just ignore the rude customers. She’d force a smile and a polite “I’m sorry to hear that miss, let me get you a new plate right away,” and just imagine punching those people in the face to help herself calm down. 
But tonight… it all just got to be too much. She’d already had a shitty day at school― she’d slept through her alarm and was late to her morning class, had a physics midterm that she’s pretty sure she failed, and accidentally left her calculus notebook at her apartment, which meant she had to take her calculus notes in her physics notebook instead (and she really hates when her notes get mixed up because she honestly has no idea what's going on in either class anyway so it just becomes extra confusing!!!).
So when one of her customers with graying hair and obvious anger issues threw his drink on y/n and called her an ‘incompetent, stupid girl’ after he decided that his merlot hadn’t been chilled properly… well y/n really couldn’t hold back the tears for much longer. 
She managed to politely tell the man that she’d send someone to clean up and help him resolve the issues with his meal, before scurrying to the kitchen to find Grace.
“Oh, what’s wrong sweetheart!” Grace coos as soon as she sees y/n’s tear glazed eyes and stained shirt. 
“H-he threw his drink on me,” she blubbers out, her hands rubbing furiously at her eyes as if she could just erase the tears threatening to spill. 
Grace gasps, “He didn’t! Oh, I’ll go out there n’give him a piece of my mind right now, bubbles. You need a second to get yourself together?” 
Y/n nods, sniffling harshly and letting out a shaky breath. 
“M’kay,” Grace pulls her in for a hug, “you go and sit outside for however long y’need, ‘n I’ll cover the rest of your tables until you’re ready, ‘kay? I’ll try n’find you a shirt too sweetie, don’t worry about anything, just go n’get some fresh air.” 
Y/n bleats out a small (but gracious) thank you, before running out of the back entrance to the employee parking lot behind the restaurant. She just needs a little bit of time for herself, a second to let all the tears out and to cry her troubles away. A moment to just privately recollect herself so that she could go back to work with a fresh mind. 
She’s startled when she finds that the parking lot isn't empty the way she’d expected. Instead, she steps out and sees two guys. One of them she recognizes as Kevin – an assistant chef who works in the kitchen― but the other one is facing away from her, just an intimidating figure in the dark. The mystery man stands a few inches taller than Kevin, dressed in a dark, well-pressed suit that seems as though it’s been tailored to fit him perfectly. The jacket compliments his broad shoulders and lean waist, cutting off right above his hips to show the way his pants hug his thighs. They flare out at the bottom elegantly to reveal a pair of sleek, black boots with a small heel on them. 
Y/n is so intrigued by the mystery man, that she doesn’t even realize that she’s walked in on a heated discussion between the two of them. “You could’ve fuckin’ killed a customer!” the man yells at Kevin, “Cos’ your head was up y’fuckin ass! You’re lucky they noticed there were peanuts in the lady’s meal or else we would’ve had to call a fucking ambulance n’ it would’ve been on your ass!” 
Y/n thinks they might be talking about the one customer that came in tonight with a severe nut allergy, but she’s not entirely sure.
Kevin holds his poofy little chef hat in his hands as he pipes up, “I was just―”
“You were what? Too busy texting y’pals to pay attention to the notes on the order? There’s a fucking rule against having your phone in the kitchen for a reason you idiot!” The man shakes his head exasperatedly and lets out a disbelieving sigh, “Get out of here, you’re fired. Don’t even think about puttin’ this restaurant on your references because m’not gonna say anything nice.” 
As Kevin stomps away angrily, the man turns on his heel and heads back towards the restaurant, finally allowing y/n to see his face. He’s not someone she’s ever seen around the restaurant before, but considering how he just fired someone, she assumes he must be important. Despite the way his green eyes glimmer prettily in the outdoor lighting, the man is terribly intimidating, with furrowed eyebrows and a hard glare. When those hard eyes flicker up to look at y/n, who’s still standing in the doorway, she feels her heart skip a beat. 
“What are you doing out here?” the man asks her, a harsh bite to his tone. Y/n flinches, not ready to face yet another dickhead that might make her cry. 
“Um,” she sniffles, wiping away her tears and stuttering out in the most put-together voice she can muster, “A-a customer spilled their wine on me so I’m just, um, quickly cleaning up.”
He steps closer to her, now standing directly in front of her and looking down. He’s a head taller than her, his heeled boots giving him an extra inch that just adds to his intimidating demeanor. 
He had immediately recognized the waitressing uniform that she was wearing, and had been incredibly irritated at the thought of another one of his employees slacking off on such a busy night. But when he hears her shaky voice and sees her tear-stained cheeks… he lets a little bit of the sternness in his voice fade away, eyes softening just the slightest bit. Not too much (he couldn’t have one of his employees thinking he was a big softie…), but just enough so that he maybe wouldn’t make her feel worse than she already seemed to.
“Come with me,” he orders, brushing past her and trusting that she’d follow behind him. Knowing that this guy must be important, she doesn’t hesitate one bit, her head down as she trails after him like a lost puppy, trying to hide her puffy eyes and sniffly nose from the rest of the staff. He leads her into a room that she’s never been in, some sort of office with plaques hanging on the walls and a big, professional desk covered in paperwork. 
He pulls out a chair and gestures towards it. “Sit.”
She plops down obediently, and a soft smirk dimples his cheek.
“Good,” he says. “Now stay.” 
She nods.
With that, he steps out of his office and closes the door behind him. He hadn’t expected to be cooking at all tonight, but with the hurt little puppy sitting in his office, he really felt as though he had no choice!
“Evening Mr. Styles,” one of the chefs in the kitchen greets him, “Everything alright?” 
“Yes, thank you Teddy,” Harry responds pleasantly, Teddy being one of his first and favorite chefs to come work for him at Pleasing, “Can y’get one of the stove tops ready for me? Need to make something really quickly.” 
“Of course, sir,” Teddy wipes his hands dry, “I’m assuming Kevin won’t be coming back?” 
Harry shakes his head in confirmation, the furrow in his brow returning at the thought of the ignorant chef. He’d need to have a talk with Alfredo about the recent hires – his business was better than someone as careless as Kevin.
“Y’can take his station then,” Teddy offers. “S’still hot, pots all cleaned too.” 
Taking off his suit and rolling up the sleeves of his button down, he decides to make her a little bit of mac n cheese― a classic comfort food, right? Except, because he’s Harry Styles (aka one of the best chefs in the nation), he takes it to the next level. The pasta is fresh and handmade in their kitchen, parmesan grated from a gigantic sphere that was imported from France, with truffle oil and Italian basil to top it all off. He doesn’t even bother trying it; if he made it, then he knows it’s good. 
Plating the dish is second nature to him, easily displaying the pasta and putting decorative herbs and dollops of Béchamel sauce around the main meal. With a single fork in hand, he grabs the plate and takes it back to his office.
The waitress jumps up in her seat when Harry pushes the door open, startled by his entrance and generally just intimidated by his sharp jawline and gorgeous face. Her eyes widen at the sight of the food in his hand, glimmering with excitement that she fails to conceal. It’s cute, Harry admits to himself, the way she perks up like an excited little puppy at the sight of a gourmet meal. He puts the plate in front of her and sticks the fork in her hand. 
She looks up at him with wide eyes, and doesn’t make a move to start eating until Harry tells her to “try it,” as if she had been waiting for his permission to dig in. “Mm!” her eyes flutter shut as she chews the creamy pasta, “I didn’t even know we had this on the menu, it’s so good!” 
It actually wasn’t on the menu, but he wasn’t going to ruin her fun.
“Have you tried some of this? S’so yummy, you have to try some!” she tells him, sticking a forkful out for him to try. He wants to tell her that he already knows it’s good because he made it, but– just to humor her– he wraps his lips around the fork and eats it straight from her hand. He tries not to visibly show how pleased he is with the reaction he gets from her― her mouth falls slightly ajar and her eyes stare at his plump, pink lips as they pull off of the fork. 
“Mm,” Harry hums, a slight teasing lilt to his words, “oh yeah, that is really good.” He lets her praise the food a little bit more before casually asking, “I put a little truffle oil on there, could you tell?” 
She pauses mid-chew and asks slowly, “Y-you made this?” He nods smugly, a smirk plastered on his face. 
She had assumed a chef in the kitchen had just randomly put this together… not for this man to go out in his fancy clothes to make her a plate of the best mac n cheese she’s ever had. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t realize you were one of the chefs here,” she stutters out. “m’kind of new at the restaurant… the pasta was really good, I like the kind of earthy, garlic-y taste, is that the truffle oil― “
She’s cut off by a knock on the door and a concerned looking Grace stumbling in saying, “Y/n, are you in here― oh!” Grace’s eyes widen and her jaw drops a bit before she splutters, “Oh, I’m so sorry for interrupting Mr. Styles.” 
“What is it?” he asks, not so nicely.
Grace’s eyes flicker to y/n, “I― um, just brought an extra shirt for y/n, sir. Since her other uniform got ruined.” She places the shirt on the table right next to the door, “I’ll just leave it right here, excuse me sir.” 
With a nod, Harry gives Grace permission to leave the room and shut the door behind her, the blonde waitresses scurrying out of the room as quickly as she can. When his head turns back to y/n, her eyes are wide and surprised. 
This was Mr. Styles? As in, the world famous, Michelin star chef? As in the owner of this multi-million dollar restaurant? As in her literal boss? 
She was just casually sitting here, eating a plate of gourmet mac-n-cheese with a guy who just so happened to be her boss, when she was supposed to be out there working? 
Her demeanor immediately changes, and Harry can see that y/n is finally connecting all the dots in her head. That smug smirk of his spreads on his lips once more, an amused dimple in his cheek as he props his chin in his hand and watches the way y/n puts the fork down and sits up straighter. 
“Um― thank you for the meal Mr. Styles,” she stammers, slowly rising from her seat, “I suppose I should get back to work now…”
“Nonsense,” he says. She sits back down immediately. “You’ll stay here and finish your food. Someone else will cover your tables for you.” 
“Yes sir,” she squeaks politely. Harry’s beyond amused by how she suddenly turned into this polite little girl as soon as she realized who he was, and thinks he could get used to the words sir and Mr. Styles falling from her heart shaped lips. 
He asks her a bunch of questions while she’s eating, and y/n briefly worries if that’s his way of trying to decide if he should fire her or not. She’s really trying to be on her best behavior, using her most polite voice and etiquette when talking to him ― but things are kind of slipping because Harry’s eyes are flickering all over her face and he’s so put together and intimidating and hot and it’s making her nervous!!! She’s stumbling over her words and forgetting the answers to simple questions because she’s so distracted by his sharp jawline, and honestly… Harry loves it.  He loves how shy and polite she is, and loves seeing the way he can get her all flustered. That’s honestly the only reason he keeps interrogating her ― just to hear her cute little yes sir and no sir and to see how she nervously bites her lips between each question. 
When she’s finished with her food and the redness of her eyes has died down, Harry cleans up her plate for her and throws her the shirt that Grace had brought. “Take the rest of the night off,” he says, opening his office door to step out and give her a bit of privacy so she can change. “Next time I won’t be so easy on you, okay?”
She stands up, alert and still buzzing with nerves and peeps out a final “Yes sir!” before Harry closes the door, shaking his head with a small chuckle.
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Grace really wasn’t kidding when she warned y/n about how busy Pleasing could get when Chef Styles was cooking. 
From the moment she arrived to the moment the very last table finished dining, y/n was on her feet. She’d barely managed to put her stuff down in the staff room before Alfredo was pushing her out into the dining hall, muttering something about “Chef Styles” and “is going to kill me.” They had back to back reservations, a waitlist with nearly a three hour delay, and a bustling kitchen packed with chefs. The waiters were buzzing between tables like little bees, constantly checking on customers and rushing to the back counter to pick up meals and deliver them to tables. Laughter and conversation rang throughout the entire restaurant, echoing on the high ceilings and glass chandeliers, chaotically harmonizing with the sizzling of vegetables and clatter of pots that came from the kitchen. 
Mr. Styles worked gracefully despite all the chaos ensuing around him. He always made sure that everyone knew what they were supposed to be doing before any customers arrived to ensure that there would be no screw ups or accidents, and nobody dared stray away from the job Chef Styles assigned them. Dressed in his white chef’s suit with the sleeves pushed up his forearms, he prepped each meal in the blink of an eye and moved on to the next dish immediately – quick, efficient, and absolutely delicious. 
By the end of the night, his feet are pounding from standing up for seven hours straight and his fingers (which are normally quite nimble and flexible) feel stiff and just about ready to fall off. He supervises the staff as they close the restaurant for the night, helping them do the dishes and wrap cutlery in preparation for opening tomorrow, and waits in his office until he’s the last one in the restaurant. Sometime between the time the last customer left and the time that he’s about to leave the restaurant it starts to rain outside. So, before shutting off the lights, he grabs an umbrella, and finally leaves his office at about 2:30 in the morning. 
The sound of his boots clicking against the polished tile floor is all that can be heard as he walks through the foyer, his head down as he types out a message on his phone – that is, until he hears a tiny, kitten-like sneeze.
He stops in his tracks, looking up, and stares hard into the darkness. He takes a few, cautious steps closer towards the door, until he can make out a faint silhouette.  It’s y/n – bundled up in a cute little hoodie with what he presumes is her university’s logo embroidered on the front, and her bag clutched tightly to her chest.
“Y/n,” he calls out. “What are you still doing here?” 
She jumps at the sound of his voice, her shoulders tense as she timidly walks out of the corner she’d seemingly been hiding in. “Oh, I’m just waiting for the rain to lighten up a little bit before I walk home, Mr. Styles. Promise I’ll leave soon!” 
His eyes nearly pop out of his head – walk home? At this time of night? He strides over to where she’s standing, “Have y’not got a car? Or a metro pass, at least?”
“No, no car…” she explains with a small frown on her face, “N’the metro near my school doesn’t come up towards downtown. S’too fancy around here for a sketchy little metro.”
He looks down at the way she’s hugging herself tightly, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweatshirt in an effort to keep warm. She’ll freeze to death if she tries to walk home, he thinks to himself. Even wrapped in his expensive Burberry coat, the thought of walking in that rainy weather sends a chill down his spine. 
He sighs. “Come on,” he says, “M’not letting you walk home in the rain.”
He opens the restaurant doors and sticks his umbrella out first, opening it and stepping under seamlessly so that not even a drop of rain stains his suit. She blinks at him dumbfounded. Still holding the door, he gestures for y/n to follow him, “Come on pup, haven’t got all day.” 
She scurries under the umbrella with him, standing close as he locks the door behind them. The rain is pounding down hard and his umbrella isn’t very large, so he wraps an arm around her waist and hastily guides her to his car. 
Now, y/n’s no expert on cars, but the large, black range rover that her boss unlocks the doors to seems like a pretty fancy car! She struggles to climb into the passengers side when Mr. Styles opens the door for her, so he holds a hand out to help her up into the seat and shuts the door behind her. As she buckles herself in, he quickly runs over to the driver’s seat, shaking his umbrella off outside and carelessly throwing it in the backseats. 
He notices that y/n’s arms are still wrapped around herself super tightly, trying to hide that her whole body is shivering from the cold, so as soon as he turns the car on, he leans over to her side and turns the heat up for her. That – along with the press of a few more buttons on the center console that turns on the heated seating – has y/n sighing blissfully as she sinks back into the comfy leather seats.
“Thank you so much Mr. Styles,” she says, wiggling her fingers happily in front of the blasting hot air. 
“You would’ve frozen to death if you walked home in this weather,” he grumbles, pulling out his phone and handing it to her. “Put in y’address.”
She does as he says obediently, her numb fingers making her fumble a little bit when she tries to type on his phone – the latest iphone, she notices from the extra two cameras on the back. 
He glances briefly at the location she’s typed in, before flicking on his windshield wipers and reversing out of his reserved parking spot. 
His speakers automatically started playing some soft classical music, creating a gentle atmosphere in the otherwise silent car. As he’s driving, he can see her fidgeting around nervously in her seat. Her fingers twist anxiously in her lap, the inside of her cheek being assaulted by her nervous chewing, and she keeps looking over at Harry, burning holes in the side of his head.
“Have I got something on my face?” he asks abruptly. 
“W-what?” 
“Y’keep staring,” he explains, glancing over at her when they stop at a red light. To no surprise, he catches her… staring at him. She quickly turns away, opting to stare at her hands instead. 
“Sorry,” she says, “I was just… watching you drive.”
He snorts. “Watching me drive?”
She fumbles over her words, struggling to explain herself. “Yeah, you’re just– like you… you just drive really cool.” She only realizes how stupid she sounds once the words come out of her mouth. 
“I drive cool?” 
She grimaces and turns to him slowly, “M’sorry, that probably doesn’t make any sense.”
His expression is entirely amused, a smirk on his face that he’s trying to cover with his hand. “Please, explain it to me then,” he begs with a teasing tone. 
“You’re just like, driving with one hand on the wheel and listening to this fancy music in your fancy car… it just looks like you’re from a movie or something.” Not to mention how sharp his jawline looked from the side. Or how attractive the furrow in his brow was. Or how his white dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves to reveal his strong, tattooed forearms. But she wasn’t about to say all that to him. She needs to stop talking before she embarrasses herself any further! “It’s stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll stop staring.”
“Didn’t say I minded it,” he says simply. With a teasing smirk still planted on his face, he pulls up in front of y/n’s apartment complex. Despite the fact that it’s pouring outside, Harry still offers to walk her up to her door.
“Oh no, I couldn’t make you do that!” He’d already gone out of his way to drive her home, she thinks making him get out of his car just to walk her up would be asking way too much of her boss.
“At least take the umbrella then,” he says, grabbing it from the back and giving it to her. She opens her mouth to protest, but he gives her this look that makes her just shut up and take it. 
“Thanks, Mr. Styles. I really appreciate it.” 
He rolls his eyes, “Just don’t forget it next time it’s scheduled to rain.” 
He watches as she opens the apartment door, and only pulls away after she’s turned back, waved at him, and closes the door behind her. 
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When y/n walks to the restaurant the next day, it’s raining once again. She takes Mr. Styles’ umbrella with her to shield her from the drizzle, and arrives at the restaurant a bit breathless, but nonetheless dry. 
As she’s clocking in, Harry happens to walk past. He sees his umbrella in her hand, droplets dripping onto the floor, and smiles to himself. 
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Harry’s grown some sort of… fondness towards y/n. 
How could he not? The first time he’d met her she’d been crying, looking up at him with her puppy dog eyes and tear stained cheeks. She’d complimented his cooking, and been all sweet and polite while he talked to her, calling him sir and Mr. Styles with her pouty lips. 
And then when he’d driven her home… she looked so pretty sitting in the front seat of his car, rambling on and on about his cool driving and fancy car. It made him soft! She was young and innocent and just the cutest little thing. He loves how flustered she gets when he teases her, how she fumbles over her words when she doesn’t know what to say. So you really can’t blame him for keeping his eye on her. 
Whenever he’s in his office, he’ll keep his ears open in hopes of hearing her pretty voice ringing through the halls, escorting guests or calling out orders to the chefs. He loves listening to her chat with the cooks, and finds himself laughing silently at some of her silly remarks. (“Guys help!!! Where are the oysters from? Like are they local? I know it’s a stupid question but one of the customers wants to know! Should I lie and say they’re imported from the Caribbean? Like… how would they know that I’m lying? Okay, fine whatever I’ll just say they’re caught locally every morning! Thanks bye!!!”)
With this newfound fondness, he’s also grown quite… protective of her. He often talks with Alfredo to see if y/n’s been getting along with the other waiters, and discretely checks that she hasn’t encountered any other rude or disrespectful customers. He figures that he’d prefer to kick some snobby lady out of his restaurant rather than see y/n all teary eyed again.
These smushy feelings are all new to Harry, and he doesn’t really know what they meant just yet… all he knows is that he had a soft spot for y/n. And he’ll be damned if he didn’t show a bit of favoritism towards her. 
Sitting in his office, working on some paperwork for the building, he hears her shuffling down towards the kitchen. (Yes, with how attentive he’s been recently, he’s learned to distinguish the sounds of her footsteps from the rest of the waiters.)
“‘Scuse me Edgar!” she calls out to one of the cooks, “Y’know the cod that you’re working on for table 67? She just asked for the romesco to be put on the side instead. D’ya think you could change that real quick?”
“Man, are you kidding me y/n! I already put it on there!”
“I know, I know I’m sorry!” she whines embarrassedly, cheeks heating at the bite in Edgar’s voice, “she just stopped me right now and asked for it!”
Edgar gives y/n an exasperated sigh, “Great, m’gonna have to make a new one! And we’re so fuckin’ busy tonight, this is fuckin’ brilliant–” 
“Hey!” Harry’s assertive voice booms through the kitchen, cutting Edgar off mid-rant. “S’not her fault that the lady changed her order, is it?” His stern gaze is burning on Edgar, making his cheeks turn red. 
“No sir,” the chef responds apologetically.
“Apologize to y/n.”
Edgar turns to her, “Sorry y/n. Wasn’t your fault, m’just being hot headed for no reason.”
“S’okay, I get it. It’s frustrating,” she says softly, shocked at the fact that Mr. Styles was making one of the chefs apologize to her! She’s just a silly little waitress! She was used to being belittled by the older, more established staff.
“Good. Don’t want t’hear any complaining from anyone, or else you’re getting fired. Understood?”
A chorus of “yes sir” echoes around the kitchen. 
Y/n stands there, speechless at the fact that Mr. Styles had made such a bold move to defend her. When he catches her staring, he simply winks, giving her that cocky smirk of his and turning on his heel, back into his office as if nothing had happened. 
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During her 15 minute break, y/n tiptoes to Mr. Styles’ office and quietly knocks at the door, entering cautiously when she hears him grunt out a less than welcoming “come in.”
“Um, Mr. Styles?” she announces nervously. The furrow in his brow immediately disappears when he recognizes that it’s y/n. “I-I just wanted to say thanks for, um, sticking up for me today? Or- I mean… just thanks for getting the chefs to go easier on me, I guess.” Her fingers twist nervously behind her back, and it’s taking everything in her to look Mr. Styles in the eye when she’s talking to him. His gaze is just so intense, and she has no idea what he’s thinking… it makes her nervous! 
He’s quiet for a second, deliberating what she’s just said, before cracking a smile and shaking his head. “You don’t have t’thank me, pet. M’not gonna let the chefs be dicks to m’favorite waitress.”  
Her heart jumps out of her chest at that, cheeks flushing in a way that she really hopes Mr. Styles can’t see. With this flattery, she can’t help but drop her gaze to her feet, contemplating the floor as she mumbles out, “I– well, still. Thanks.” 
Harry laughs to himself, dragging a hand down his face. She’s so… cute when she’s all flustered like this! It makes him want to tease her all the time. “Yeah, yeah,” he brushes it off playfully, “now get back t’work.” 
She twirls on her heels, ready to run out of the room and freak out about this encounter in the privacy of the employee bathroom.
“Oh, y/n?” Harry calls out just before she walks out the door. She looks back at him with those eager puppy eyes. “M’gonna drive you home tonight as well. Come to my office when you’ve finished your shift and we’ll leave together.”
The smile that lights up her face is one of a giddy school girl with a playground crush. 
“M’kay,” she says casually. But on the inside, she is Freaking. The Fuck. Out.
Yay!!!!
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This time, once the restaurant closes and all the employees and staff have left, y/n doesn’t head out into the darkness for her usual 30 minute walk home.
No, this time she heads towards Mr. Styles’ office, clutching her trusty tote bag to her chest to try and mute the feeling of the butterflies swarming her entire body. She has no idea why Mr. Styles might’ve offered her another ride home. Perhaps he felt bad that she’d been scolded in front of the kitchen today by Edgar, or maybe he just pitied her. 
Whatever the case was, she wasn’t going to question it too much. She’d developed an itty bitty crush on Mr. Styles, so even if he was just giving her a ride home because he felt bad… well, then at least it meant she got to spend some more time with him! 
She knocks on his door and waits for his muffled “come in” before she walks in. A pair of reading glasses are perched on the tip of his nose, reflecting the light of the laptop screen he’s staring at intently. He doesn’t look away from his laptop as he says, “m’almost done.” He gestures mindlessly at the seats in front of his desk when she hovers awkwardly in front of the door. “Sit.”
Her quiet obedience makes him smile as he finishes the last of the emails he wanted to send that night, and with a final press of a button he shuts his laptop. He takes the reading glasses off and stands up, and y/n tries to stare discreetly at his thighs (which are being hugged deliciously by his slacks) as he packs up his things.
She’s not as discreet as she thinks she is, because Harry has to call her name three times before she snaps out of her daydreams. “Where’s your head at, puppy?” he taunts, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. Her cheeks turn warm, and she’s thankful that she doesn’t have to explain herself as she follows him to his car. 
This was gonna be a long ride.
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Y/n doesn’t know how it happened, but she and Mr. Styles have created some sort of arrangement. 
Anytime he’s been in the office for the past two weeks, he’s given her a ride home. She’s tried to tell him that he really doesn’t have to and that the walk home really isn’t that bad (she feels bad for making him drive all the way to her apartment!), but for some reason, he insists!
Secretly, she’s really happy that he’s always offering to drive her home. She gets to spend an extra 15 minutes with him every night, talking to him, looking at him, and getting teased by him. Yes, he has a knack for embarrassing her… but in a way, she actually kind of enjoys it. 
Like all the other nights, she meets him in his office and they walk out together. He holds all the doors open for her, his hand lightly placed on the small of her back as they walk outside. And again, like all the other nights, he opens the passenger’s side door for her and holds a hand out to help her into his car. 
There is one thing that happens differently tonight though. When Harry gets behind the wheel, her stomach lets out the loudest grumble she’s ever heard. 
She shuts her eyes in embarrassment. Of course this would happen. She can only hope that Mr. Styles didn’t hear it.
Unfortunately for her, he chuckles softly, “Are you hungry?”
“A bit,” she replies sheepishly.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
She hesitates, “Um… I had a granola bar right before my physics lecture.”
He pauses. “And when was this lecture?”
“At 1.”
“So you’re telling me,” Harry glances at the time in disbelief, which reads 10:47 PM, “That you haven’t eaten since 1 in the afternoon?”
“Well… I mean, usually I have some food before coming to work! But I went to a study session after class and I lost track of time, so I didn’t have time to eat anything.”
“Tha’s not enough, puppy. You need to bring something to eat during your break or else you’ll pass out.” He puts his hand on the back of her seat and looks behind him to back out of his parking spot. “And, if you don’t have time to eat anything, then I’ll cook something for you.”
“You don’t have to do that Mr. Styles,” she politely refuses. “M’not even that hungry right now.” 
The growl her stomach lets out says otherwise. “Not hungry?” he taunts.
“Okay, maybe a little bit… m’too tired to cook anything though so I’ll probably just have a pop tart or something and call it a night.”
He scoffs, “a pop tart?”
“Yeah, you know those little pastry things? They usually come in that foil packaging and have–”
“I know what a pop-tart is.” A bunch of processed sugars and artificial jam stuffed in a horribly dry crust that spills crumbs everywhere? The thought of eating one absolutely repulses him. “They’re disgusting.”
“Hey, they’re not that bad!” y/n whines defensively. “M’on a student budget! And I’m not that good at cooking, not all of us are gourmet chefs like you.”
He thinks for a second then says, “Well then…how about I take you to mine and cook you a gourmet dinner?”
“What– like, right now?” she bleats. When he nods, she asks, “you would cook me dinner right now?”
“Why s’that so hard to believe?”
Well, first of all he’s her hot boss who is notoriously known for being a hot asshole. Second of all, she has a stupid crush on her hot boss, and can’t actually believe that he’d invite her over to his home. And third of all, and the one she settles for, “Isn’t it a bit late?”
He looks over at her. “Is it past your bedtime?” he asks playfully. She shakes her head no bashfully, face heating at his teasing as he continues, “If it’s not late for you, then it’s not late for me.” 
She sits there and thinks. Obviously she wants to go over to his apartment and spend more time with him! But… gosh, she feels bad! Making him not only drive her home, but also cook her dinner was just asking for too much!
“Y/n,” he interrupts, as if he could read her mind, “stop overthinking it. I want to cook for you, I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t. Will y’let me?”
“I’d really like that,” she admits shyly.
He smiles at her, “My house it is, then.”
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Mr. Styles is rich. Like… super rich. 
His luxury car was only a preview to his luxurious lifestyle. He drives them not far from the restaurant, to a tall, shiny building. He parks his car in the garage and takes y/n through the lobby, his heeled boots clicking against the shiny tiled floors. An elevator takes them up to the 16th floor, and opens to a dark penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows provide a view of the city, the lights of downtown flashing up in a kaleidoscope of colors. The floors are wooden with a cool undertone that complimented the grey walls, and the furniture is all sleek and dark. He leads them to his luxury kitchen and tells her to sit at the highchairs in front of the island.
“What shall I make you?” he asks.
“Um… a grilled cheese?”
He quirks his eyebrow. “You’ve got one of the world’s best chefs in front of you, and you want me to make you a grilled cheese?”
She shrugs, “That’s what I would’ve made myself if I wasn’t so lazy.”
“How about I surprise you with something… a little more special.”
“I feel bad making you cook this late when you’re not even supposed to be working,” she admits as Harry ruffles through his fridge.
“Darling,” he scoffs, “making you a meal is nothing for me. I could do this in my sleep.”
“I dunno, cooking is always such a hassle for me. Y’gotta get all the ingredients right, and make sure nothing burns, and then all the dishes… s’too much work.”
“But finding all the right ingredients and watching over y’food is exactly why I love cooking,” he explains passionately. “S’like… even the slightest thing could change the flavor of your dish, and take it to the next level. It’s so much fun.” He pulls out a pot and fills it with water. “The dishes are a headache though,” he adds teasingly. 
As he waits for the water to boil, he goes to his wine cooler and pulls a bottle out. “Do you like this wine? It’s Chianti 1982, from Montespertoli.”
“Um…” she looks at him helplessly. “I don’t really know much about wine.”
He hums, and pours himself a glass. Then he sits on the stool next to hers. He hooks his foot into the leg of her chair and pulls her stool to him, close enough so that their knees were touching and that she could see the stubble right above his lips. 
He holds up the wine glass as if he were offering a sip, but as soon as her hands come up to steady the glass to her lips, he pulls it away. “Ah ah,” he tuts, “You’ve gotta smell it first.” 
He swirls the wine around under her nose. “What do you smell?” he murmurs.
She takes a deep breath and contemplates it deeply. “...grapes?”
He snickers, “nice try.” He pulls the wine under his own nose and says, “It smells fruity… notes of cherry… plum… oak…” He takes a sip of it. “Mm… it’s light. Smooth.” 
Y/n watches him with wide eyes as he swirls the wine around in the glass and brings it up to his mouth, hyper fixating on his lips. His thick fingers, decorated with a multitude of sparkly rings, delicately wrap around the stem of the glass. And his lips, plump and pink, pucker softly against the rim as he takes another sip. 
His wine-stained tongue peaks out to lick his lips, and her own lips part open with want. 
He takes another enticing sip. “You want some, puppy?” he asks.
She nods her head, looking up at him with her round eyes and parted mouth. He gives her a taste, opting to hold the glass up to her lips as she drinks instead of having her take it from his hands and do it herself. When he feels that she’s had enough, he pulls it away. “What do y’think?”
“S’good,” she says, the tart taste of the wine drying out her tongue. It makes her want more. She looks at Harry with her eager eyes, and he feeds her another sip. This time though, she’s a bit too excited. When he pulls the glass away from her, a little bit of it dribbles down her chin.
He tsks. “Messy girl,” he murmurs. His thumb comes up to swipe at the mess, collecting it and teasing at her bottom lip. He lingers there for a second, before he pushes in, her supple lips parting easily as he slides his finger into her mouth. It rests heavily on her tongue, the acidic flavor of the wine lingering on his finger. She sucks, and his eyes darken. 
“Good girl.” His voice is low and gruff, eyes focused on her lips wrapped around his thumb. He pulls it out slowly, her bottom lip tugging downwards as he does it, and he watches it bounce back into place. 
He drags his eyes away from her lips and back up to her eyes, which are looking at him, wide and curious. Unlike Harry, who can’t stop his eyes from flickering down to her lips, her eyes are glued on him, frozen and waiting for his next move. When he moves the slightest bit closer, her breath catches in her throat. She’s not well versed in all this stuff, but she supposes if he keeps looking at her lips and leaning in, that probably means he wants to kiss her, right? She inches forward to test her theory. He reciprocates. Both of their eyes flutter shut. 
His nose brushes against hers ever so lightly, nudging it to the side, and she lets out a shaky breath when his lips graze hers. With one final tilt of her head, their lips slot together, as if they were two opposite charges connected by a magnetic force. He encases her lips in a soft kiss, her supple bottom lip trapped between his for a second, and his hand comes up to cup her jaw. He doesn’t do anything more than gently kiss her lips – no hot tongue in her mouth, no heavy breathing, nothing that he thinks might overwhelm her. Just a simple kiss, that he pulls away with a soft click.
Her eyelashes flutter open to reveal her moony eyes, looking up at him like an eager puppy. They flicker between his eyes with a mixture of want, confusion, and excitement hidden in her irises. 
He grins down at her. “Let me go check on the water.”
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Part 2 is already up on my patreon!!!! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK!!!! LOVE U GUYS 
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NYT's Notable Books of 2023
Each year, we pore over thousands of new books, seeking out the best novels, memoirs, biographies, poetry collections, stories and more. Here are the standouts, selected by the staff of The New York Times Book Review.
AFTER SAPPHO by Selby Wynn Schwartz
Inspired by Sappho’s work, Schwartz’s debut novel offers an alternate history of creativity at the turn of the 20th century, one that centers queer women artists, writers and intellectuals who refused to accept society’s boundaries.
ALL THE SINNERS BLEED by S.A. Cosby
In his earlier thrillers, Cosby worked the outlaw side of the crime genre. In his new one — about a Black sheriff in a rural Southern town, searching for a serial killer who tortures Black children — he’s written a crackling good police procedural.
THE BEE STING by Paul Murray
In Murray’s boisterous tragicomic novel, a once wealthy Irish family struggles with both the aftermath of the 2008 financial crash and their own inner demons.
BIOGRAPHY OF X by Catherine Lacey
Lacey rewrites 20th-century U.S. history through the audacious fictional life story of X, a polarizing female performance artist who made her way from the South to New York City’s downtown art scene.
BIRNAM WOOD by Eleanor Catton
In this action-packed novel from a Booker Prize winner, a collective of activist gardeners crosses paths with a billionaire doomsday prepper on land they each want for different purposes.
BLACKOUTS by Justin Torres
This lyrical, genre-defying novel — winner of the 2023 National Book Award — explores what it means to be erased and how to persist after being wiped away.
BRIGHT YOUNG WOMEN by Jessica Knoll
In her third and most assured novel, Knoll shifts readers’ attention away from a notorious serial killer, Ted Bundy, and onto the lives — and deaths — of the women he killed. Perhaps for the first time in fiction, Knoll pooh-poohs Bundy's much ballyhooed intelligence, celebrating the promise and perspicacity of his victims instead.
CHAIN-GANG ALL-STARS by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah
This satire — in which prison inmates duel on TV for a chance at freedom — makes readers complicit with the bloodthirsty fans sitting ringside. The fight scenes are so well written they demonstrate how easy it might be to accept a world this sick.
THE COVENANT OF WATER by Abraham Verghese
Verghese’s first novel since “Cutting for Stone” follows generations of a family across 77 years in southwestern India as they contend with political strife and other troubles — capped by a shocking discovery made by the matriarch’s granddaughter, a doctor.
CROOK MANIFESTO by Colson Whitehead
Returning to the world of his novel “Harlem Shuffle,” Whitehead again uses a crime story to illuminate a singular neighborhood at a tipping point — here, Harlem in the 1970s.
THE DELUGE by Stephen Markley
Markley’s second novel confronts the scale and gravity of climate change, tracking a cadre of scientists and activists from the gathering storm of the Obama years to the super-typhoons of future decades. Immersive and ambitious, the book shows the range of its author’s gifts: polyphonic narration, silken sentences and elaborate world-building.
EASTBOUND by Maylis de Kerangal
In de Kerangal’s brief, lyrical novel, translated by Jessica Moore, a young Russian soldier on a trans-Siberian train decides to desert and turns to a civilian passenger, a Frenchwoman, for help.
EMILY WILDE’S ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF FAERIES by Heather Fawcett
The world-building in this tale of a woman documenting a new kind of faerie is exquisite, and the characters are just as textured and richly drawn. This is the kind of folkloric fantasy that remembers the old, blood-ribboned source material about sacrifices and stolen children, but adds a modern gloss.
ENTER GHOST by Isabella Hammad
In Hammad’s second novel, a British Palestinian actor returns to her hometown in Israel to recover from a breakup and spend time with her family. Instead, she’s talked into joining a staging of “Hamlet” in the West Bank, where she has a political awakening.
FORBIDDEN NOTEBOOK by Alba de Céspedes
A best-selling novelist and prominent anti-Fascist in her native Italy, de Céspedes has lately fallen into unjust obscurity. Translated by Ann Goldstein, this elegant novel from the 1950s tells the story of a married mother, Valeria, whose life is transformed when she begins keeping a secret diary.
THE FRAUD by Zadie Smith
Based on a celebrated 19th-century trial in which the defendant was accused of impersonating a nobleman, Smith’s novel offers a vast panoply of London and the English countryside, and successfully locates the social controversies of an era in a handful of characters.
FROM FROM by Monica Youn
In her fourth book of verse, a svelte, intrepid foray into American racism, Youn turns a knowing eye on society’s love-hate relationship with what it sees as the “other.”
A GUEST IN THE HOUSE by Emily Carroll
After a lonely young woman marries a mild-mannered widower and moves into his home, she begins to wonder how his first wife actually died. This graphic novel alternates between black-and-white and overwhelming colors as it explores the mundane and the horrific.
THE HEAVEN & EARTH GROCERY STORE by James McBride
McBride’s latest, an intimate, big-hearted tale of community, opens with a human skeleton found in a well in the 1970s, and then flashes back to the past, to the ’20s and ’30s, to explore the town’s Black, Jewish and immigrant history.
HELLO BEAUTIFUL by Ann Napolitano
In her radiant fourth novel, Napolitano puts a fresh spin on the classic tale of four sisters and the man who joins their family. Take “Little Women,” move it to modern-day Chicago, add more intrigue, lots of basketball and a different kind of boy next door and you’ve got the bones of this thoroughly original story.
A HISTORY OF BURNING by Janika Oza
This remarkable debut novel tells the story of an extended Indo-Ugandan family that is displaced, settled and displaced again.
HOLLY by Stephen King
The scrappy private detective Holly Gibney (who appeared in “The Outsider” and several other novels) returns, this time taking on a missing-persons case that — in typical King fashion — unfolds into a tale of Dickensian proportions.
A HOUSE FOR ALICE by Diana Evans
This polyphonic novel traces one family’s reckoning after the patriarch dies in a fire, as his widow, a Nigerian immigrant, considers returning to her home country and the entire family re-examines the circumstances of their lives.
THE ILIAD by Homer
Emily Wilson’s propulsive new translation of the “Iliad” is buoyant and expressive; she wants this version to be read aloud, and it would certainly be fun to perform.
INK BLOOD SISTER SCRIBE by Emma Törzs
The sisters in Törzs's delightful debut have been raised to protect a collection of magic books that allow their keepers to do incredible things. Their story accelerates like a fugue, ably conducted to a tender conclusion.
KAIROS by Jenny Erpenbeck
This tale of a torrid, yearslong relationship between a young woman and a much older married man — translated from the German by Michael Hofmann — is both profound and moving.
KANTIKA by Elizabeth Graver
Inspired by the life of Graver’s maternal grandmother, this exquisitely imagined family saga spans cultures and continents as it traces the migrations of a Sephardic Jewish girl from turn-of-the-20th-century Constantinople to Barcelona, Havana and, finally, Queens, N.Y.
LAND OF MILK AND HONEY by C Pam Zhang
Zhang’s lush, keenly intelligent novel follows a chef who’s hired to cook for an “elite research community” in the Italian Alps, in a not-so-distant future where industrial-agricultural experiments in America’s heartland have blanketed the globe in a crop-smothering smog.
LONE WOMEN by Victor LaValle
The year is 1915, and the narrator of LaValle’s horror-tinged western has arrived in Montana to cultivate an unforgiving homestead. She’s looking for a fresh start as a single Black woman in a sparsely populated state, but the locked trunk she has in stow holds a terrifying secret.
MONICA by Daniel Clowes
In Clowes’s luminous new work, the titular character, abandoned by her mother as a child, endures a life of calamities before resolving to learn about her origins and track down her parents.
THE MOST SECRET MEMORY OF MEN by Mohamed Mbougar Sarr
Based on a true story and translated by Lara Vergnaud, Sarr’s novel — about a Senegalese writer brought low by a plagiarism scandal — asks sharp questions about the state of African literature in the West.
THE NEW NATURALS by Gabriel Bump
In Bump’s engrossing new novel, a young Black couple, mourning the loss of their newborn daughter and disillusioned with the world, start a utopian society — but tensions both internal and external soon threaten their dreams.
NORTH WOODS by Daniel Mason
Mason’s novel looks at the occupants of a single house in Massachusetts over several centuries, from colonial times to present day. An apple farmer, an abolitionist, a wealthy manufacturer: The book follows these lives and many others, with detours into natural history and crime reportage.
NOT EVEN THE DEAD by Juan Gómez Bárcena
An ex-conquistador in Spanish-ruled, 16th-century Mexico is asked to hunt down an Indigenous prophet in this novel by a leading writer in Spain, splendidly translated by Katie Whittemore. The epic search stretches across much of the continent and, as the author bends time and history, lasts centuries.
THE NURSERY by Szilvia Molnar
“I used to be a translator and now I am a milk bar.” So begins Molnar’s brilliant novel about a new mother falling apart within the four walls of her apartment.
OUR SHARE OF NIGHT by Mariana Enriquez
This dazzling, epic narrative, translated from the Spanish by Megan McDowell, is a bewitching brew of mystery and myth, peopled by mediums who can summon “the Darkness” for a secret society of wealthy occultists seeking to preserve consciousness after death.
PINEAPPLE STREET by Jenny Jackson
Jackson’s smart, dishy debut novel embeds readers in an upper-crust Brooklyn Heights family — its real estate, its secrets, its just-like-you-and-me problems. Does money buy happiness? “Pineapple Street” asks a better question: Does it buy honesty?
THE REFORMATORY by Tananarive Due
Due’s latest — about a Black boy, Robert, who is wrongfully sentenced to a fictionalized version of Florida’s infamous and brutal Dozier School — is both an incisive examination of the lingering traumas of racism and a gripping, ghost-filled horror novel. “The novel’s extended, layered denouement is so heart-smashingly good, it made me late for work,” Randy Boyagoda wrote in his review. “I couldn’t stop reading.”
THE SAINT OF BRIGHT DOORS by Vajra Chandrasekera
Trained to kill by his mother and able to see demons, the protagonist of Chandrasekera’s stunning and lyrical novel flees his destiny as an assassin and winds up in a politically volatile metropolis.
SAME BED DIFFERENT DREAMS by Ed Park
Double agents, sinister corporations, slasher films, U.F.O.s — Park’s long-awaited second novel is packed to the gills with creative elements that enliven his acerbic, comedic and lyrical odyssey into Korean history and American paranoia.
TAKE WHAT YOU NEED by Idra Novey
This elegant novel resonates with implication beyond the taut contours of its central story line. In Novey’s deft hands, the complex relationship between a young woman and her former stepmother hints at the manifold divisions within America itself.
THIS OTHER EDEN by Paul Harding
In his latest novel, inspired by the true story of a devastating 1912 eviction in Maine that displaced an entire mixed-race fishing community, Harding turns that history into a lyrical tale about the fictional Apple Island on the cusp of destruction.
TOM LAKE by Ann Patchett
Locked down on the family’s northern Michigan cherry orchard, three sisters and their mother, a former actress whose long-ago summer fling went on to become a movie star, reflect on love and regret in Patchett’s quiet and reassuring Chekhovian novel.
THE UNSETTLED by Ayana Mathis
This novel follows three generations across time and place: a young mother trying to create a home for herself and her son in 1980s Philadelphia, and her mother, who is trying to save their Alabama hometown from white supremacists seeking to displace her from her land.
VICTORY CITY by Salman Rushdie
Rushdie’s new novel recounts the long life of Pampa Kampana, who creates an empire from magic seeds in 14th-century India. Her world is one of peace, where men and women are equal and all faiths welcome, but the story Rushdie tells is of a state that forever fails to live up to its ideals.
WE COULD BE SO GOOD by Cat Sebastian
This queer midcentury romance — about reporters who meet at work, become friends, move in together and fall in love — lingers on small, everyday acts like bringing home flowers with the groceries, things that loom large because they’re how we connect with others.
WESTERN LANE by Chetna Maroo
In this polished and disciplined debut novel, an 11-year-old Jain girl in London who has just lost her mother turns her attention to the game of squash — which in Maroo’s graceful telling becomes a way into the girl’s grief.
WITNESS by Jamel Brinkley
Set in Brooklyn, and featuring animal rescue workers, florists, volunteers, ghosts and UPS workers, Brinkley’s new collection meditates on what it means to see and be seen.
Y/N by Esther Yi
In this weird and wondrous novel, a bored young woman in thrall to a boy band buys a one-way ticket to Seoul.
YELLOWFACE by R.F. Kuang
Kuang’s first foray outside of the fantasy genre is a breezy and propulsive tale about a white woman who achieves tremendous literary success by stealing a manuscript from a recently deceased Asian friend and passing it off as her own.
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The Sweetest Con
Summary: Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before.
She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.
Read on AO3
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Five years earlier:
She wasn’t used to Georgia’s humidity. 
Nesta never wanted to get used to it. Standing just outside the little white house that now belonged to her, Nesta wiped sweat from the back of her neck. The town was small—no more than a couple thousand people, if that. No big buildings, no major downtown, and worst of all, no Chinese food. Not unless she wanted to creep closer to Atlanta and given that Nesta’s car was a piece of rusting junk built a full decade before she was born, she doubted she’d make it.
So much for being a hot shot lawyer. 
Nesta dumped her bag just inside the white picket fence, ignoring the peeling paint and splintering wood. It was the kind of place Elain would have thrived in. With a sigh, Nesta turned her back entirely on the overgrown yard and began walking along the only road in the town to the center—aptly named Main Street. 
There was practically no one out. A few older woman walked with looped arms down the sidewalks while a harried mother pushing a stroller made her way toward the only grocery store. Nesta made her way toward the marble carved library, taking the steps one at a time despite the unrelenting sun overhead.
The air inside was ice cold and empty save of two women who were quietly talking to each other. One of them—the red head—clearly worked there given she was behind the desk. The other sat perched on the counter, a book in her lap. They had been clearly talking with some animation though now that Nesta had intruded, the pair stared with wary suspicion.
Nesta hadn’t come to make friends. Lifting her chin with all the haughtiness her mother had instilled in her, Nesta marched toward the shelves lined with fantasy and romance and began reading the jackets. 
She needed a distraction. All she could think about lately was what would happen if Rhysand ever found them. Surely he was irate…he’d be out for blood. They’d flat out lied, pointing the finger straight at the notorious mafioso and the feds, in their eagerness to put him away, had overlooked all the evidence suggesting otherwise.
But Rhysand would know.
And Nesta wanted to forget him. Mobsters lived short lives, besides—in a year, he might be dead and the whole thing over. She could keep herself busy for that long. So long as the library kept books on the shelves, Nesta could find something to do.
She brought them to the front desk where the red head and the dark haired woman waited. “Library card?” The woman’s name tag read Gwyn. 
“No,” Nesta said, fishing out her new drivers license. Agnes Smith. Sure. That sounded real. “Here.”
Gwyn eyed it for a moment. “You don’t look like an Agnes.”
“Tell that to my mom.”
Gwyn began typing on her computer, glancing at Nesta’s ID. “Emerie,” the dark skinned, dark haired woman said with a friendlier smile. “I think you look like an Agnes.” Gwyn rolled her eyes. 
“You should come by the general store,” Emerie added, glancing at the ID for Nesta’s address. “You moved into the old Brandon house.”
“Grizzly murder happened there,” Gwyn said seriously.
“Did not. He died of all old age,” Emerie said quickly. “It’s been run down for a while. I’d be happy to help you out.”
“Do you like women?” Gwyn asked suddenly and bluntly. 
Taken aback, Nesta said, “Um…not really—romantically, anyway.”
Emerie sighed. “It was worth a shot.”
Nesta almost blurted out that she’d still take friends before she thought better of it. No need to be defensive or obsessive. “Where is everyone today?”
“It’s ten am,” Gwyn said.
“They’re at church,” Emerie replied when it was clear Nesta didn’t understand. 
“But not you?” Nesta questioned.
Gwyn handed her ID back, along with a white library card bearing her pretend name. “We aren’t welcome.”
“Why?”
Emerie grimaced while Gwyn scanned Nesta’s book. “They think I’m a homewrecker…and Emerie likes women. Openly.” 
“Fuck them,” Nesta said without thinking. It was the first smile she’d seen from Gwyn—a small, half formed thing, but a smile all the same. “We should start our own religion.”
“That sounds like blasphemy,” Emerie teased.
“It sounds like witchcraft,” Gwyn added, pushing Nesta’s stack of books toward her. “I’m in.”
Which was how Nesta found herself hosting brunch that Sunday with two strangers in a house that didn’t belong to her.
PRESENT:
“Who is that?” Emerie asked, sitting on Nesta’s front porch holding a sweating glass of iced tea. 
“He’s not local at all,” Gwyn agreed, lowering her sunglasses to take a look at the tall, muscular man making his way toward Nesta’s gate. Wearing mirrored shades and a suit that was bursting at the seams, he looked like he was playing dress up as a cop.
His dark, wavy hair half pulled in a bun didn’t seem regulation, for one. But something about him seemed off somehow. 
“He one of yours?” Gwyn questioned. Nesta had long since betrayed the secrecy she’d been sworn to, telling her friends everything but the most critical piece of truth in order to protect Feyre. 
Nesta scratched her ear. No, this man was definitely not one of hers. 
“Want us to stay?” Gwyn asked, likely thinking about the shotgun mounted in the back of her pick-up truck.
“I can handle him,” Nesta assured them. Gwyn and Emerie stood, leaving behind their cups to slip from the yard. Gwyn nodded at the man once, lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. That left Nesta standing at the top of her porch steps wearing a butter yellow sundress, arms crossed over her chest.
“Ma’am,” he the man began as he approached, his expression unreadable. She waited, watching as he took off his sunglasses only for recognition to slam into her. Oh. She knew this man from pictures.  “My name is Cassian.”
Rhysands right hand man. Nesta didn’t move, unwilling to betray she knew who he was. “What can I do for you, Cassian?”
Not even a fake name? Was he that confident she’d never done one google search? He had a mugshot, had appeared in the papers just enough times for Nesta to recognize him. They called him The Lord of Bloodshed thanks to his rumored job of handling the things Rhysand didn’t want staining his hands or his conscience. 
And that man was standing at the bottom of her steps, armed just beneath his suit jacket. 
“I’m here on behalf of your case,” he said like a pretty liar. 
“Oh? Has something happened?”
“An indictment is coming. I’m to escort you back home once Rhysand has been charged.”
Liar.
Still, there was no reason to call him out on it. If Rhysand had found her, he must be still looking for her sisters. She didn’t believe for a minute he’d found Feyre—his bruiser would have pointed his gun at her by way of greeting had he. No, they were monitoring her.
And Nesta could watch them right back. 
So she smiled, hoping she seemed innocent and sweet. “What a relief,” she lied, stepping to the side so he could come up. “I was starting to think I’d be trapped here forever.”
“Can I come inside?” Cassian asked, looking around her immaculate yard with interest. “It’s hot out here.”
“Better get used to that,” Nesta said, pulling open the screen door so Cassian could get the lay of the land. “Are you staying here?”
“If you don’t mind. The hotel is…”
Roach filled, she knew. People still went, content to carry out their clandestine affairs in filth so long as no one ever found out. 
“I have a spare room,” Nesta told him. Cassian turned back for his own car—a brand new jeep  that was laughably out of place in her little neighborhood. He returned with two bags slung over his broad shoulders, eyes hidden behind his glasses. The sun hit the golden brown of his skin, making it seem as if he glowed and tragically, Nesta thought he was a good looking man.
He’d kill her if she wasn’t careful…but attractive, all the same. 
Nesta showed him to the smaller room she kept made up just in case Gwyn or Emerie wanted to stay the night, thinking the full sized bed didn’t seem big enough for this man. He had to duck beneath the doorway, putting him well over six foot three—maybe six six? He made Nesta, who stood tall at five nine, feel dainty by comparison.
“Should I call you Cassian, or…?”
“Cassian is fine,” he replied, sunglasses resting atop his head. “This is perfect, by the way. I promise you’ll barely know I exist.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Nesta said in a flirty voice as she eyed him. “I think it would be hard not to notice you.” He grinned, unaware that a real agent would have shut her down in seconds. “Well, Miss Agnes, I’ll do my best to keep out of your hair.”
Nesta offered him another smile, mind racing. If she survived tonight she assumed she’d survive as long as he wanted her to—and as long as she didn’t admit she knew what he was. That meant keeping it from Gwyn and Emerie, who wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from treating him like a criminal.
He thought she was prey, but Nesta Archeron was a survivor. A predator, just like this man. And she had lived in Georgia for five years—she had guns hidden all over the house. He didn’t need to know any of that, though. Nesta waited while he unpacked some of his things and peeked around her little house, mostly quiet as he cased her. Sitting on her sofa beneath a ceiling fan moving at top speed, Nesta heard him push open the back door and walk through the yard where she assumed he was testing the gate.
He messed with windows when he returned, pushing back curtains to peer out into the street. “You’re wide open out here,” he finally said with a frown on his pretty face. And he was pretty—sculpted and rough in a way that was hard to ignore. Nesta found herself noticing the green in his hazel eyes and the way stubble clung to his strong jaw. A slit cut through his eyebrow while faint scars littered his jaw and hands, betraying a man who knew his way around a fight. 
He was fooling no one but himself. 
“This is where you put me,” she reminded him, wondering if he understood what she was really saying. 
“Maybe we’ll keep the curtains closed,” Cassian said, as if Nesta didn’t do that anyway. The sun was unforgiving and the only way to survive swampy summers was to try and keep things shady and cool. 
“Do you want to take off your jacket?”
“I want to take everything off,” he admitted, shrugging out of what she had to assume was stolen. “Even my own skin.”
“That’s how I felt when I first got here,” she told him. He’d look back on all this and remember—he’d realize she knew the moment he stepped onto her lawn. “You get used to it.”
She was going to kill him, she realized. The knowledge slammed into Nesta’s chest violently, paralyzing her for a moment. She’d never killed anyone…but at some point she’d have to kill this man before he killed her. Cassian, for his part, was unaware of the slant of her thoughts. He must have already known when he came down that he planned to kill her just as soon as he was given the order. She doubted he intended to take her home…and if he did, it would be under duress. 
That was future Nesta’s problem, though. For now, all she had to do was stay one step ahead of him. And that meant pretending like she believed every word coming out of his mouth and ignored all the obvious signs that he was a liar. 
“Hungry?” she asked. 
“Starving,” Cassian agreed. He vanished into the room she’d given him, leaving Nesta enough time to try and steady her nervous hands. By the time Cassian returned, Nesta was slicing up meat for the grill outside. There was absolutely no way she was turning on her oven.
“Can I help you with that?”
Instinct demanded she say no. She didn’t want Cassian anywhere near lighter fluid, for one. He looked so earnest and she was pretending, so Nesta nodded. “I haven’t seasoned it yet.”
“Leave it to me,” Cassian said with an easy smile. And she did, watching him from the corner of her eye while he seasoned her meat and vegetables. He vanished out the back door and when he returned, sweat glistened over his face. Nesta found herself standing there for a moment, staring as he pulled the rest of his hair off his face, biceps straining against the cuff of his t-shirts. 
Cassian was heavily tattooed with black ink that crawled over his arms and up his neck, broken only by the sweaty shirt he wore. 
“Why do people live like this?” Cassian asked, wiping his brow on his sleeve. “It’s horrible.”
“I keep saying it,” she replied honestly. “I would have preferred a colder climate.”
“Next time,” Cassian grumbled. “What are you doing now?”
“Cutting up fruit. Want some?”
Cassian picked a blueberry out of the bowl and popped it into his mouth. “How do you spend your time, anyway?”
“I’m the town lawyer,” Nesta informed him. “I work in a little office down on Main Street.”
“And when you’re not working?”
She shrugged. “I have friends…but I mostly read.”
He glanced toward her shelves of books in the living room, visible from the hall connecting the two. “Anything interesting?”
“Take a look,” was all Nesta could think to respond. Cassian didn’t take her up on her offer, turning instead to go check on the grilling meat. Had she not known who he was, Nesta might have thought the awkward environment was just because a stranger had invaded her space.
It felt almost normal. 
Almost.
Because Nesta couldn’t forget a killer was sitting across from her, his hands soaked in blood. She kept coming back to it as they ate in relative silence. Why had Rhysand sent him here? What did he want with her? Nesta needed to figure it out.
And figure it out fast.
CASSIAN:
Nesta Archeron was beautiful.
Cassian hadn’t expected it. He’d seen a picture of Feyre only once and had kind of imposed her face on all three Archerons. Walking up to her house had been a surreal experience. For one, all Cassian could see was her tits pressed against the neckline of that sundress she wore. Holy fucking Christ, but Nesta’s body was something out of his most depraved fantasies.
But her eyes were something else. Icy blue and calculated, it was no surprise Nesta had survived five years out mostly on her own. Did she even know her sisters were guarded by federal agents while she was left to fend for herself? 
It irked Cassian. Sure, he was grateful he’d been able to gain access to her life so easily, but surely someone was keeping their eyes on this woman? So the likes of him couldn’t just stroll into her home and do whatever he liked with her? 
But after two days living with Nesta, Cassian learned that no one seemed to care if she lived or died. Which was just as well—because he was starting to care. Just a little, he told himself that second night as he laid in bed staring up at the ceiling fan.
His only job was to get her back to Rhysand in one piece once he’d tracked down Feyre and married her. Nesta wouldn’t even know until it was all too late and the feds would lose their pathetic case.
And then Cassian could go back to his regular life in a place that wasn’t drenched in humidity. How did anyone sleep? Even with Nesta’s air conditioner going at full blast, Cassian found himself shucking off his shirt and kicking the sheets to the floor in a desperate attempt at sleep. 
Thinking the living room might be cooler, Cassian dragged his blanket with him to the couch where he found Nesta, half hidden in the dark with a piece of toast in her hand.
Her little night dress was enough to empty out his mind. Why was she so hot? Cassian could see every curve of her perfect body beneath the silken blue fabric and her hair was loose around her shoulders rather than braided in a crown atop her head.
He wanted to lick the salt off her skin.
He wanted to lick a lot of things, actually.
Cassian was fairly certain federal agents weren’t supposed to have sex with their charges—even if Rhysand was certain Vanserra had something going on with the middle Archeron. Cassian wasn’t anything close to a cop and fucking was his favorite thing to do. 
“I ah..” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyper aware that all he wore was a pair of loose shorts. Nesta was looking only at his face with a grim determination—as if she found it very difficult to do so.
You can look at any part of me you like.
Having sex with her would certainly pass the time. 
“It’s hot,” Nesta said, flipping on a lamp on the side table. “I keep meaning to get someone out here to look at my AC, but…”
“I’ll look at it,” Cassian promised. “Before the sun comes up.”
“You’re handy?”
He was, actually. “I grew up with a single mom,” he said, flashing her a smile before making his way to the sofa. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so I learned how to do repairs.” Nesta tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Unwilling to give her a reason to banish him, Cassian made a show of fluffing the couch cushions before stretching himself out. 
“My shower doesn’t have hot water,” she finally told him.
Cassian grinned in the dark. “I can take a look at that, too.”
“I would appreciate it,” Nesta replied. 
“Why don’t you make me a list? I’ve got nothing else to do all day and I feel like a freeloader sitting on your couch.”
That was true. Cassian was used to staying busy and suddenly he had nothing but downtime. It was tempting to go to the library and find his own books to read and treat the entire thing like a vacation. This would help build trust between them, he rationalized.
And Cassian liked having something to do. He liked being useful to people. 
“I could do that,” Nesta said, still standing in his line of sight. Even in the dark, Cassian could see her nipples pointed through the fabric. He wanted to touch them.
“I’m here to help,” Cassian reminded her.
“Of course,” she said, her tone unreadable to him. 
He nearly asked if she wanted to join him. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Nesta beat him to speaking, adding, “Well. Sleep well, Cassian.”
“You too,” he said, disappointment ribboning through him. It was absurd to think a woman like Nesta Archeron was going to crawl in his dirtbag lap.
Still, Cassian could dream. And he did, waking with a throbbing erection he had to discreetly handle in the freezing cold shower. Cassian hadn’t noticed it wasn’t hot given the air was miserable and he didn’t want to take a boiling shower for once. He could hear Nesta in her room listening to music, up with dawn just like he was. 
He found tools out in her garden shed, unused and rusty. They’d likely belonged to the previous tenant, whoever they’d been. Still, they worked well enough for Cassian’s purposes. What she needed was an entirely new unit. Cassian guessed the old one was over a decade long and judging from the rattling, it was on its final legs.
He had money. A lot of money. Would she believe him if he told her the agency had decided to replace it? Nesta didn’t strike him as particularly stupid—if they’d never helped her before, she might not believe they’d help her now. He couldn’t live the way they had been, though, which was how Cassian found himself on the phone with the local repairman giving out his credit card details over the phone.
Nesta was gone by the time Cassian came back into the house, drenched in sweat and slightly sunburned on the tops of his arms. It was a relief to get into the basement and work on the water heater, and by the time Cassian finished, the service guys were there to replace Nesta’s air conditioner. It required them to turn the air off which was actual hell, though once it was back up, Cassian felt instant relief. 
Nesta returned with a scowl on her face, dressed in a pencil skirt that made Cassian’s mouth dry out. How had Archeron managed to create her? Cassian had met him—he was nothing special. An unremarkable man in every way imaginable, including his appearance.
Nesta could have modeled. Could have had her face on billboards, her body in magazines. Had he met her back home, he knew he’d have dogged her steps hoping for just a look in his direction. 
“Any news?” Nesta asked, sliding her keys and purse onto a side table. Cassian watched her kick off her heels and turn her face upwards toward the vents blowing cold air.
“Nope,” he said. What would Rhys do if he kept her here for a year? Kick his ass, likely. “Rough day?”
Holding up a cloth shopping bag, Nesta nodded her head while Cassian rose to take it from her. Inside he found an assortment of peppers, onions, and a rather nice steak he assumed she wanted to grill. Cassian had never grilled before he met her and found that he rather liked it. In fact, he liked the whole little game he was playing. Pretending to be the sort of man who had a house and a wife and a barbeque suited him.
In another life, Cassian would have thrived.
“I’m working on another divorce and her soon to be ex stopped by to tell me what he thought about me.”
“I hope it was to tell you you’re beautiful,” Cassian replied without thinking as he peeled stickers from the vegetables.
“No it wasn’t,” Nesta replied, her tone uncertain. “It was to tell me what a bitch I am.”
Cassian arched a brow. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”
Nesta chuckled. “Not this time…but I wanted to. He thinks if he digs his heels in, he can avoid this divorce but it’s happening either way.”
“This is why I’m not married,” Cassian said, reaching for a knife.
“Oh?” Nesta asked, an amused smile on her perfect face. “Is that the only reason?”
Cassian couldn’t help his grin. “I’m off-putting to women, of course.”
“There it is,” she said with a pretty laugh. “Want any help?”
“Get out of my kitchen, Nes,” Cassian replied, swatting her away. “Water’s fixed, by the way.”
The whole thing was warm and domestic. Nesta thanked him before sauntering off, hips swaying with each step. The only thing to temper Cassian’s hot blood was the hotter grill outside and a reminder that Nesta was off limits to him.
He was merely a guard meant to get her back home before the feds scooped her and her sisters back up again. Collateral, he supposed, for the game Rhys was playing with Feyre. Cassian was grateful for that, at least—if Rhys called him and told him to kill her, he wasn’t certain he could do it. 
Cassian returned to find Nesta in a pair of tiny little shorts and a pink tank top. He wished she’d pull her hair down, still left in its braided crown, though in truth he could have stood at the backdoor and stared at her for an embarrassing length of time.
“What did I say about the kitchen?” he teased, setting his tray of meat and vegetables on the counter beside her.
“I wanted to make a little salad,” Nesta told him, showing him the bowl. “Do you even eat vegetables?”
“On occasion,” Cassian said with an easy grin. “I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me, though. I’m not picky.”
“Tell me about yourself, Cassian,” Nesta ordered once they were seated at her little wooden table. 
“There’s nothing interesting to tell,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? I’ll bet you’re a lot more interesting than I am.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Nesta murmured.
“C’mon,” Cassian cajoled. Nesta sighed, eyes narrowed with that suspicious look he was growing so fond of. Was there such a thing as love at first sight, he wondered? Cassian was starting to suspect he was under its spell. Under hers, anyway. Nesta relented, telling him little stories he figured were probably half true. 
Cassian knew the right questions to ask, at any rate. Careful not to mention her family, Cassian asked her about everything else. Nesta spoke about going to law school and living in Georgia, mentioning two friends she’d made—Gwyn the librarian and Emerie the grocer. He’d seen them on his porch when he first arrived. 
He needed to do a little digging on them, but he figured they were likely fine. 
“What about you?” Nesta asked, their meal long concluded. Cassian began gathering up dishes.
“What about me?”
“Are you from Georgia?” she questioned.
Cassian chuckled. “No, I’m not from Georgia. Just got unlucky in my assignment, I guess.”
“Why did you want to do this work?”
Cassian considered that. “I’m good at it,” he replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the sink. “I kind of fell into it, actually. I guess I succumb easily to peer pressure because when one of my friends suggested I apply, I did it without hesitation.”
That wasn’t entirely true. There had been no application process—he and Rhys had become friends as boys and Rhys’s mother had been like a second mother to Cassian. He’d always wanted to repay them for their kindness and when Rhys asked him to join him as his right hand man, the answer had been obvious.
He couldn’t tell Nesta that, though. She didn’t poke, either, seemingly satisfied with his answer. While Cassian cleaned up, Nesta made her way to the living room, picked up a book, and curled up on the couch. Cassian watched her pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and drape it over her tanned knees.
“Cold, huh?” he joked. 
“You fixed—”
A gunshot silenced both of them. Nesta jumped clean out of her skin, book falling from her trembling hands. Cassian frowned, his own heart racing with excitement. Finally, something interesting was happening.
His own gun was in his hand before Nesta ever stood. “Don’t move,” he whispered, motioning for her to get away from the window.
“Send the bitch outside!” a man’s voice yelled, filling Cassian with cold rage. He was at the door in a moment, flinging it open so it was his large body filling the space. On the lawn, a man stumbled forward, gun pointed at the sky. He pulled the trigger again, clearly trying to intimidate Cassian.
Cassian had been tied up before, a gun pressed against his lips while his cock was threatened with a knife. Some fucking rural drunk with a gun didn’t scare him. In truth, very little scared Cassian. He’d cheated death more times than he could count and he knew, as he stepped onto the lawn in the fading daylight, that he wasn’t going to die today.
This man, on the other hand…well. Cassian supposed it would depend on what he did next.
“Lower your weapon!” Cassian barked, his voice rough and menacing. The man jerked to look at him, eyes wide and watery. “Put your gun down or I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Send out your bitch—”
Cassian didn’t shoot him, but he did hit him in the face. Hard. Maybe too hard given the way the man crumpled at his feet as blood poured from his nose. Only the alcohol kept him from passing out which was lucky for Cassian.
Crouching in the grass, Cassian grabbed the man by his thinning hair and forced his head into an unnatural angle. “What did you say?”
“I called her a bitch,” the man spluttered through the blood. 
Cassian cocked his gun with his free hand and pressed it to the man's cheek. “Try again,” he whispered, fully intending on killing this man on the front lawn. Cassian’s finger pressed against the trigger just as Nesta barked, “Cassian!”
He twisted to look at her, arms crossed over her chest. She was fury incarnate right then, marching toward the pair of them without a care in the world. 
“Get out of her, Brent,” Nesta ordered, pointing her finger toward the gate. “This is embarrassing, even for you.”
“You ruined my life—”
“You ruined your own life by cheating on your wife!” Nesta spat without remorse. “And you’re ruining it by assaulting a federal officer.”
Cassian nearly choked. Did he look like a cop right then? 
“He assaulted me,” Brent protested, shoving out of Cassian’s grip.
“If I see you near her again, you’ll find yourself six feet under before you can utter one fucking word. Do we understand each other?” Cassian asked, rising to his full height. Brent glanced from the gun in Cassian’s hand to Cassian himself before offering a sullen nod. 
“Whatever,” he muttered, clearly trying to save face. Cassian watched him stumble off, forcing himself not to pull the trigger anyway at the man’s retreating back. Nesta came to stand beside Cassian, resting her soft, small hand on his forearm.
“That’s the guy getting the divorce,” she told him, as if Cassian cared who he was. Letting someone who threatened him walk away unscathed felt wrong and Cassian longed to rectify it. Where did he live, he wondered? 
“I can see why,” Cassian muttered, turning back for the house. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
“He’s not coming back—”
“He pointed a gun at you,” Cassian growled, the memory filling him with rage. 
Nesta only shrugged, proving that she was still part of the life whether she wanted to be or not. Did she know what a liar her younger sister was, he wondered? Did Nesta know it had been Feyre who killed her father? Looking at her in the warm light of the house, Cassian decided that a woman like Nesta wouldn’t allow herself to live this way if she hadn’t known. If she wasn’t protecting someone. 
Who was protecting her? 
“I’m fine,” Nesta reminded him. But Cassian knew all too well how differently things could have gone if he hadn’t been there. Cassian knew how quickly a bullet could end things. 
“I’ll feel better out here,” he said, setting his gun on the glass coffee table. “You won’t change my mind, Nes.”
She hesitated, eyes moving from him to the window. “Fine.”
Cassian had no intention of sleeping, though. He waited until he knew Nesta was asleep, slipping into her bedroom just to check. She was so lovely even in sleep and Cassian had to resist the urge to touch her face. Not tonight. Another night, perhaps—but not this night. 
The thing about small towns he found himself appreciating was how easy it was to find people. Slipping into a local bar, Cassian mentioned what had happened to the bartender, who helpfully told him where Brent lived. 
He didn’t bother to slip in quietly. If he wanted to be unnoticed, he would have called up Azriel. Cassian liked when his marks were scared, for whatever that said about him. Flexing his fingers, Cassian picked through the dirty, mostly empty house. He supposed Nesta was helping to clean him out.
Good for her.
Brent was waiting in a fraying brown chair, a bottle of Jack Daniels held loosely in one hand. “Knew you weren’t no cop,” he muttered. “You got the look of a felon.”
“Have you been talking to my third grade teacher?” Cassian asked, his tone light. “She used to say the same thing.”
“You ain’t foolin’ no one but that girl of yours,” Brent told him, eyeing the gun in Cassian’s hand. 
“She’s the only one I need to fool,” Cassain agreed, coming closer. “I swore an oath to protect her.”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“But you scared her,” Cassian said in that same friendly tone. “You came to her house and threatened her and I can’t stand for that.”
“Well, I don’t really care if I scared her. Sometimes women ought to be a little afraid.”
Cassian clenched his fingers. “Is that so?”
“Make your threats and get the fuck out,” Brent ordered, taking another swig of whiskey. Cassian saw his gun on a chipped side table. 
“You don’t have much going for you, do you Brent? Wife left you, took all your money…is about to take your house. You’ve got no job, no friends…anyone would lose it.”
“Yeah,” Brent mumbled, eyes glassy. “You get it.”
“If I were you, I’d probably kill myself too,” Cassian added, holding Brent’s gun in his hand. Brent’s eyes found him, big and wide with shock. 
“What did you say?”
Cassian shrugged, making his way closer to the inebriated man. “I don’t think anyone will be surprised when they find you. I’ll bet it takes them days before someone comes checking.”
“Look, you don’t have to do this. I can…I can pay you—”
“No you can’t,” Cassian said with a chuckle. “And even if you could, I wouldn’t take your money. This is about honor, of which you have none because an honorable man wouldn’t try and threaten a woman for doing her job.”
“She fucked me over—”
“You fucked yourself,” Cassian interrupted, reaching for Brent’s hair a second time. “And you made a mistake coming after her.”
“I’m sorry—”
Cassian pressed the barrel of the gun beneath Brent’s jaw.
“I know you are,” he said, holding the man’s gaze. “It’s not enough.”
And then he pulled the trigger. The relief he felt was instantaneous, his blood lust slaked. It took another few seconds to arrange the gun in Brent’s hand, letting both his arm and the weapon fall lifelessly into his lap. The bottle of Jack hit the floor with a thud, spilling over stained wood floors.
The scene was practically a work of art. Textbook suicide—no one would look twice at him or Nesta. That didn’t stop him from wiping his prints on the way out, just in case. He found himself back on the couch, face washed of blood, before two am. 
Cassian had been right about one thing: it took them three days to find Brent.
“Suicide,” Nesta said crisply when she learned, eyes focused on Cassian’s face.
He only smiled. 
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Let Me Win Your Heart
Nanami Kento x Reader
(Song inspiration: End Game by Taylor Swift)
You looked at the man in front of you. It was a typical Friday afternoon, but you were surprised that he even offered you lunch at a small cafe at your request. He sat there, almost impatiently and restless. You figured he didn’t like small places like this. Nanami Kento. Future CEO of security who loves his expensive and extravagant life.
“What’s the catch?” you asked curiously.
“My grandfather wanted me to talk to you personally,” Nanami said. “I think you heard about my rendezvous with other women?”
“Who hasn’t? You’re literally number one Casanova of the country, Nanami-san,” you said immediately, an icy tone apparent. Nanami ran his hand down his face with frustration.
“I’m future CEO of my grandfather’s security company and you’re going to inherit your father’s business soon,” he said.
“You’re prolonging, Nanami-san. You usually get straight to the point instead of pointing out already known facts.” Nanami sighed.
“They’re arranging us to get married,” he quickly said. He watched the color on your face disappear. “They want our business to merge. We’d be number one in Japan. And no more scandals from me, which won’t bring negative reputations to their future CEO.”
“What?” You remained calm. You didn’t want to bring too much attention to the both of you. “I—wait—what in the actual hell?” Nanami rolled his eyes.
“I tried to fight it, trust me Princess.”
“Don’t call me, Princess.”
“Fine. Sweetheart.”
“Shut up.” Nanami smirked. He always found it amusing to rile you up. And for some reason, it was too easy for him compared to everyone else. So he took any opportunity he can when you two crossed paths. You crossed your arms and turned away from him. But he caught the slight blush on your cheeks.
“I’ll drive you home,” he offered.
“I appreciate the offer, Nanami-san. But I can bring myself home.” Nanami nodded and stood up with you. He took your garbage and followed you out while throwing away the trash.
“I thought you’ll be bringing yourself home? Didn’t you have a ride or your car?”
“Nanami-san, didn’t you know? I’m new money around here. I don’t depend on drivers. Public transportation doesn’t bother me. Besides, I need a shopping spree before I argue with my father.” Nanami could only smile. “Don’t you have a date to woo tonight?”
“Not tonight,” he said. “But if you don’t mind me joining your shopping spree, I would like to accompany you.”
“You can carry my bags then.” Nanami chuckled and placed his hand on the small of your back as he lead you to the shopping centers. Despite his status and how he is, you appreciate his chivalrous side.
You stared at the engagement ring on your finger. A month passed. Your father was adamant about the engagement, you had no choice but to comply, even though Nanami Kento was the last guy you ever thought of being with.
But you were touched with Nanami’s choice of the ring. You remembered the day he sprung the news on you. You would look at rings and you adored certain styles that you didn’t think he would notice. But he did and you can’t help but let your chest feel warm at the thought.
The engagement was revealed to the public two weeks ago when Nanami gave you the ring. You blushed. You knew he would be the romantic type, but he made it a very intimate proposal. He made sure there weren’t a swarm of paparazzi when he brought you out for a date in a cute downtown setting.
But despite his sweet and romantic side, you knew that he was still seeing other women. At least, you remembered catching him with another woman a few days after the engagement. You remember running up to him and slapping him across the face. And deep down, it irritated you. You quickly fixed your hair before heading downstairs. Nanami stood there with a bouquet of flowers.
“Thank you, Nanami-san,” you said softly.
“You’re too formal, sweetheart,” Nanami said. “We’re are engaged. Kento is just fine.”
“I will call you Kento when I’m ready to call you Kento. Besides, with your rendezvous with women, you don’t deserve the first name title,” you said as you walked to the kitchen to arrange the flowers on the vase.
Nanami followed and leaned against the wall watching you. He wouldn’t admit it to you, but he enjoys every time he gets to have with you. He enjoys watching you arrange the flowers with the serene look on your face. He enjoys watching your smile. He even enjoys your side comments about him. He pushed himself off against the wall and walked towards you. He grabbed the scissors off your hand.
“You might accidentally cut yourself again,” he said softly and cut the ends of the flowers before handing it to you. You blushed, accepting his help. “Are you hungry? We can travel to Korea in my jet. We could have a nice weekend getaway.” You giggled.
“Since my schedule is free this weekend, I don’t see why not, Nanami-san. Should I pack my bags?”
“Nope, we’ll buy new clothes there. Let’s go, sweetheart.”
The moment you two arrived, Nanami brought you to a restaurant for dinner. It was a simple restaurant, which you were surprised. He would usually find a high end restaurant and when it’s your turn to pick, you pick a simple and affordable one. You prefer casual and simplicity.
“I’m surprised you chose this place,” you said.
“You’re not a fan of high end restaurants,” he said nonchalantly as he took a sip of his water. You blushed. “I figured you would like this.”
“Thank you.” Nanami smiled, making your heart race.
“I don’t date other women by the way,” Nanami said. “Ever since you caught me.”
“I honestly don’t believe you,” you said quietly.
“I know.” Nanami leaned forward closer to you. “But I’m going to prove it to you, sweetheart. I’ll win your heart over. And by the way, if Gojo touches you in a flirtatious way again, playful or not, I’m gonna snap his arm off.”
“Do you usually lead to violence, Nanami-san?”
“If it involves you, yes.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “I like you more than I thought I would.”
“Is that why you chose this restaurant? To show your interest towards me?”
“Of course, sweetheart. You want clothes? I’ll buy you a store. You need a vacation? I’ll buy you the country. Want to go stargazing? I’ll buy a star just for you to stare at all night long.”
“Are usually this romantic too, Nanami-san?”
“No.” You blushed. You somehow can see the truth and sincerity in his eyes.
“Don’t buy me a store, but we do have to go shopping if we’re here for the weekend.”
“Sweetheart, I can make sure the stores stay open just for you.”
“You’re too much.”
“You deserve it.”
“Nanami-san, I was only in middle school when my father’s business bloomed,” you said. “The only thing I like about the success is that I get to run the success. And the shopping, but that’s any female. You want to know why I don’t really take a liking to you?” Nanami was curious. He leaned closer, eager to know.
“Tell me, sweetheart.”
“Maybe I’m shallow for assuming this but, you’re all about money. I’m not. However, I give you a point for the restaurant choice,” you said with a smile.
“Then Gojo?”
“Oh, the man flaunts his money like there’s no tomorrow but we like going to bakeries to eat all the sweet treats around. We’re just besties.” Nanami chuckled. He stood up to walk close to you, leaning in so close that your noses touched, his hot breath touching your skin that made your hands tremble.
“Before our wedding, I’ll win your heart,” he said. “I will do anything and everything for you.”
“We’ll see, Nanami-san.”
Half a year passed, only three months left until the wedding. You were downstairs making sure the wedding plan was up to date and perfect before going to work. You heard the door unlock. You didn’t bother to check. Nanami has been coming over almost every morning that you decided to just give him a key to your home.
You heard his voice, already knowing that he’s on the phone. Nanami kissed your forehead before placing a cup of your favorite coffee on the counter and a brown bag that you could only assume was breakfast. You felt the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It happened every time with his simple and innocent kisses.
“Yeah, I should be able to leave in a few days. I’ll need to talk to my fiancé about it first,” Nanami said. He gave you a wink and you couldn’t help but blush. Nanami hung up and took the empty seat next to you.
“My favorite coffee and…is this a blueberry muffin?” you asked.
“Breakfast sandwich,” Nanami said. “However, there might be a blueberry muffin waiting for you for lunch.” You chuckled.
“So, where’s the emergency this time?” you asked.
“France.”
“Can I come?”
“I wanted to bring you along anyway. It’ll be okay with work?” You nodded as you took a sip of your coffee.
“Thank you for the coffee and breakfast, Kento,” you said, finally saying his first name. A wide smile spread across his face.
“You like playing hard to get,” he said as he held your hand. “Do I get to kiss those beautiful, soft lips yet?”
“Nope!”
“You’re killing me sweetheart,” he muttered.
“That’s the fun part,” you commented. “I have to hurry to work though. We are almost done with this project and I want to get this done before France.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The two of you held hands in Paris. You were eating your chocolate filled croissant, feeding Nanami some after your bite.
“Ouch!” you yelped when someone ran and bumped into you, causing you to drop half of the large croissant to the ground. Nanami immediately grabbed the person’s wrist and yanked the stranger towards him.
“Hey! What the hell?” the stranger exclaimed. When he looked at Nanami’s cold eyes, the stranger shook with fear. Nanami nodded his head towards you.
“You pushed my girl and hurt her,” he said coldly. As the stranger trembled, he turned to you.
“I am so sorry, madame!” he exclaimed. You blushed.
“I-It’s okay!” Nanami let the stranger go and he ran away. You gave Nanami a look, but he ignored that knowing look you were giving him every time he did that and looked at your arm.
“You’re not hurt?” he asked worriedly. The worried tone always made your stomach flutter.
“Y-Yeah, I’m okay Kento,” you answered softly. Nanami kissed your arm then your forehead. “But now I’m sad I don’t have a croissant.”
“I’ll make the bastard—“
“Kento! Let’s get some street food,” you said. Nanami smiled and nodded. “And tomorrow night after the meeting, I’ll be willing to go to a high end fancy restaurant.”
“It sounds like a date, sweetheart.”
“Is this a date too?”
“Any time spent together is a date.”
“You’re getting cheesy.”
“You lead me up to it, sweetheart. Let’s see how delicious their street food is, grab a drink or two, and head back to rest. You still have a meeting, right?” You nodded. Nanami wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He pulled you in close and kissed your forehead.
You lied in bed alone after your meeting since Nanami was away for his meeting. Your phone rang and rang as you tried to get Gojo to pick up.
“Your fiancé will kill me if he knew I was talking to you,” Gojo said.
“Shut up, you’re over exaggerating,” you said.
“He told me so.”
“He won’t because you and I are besties.”
“What’s wrong though?” Gojo asked worriedly. “Is he back to dating other women behind your back?”
“N-No,” you stuttered. “He—I—well…he’s literally the last person I thought I would like.” Gojo laughed on the other line. “Quit laughing!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—you actually have feelings for someone,” he said happily and excitedly. “You’re so career driven, it’s nice seeing you giving him a chance.”
“Kento isn’t seeing anyone, right?”
“Nope,” Gojo said. “The man loves you. His eyes stay glued to you. The way he looked at his previous dates does not compare to the way he looks at you. Trust me.” You sighed heavily on the other line.
“Kento’s right. He did win me over.”
“He won you over the moment he got down on one knee. You wouldn’t shut up about the fact that he was with another woman. But Nanami? He fell so hard that he would give up his business for you.”
“Please, that’s over exaggerating.”
“Not at all, Princess. The business is his world.”
You got up once you ended your call with Gojo. You could feel all the hidden emotions and feelings you have for Nanami escape. You decided to shower to cool down and to take your time in getting ready for your dinner date. Luckily you found a beautiful dark blue dress for dinner last night. You made sure your hair and make up was perfect.
By the time you finished, Nanami returned from his meeting. When he saw you, you notice a look in his eyes that you couldn’t describe. Desire? Admiration? You caught it a few times, but it seemed more evident right now than before.
“You look beautiful, my love,” he said and kissed your forehead.
“No more sweetheart?”
“Love sounds better right now. Let me get ready.”
He kept the bathroom door open when he hopped in the shower. You made it a habit of standing by the doorway when he does. You did enjoy making conversations with him because most of the time, alone time with him became scarce. And he was someone who listened to you, even during his showers after a long day of work. It was his patient trait that you highly appreciated from him.
“How was the meeting?” you asked curiously. You couldn’t help but picture a naked Nanami in the room. You started to feel warm under your dress.
“Better than I thought it would be,” he said. “What they thought was a major problem ended up being a small hiccup. We should plan a new shopping center. I have a building area set up and security planning thought of so everything else is up to you.”
“O-Okay,” you answered in a distant tone.
“You alright, love?”
“Yeah! Sorry, just spaced out for a bit.” You heard him chuckle.
“We can go out tomorrow if you’re tired.”
“I’m okay! I promise! I-I really want to go out with you tonight.” You blushed. And Nanami smiled widely.
“Is my fiancé getting shy now?”
“In your dreams, Nanami Kento.” Nanami laughed as he turned the shower off. He appeared in front of you with a towel wrapped around him. You immediately turned away. If you look at him, you might faint. ‘Too much emotions. Too much feelings,’ you thought.
“You sure you alright, love?” he asked curiously. You nodded vigorously. “We could—“
“Please get ready.” Nanami raised an eyebrow slightly at your odd behavior but complied to your request.
You took deep, quiet breaths. By the time you turned around, Nanami was dressed up and was putting his watch on around his wrist. He smiled when you turned around.
“Let’s go, love.”
You and Nanami laughed at the dinner table. Dinner was already done, desserts halfway through, and the wine bottle half empty. Nanami poured you another glass.
“I’ll pay for this dinner, Kento,” you said.
“I don’t let my lady pay,” Nanami said as he took a sip of his wine.
“It’s so pricey.” Nanami chuckled.
“My love, don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “We’re getting married soon. Remember what I said before.”
“Y-Yeah, but—“
“I want you, remember?” You looked at him with wide eyes. “Even when I win your heart over, I won’t stop. I’ll still adore you as if I’m trying to win you over every single day. Like right now.” Nanami smirked and it only widened as you stayed silent. “I think since Korea, I knew I was going to win your heart,” he said. “But I’m not too sure with you.” He let the fluttery feeling in his body blossom every time he watched you blush especially now. He watched you swallow the lump in your throat before you cleared your throat. You were composed again, face still flushed.
“Am I hard to read, Kento?” you asked with a sly smile. Nanami chuckled.
“Half of the time you are,” he said. He was moving closer to you until your knee touched his. “But I like it. You keep me on my toes. I don’t want to disappoint my future wife.”
He whispered in your ear. You felt your body shiver. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss. Nanami wasted no second in kissing you back while he cupped your face. You forced yourself to pull away. Nanami kept his hands gently on your face, breathless from the kiss. His forehead resting against yours.
“You won my heart,” you said.
“Love, you won my heart a week after the engagement,” he said. “You calling me out was very sexy and no one calls me out on my shit except you. I like it. Your slap was a wake up call.”
“Good. Because if you cheat on me, I’ll kill you.”
“It be an honor to be killed by a beautiful woman like you.” You playfully rolled your eyes.
“So cheesy.” Nanami gave you a soft kiss on your lips. “Kento-kun, after dinner, let’s walk around Paris again.”
“Anything for you, love.”
“And maybe buy me a large croissant again? I won’t drop it.”
“The bastard should’ve bought you a new one.”
“But I want my future husband to do it.” Nanami blushed and his heart was racing while you stared at him with big, innocent eyes.
“You’re killing me again, love.” He leaned in to your ear, his hot breath giving you goosebumps throughout your body. “You make me want to do so many things to you. And every single day, you drive me so damn crazy.” You suddenly felt dizzy and warm from his words. Nanami chuckled, his deep voice coursing through your body. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“H-How much do you love me?”
“I’d give up the world for you. You’re my world now, love.” The way he said it and described it sounded way better than the way Gojo did. Your heart race wildly. “And if that’s not enough, I’ll have to find another way to prove my love for you.”
“I think you proven enough,” you replied. Nanami smiled and kissed your lips softly.
“No excuse to stop though. I think tomorrow there’s a flea market happening in the morning. We’ll go there first thing before flying back home. How does that sound?”
“You hate flea markets.”
“But you love them.” A bright smile appeared on your face. Nanami intertwined his fingers to yours and raised your hand to his lips.
“I love you too, Kento.”
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theflawedwriter · 3 months
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Summary: The pain and hurt caused by someone she trusted more than anyone else led Harper down a treacherous path of self-doubt. Just when she was working on healing and finding herself again….she meets Joe. After months of promising herself that she would never fall for someone again…Harper finds herself dangling precariously on the edge of breaking that very promise.
Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, eventual SMUT. More warnings could follow and will marked appropriately in the chapter.
AN: Hello all! This is something that I've been working on for the last few months. The idea hit me, and without giving to much away, I have enjoyed writing it. However, this is an AU. Is it football centered? Not really. Is Joe even a football player in this? I like to keep my secrets to myself. So, you'll just have to wait and find out! 😂But, I am excited to share it with you and as promised, below is a short excerpt. Stay tuned on January 1st for the first chapter! As always, I appreciate all of you and can't wait for 2024 to arrive. May the new year bring you everything you could ever want, and always remember that you are important, you deserve happiness, and above all things...you matter! Much love!
Catch the sneak peak below! 🧡🖤
Harper had no idea why she decided that joining Quinn at the club that evening was remotely a good idea. But she owed it to her. When everything was falling apart, it was Quinn who picked Harper up and gave her a place to live. She was the one person who had Harper through the most painful moments over the last year.
Quinn was Harper’s best friend and had proved that time and time again.
So, when she had sent Harper a text and asked her to meet up at the new club downtown, Harper agreed. She worked all late afternoon fixing her hair, putting on makeup, and finding her most “club-appropriate” clothing before calling an Uber and making her way into the center of the city.
“Harper!”
Turning around, Harper saw Quinn waving her over. Mustering up the best smile she could, Harper made her way over through the throngs of people.
“Hey! I’m so glad you came…” Quinn exclaimed and hugged Harper tightly. It was so hard not to love Quinn. She was just a good person.
Harper smiled genuinely and nodded. “Thank you for asking. I was one glass of wine away from watching Forensic Files.”
Quinn screwed up her face in disgust.
“It’s Friday. You need to stop changing into your pajamas as soon as you get home.” Quinn said and grabbed Harper’s hand, leading her over to a table with a few girls already waiting. Harper recognized them as girls Quinn worked with. They all greeted Harper warmly and made room for her to sit down.
“Did he call you?” one of the girls, whom Harper knew as Audrey, asked.
“He did. He’s supposed to be here tonight,” Quinn answered and took a drink of her mimosa. The smile on her face told Harper it was more than likely this “Sam” guy she had mentioned a few times over the week. Quinn, being the ever-personable and social butterfly person she was, had met this Sam guy a few weeks prior at an event she had been working at. From what she told Harper, he seemed like a good guy. But Harper had her fair share of experiences with “good guys”; they just ended up sleeping with your coworker and gaslighted you into believing that you were the problem. As happy as Harper was for Quinn, she herself was not looking for anyone. At all.
“You don’t have a drink, babe! I’m so sorry…” Quinn suddenly said once she noticed that Harper was standing there empty-handed.
Harper looked at her and then back down at her empty hands and shook her head with a smile. “Don’t worry about it, I’m going to grab one. Be back in a bit. Anyone want anything?”
All four women shook their heads, and Harper nodded as she made her way through the dancing groups of people. The low melody of a song pumping through their veins, and Harper would admit to feeling the same beat.
She also felt eyes on her, and couldn’t help but lift her head. That’s when she saw him.
A man stood above everyone in what seemed like suites that overlooked the entire floor. She could see his sharp eyes as he watched over the entire room before his eyes landed on her. His face was stern. Not even the slightest of smiles decorated that sharp jawline. The black-on-black suit he was wearing fit him to perfection. But it was his eyes…so calm yet so intriguing.
Harper felt like he was staring into her soul, and she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to. The music and people faded away as the pair locked eyes. The sharp look on his face softened slightly as his head shifted slightly to get an even better look at her. Harper went entirely still.
“Harper!”
Quinn’s voice interrupted the moment, and Harper jumped, tearing her gaze away from him as Quinn quickly made her way over to Harper.
“Come on, let’s get your drink. Sam is here, and I want you to meet him!” Quinn explained as she pulled Harper to the bar. Before Harper moved along with Quinn, her head snapped back up to the suite balcony and saw it empty. He was gone.
And whoever he was, Harper was sure she'd never see him again. Or at least, that's what she thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AN: Whew! Here you all are! A little glimpse into what I hope is an entertaining story. I hope you enjoy and as stated…keep a watch out in January! Much love! 🧡🖤
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cellythefloshie · 7 days
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;; Baggage Chapter Two of Cool for the Summer
Table of Contents Chapter One «« 🤍 »» Chapter Three
Summary: Andrei arrives in Winnipeg for what he intends to be a summer of training. That is until he finds himself distracted by the girl next door, Harper. TW: No triggers apply. Word Count: 4k+
This chapter to be read in conjecture with @hockeyboysimagines I Loved You Three Summers Chapter One.
Winnipeg, Manitoba, was one of seven Canadian cities that an NHL team called home. Many players formed their opinions about the city: it was too cold, the hotels and accommodations were often less than satisfactory, and the city was too boring with little to do outside hangout with your teammates in the hotel room or at dinner. And after only a few years in the NHL, Andrei knew that all to be true. The winters were cold. The waters at the hotel had run cold. If it hadn’t been for his brother playing for the Winnipeg Jets, there would have been nothing for him to do during their one-night stay during the regular season. But in the summer, Winnipeg seemed different. 
The golden glow of a golden hour that he had seen as the place descended over acres of farmer’s fields that building by building became the small city still lingered as he loaded one back, and then the next into the trunk of the taxi that was waiting for them at the airport. Andrei followed Seth’s lead, climbing into the back of the cab and watching as the city evolved around him on their way to Seth’s childhood home on the opposite side of the city. 
The airport became factories, factories became shopping centers and apartment buildings that grew in height until they were towering office buildings in the heart of downtown. Hiding between it was, was the arena he had played in, and then it was all left behind as they were driven to the communities on the south side of the city. 
The houses there were stout, humble, and not quite new enough that one was a carbon copy of the next. Each house had character, with sprawling yards in the front, and Andrei was sure more in the back. It was the kind of neighborhood that kids played street hockey in, and mothers grouped together in walking groups with their dogs and babies before going back to the porches for a glass of wine while husbands cooked on the barbeque. The thought made him smile, even if just a little. It wasn’t home, and it was only temporary, but it would do. 
“That’s it, on the left,” Seth pointed out the window towards one of the larger homes on the street, one with two stories and a long driveway that sat side by side with their neighbors. Two vehicles sat fender to bumper, rusty and in desperate need of a replacement, but his eyes only lingered there for a moment as he got out of the car and rounded to the trunk to grab his bags. 
Andrei was much more interested in what was going on next door. Crammed into the narrow driveway was not one white Jeep Wrangler, but two, and they were both blocked in the driveway by a large U-Haul box truck. Its large frame blocked out the hot, setting sun, but the shadows of the two young women that stood at the back of the truck still stretched across the pavement. Both blonde, and both pretty, they seemed to be conversing there as they unloaded the boxes - the taller pointing into the back of the truck while the shorter was gathering something - a box - from inside. The pair exchanged the box, and it gave Andrei a good enough look at them to conclude one thing: they were sisters. They had to be. They looked too alike not to be. 
Before he could ask Seth about them, the taxi door was slamming, sending his gaze snapping back towards the road before a cheery shout of, “Seth’s home!” had his neck snapping back to the truck, but now, the taller of the blonde’s stood alone, with the smaller nowhere to be seen. Putting the box down at her feet, she jogged down the driveway - her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth against her shoulders with each stride - and she didn’t stop until her arms were thrown around Seth’s shoulders. 
And Andrei just stood there, one bag held in his fist while the other sat on the ground at his own feet, and he watched them. At first, if only because of the smile Seth wore as he welcomed her close, Andrei thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a girl Seth had used to date, or at the very least hook up with. But they hugged and spoke like family. 
“Look at you, mister NHL superstar,” her tone was teasing as she drew back, a bit of a hop in her step as she sunk her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. 
“Hardly,” Seth laughed, a single hand reaching up to push through the tangles of his dark hair. He was grinning, but his shoulders slouched - a little embarrassed, maybe. “Where’s Maddie?”
“Uh?” the blonde hummed, her body turning to look back towards the U-Haul and the front door. “I don’t know. She was just right here.”
Andrei’s eyes fixated on her mouth as she spoke, her lips full and caught somewhere between a smile and a frown, as if each corner would downturn the moment he looked away. He shouldn’t have starred, but he was captivated by the complexity of her expression. Her smile spread so widely into the fullness of her cheeks, but there was no light in her eyes. Only a heaviness in the hazel hue that had Andrei’s shoulder slouching and neck craning forward as if he could get a better look at them. As if he were imagining the storm in her eyes that clouded over the radiance of her smile. 
“Ah,” her smile altered, her nose wrinkling as she took a step back, “who’s this?”
Seth brought an arm around, his hand patting up against Andrei’s back firmly as he made the introduction, “my teammate Andrei, he’s going to be staying with me for the summer.”
“Lucky him,” there was an uncertainty in her tone, her eyes looking him up and down once and stopped once their eyes met again. 
“Luckier now,” Andrei spoke after a moment, a hand reaching out into the space between them. He had a tightness in her stomach, one he couldn't shake. He had made her uncomfortable with the staring, he knew it, but he couldn’t look away, not as Seth gave him a nudge and questioned him silently with a thick raised brown. “Seth didn’t mention having a sister-”
“No, no, not my sister,” Seth spoke quickly, raising his hands, almost as if the mere idea offended him, “Harper and Maddie grew up next door. She was my babysitter.”
“I don’t believe it, you look so young” Andrei grinned wide, his words laced with a low laugh. 
“Babysitter, not his mother. I’m not ancient,” Harper countered, her hand reaching out to shake his hand as it waited for her to hold between them. 
Her delicate fingers slid along his, meeting calloused palms and his careful but firm hold. Her touch left him holding his breath, hiding the excitement that sent his heart racing in the depths of his chest behind a calm smile. Andrei shook her hand long and slow, the thought of letting go not once crossing his mind until she leaned him, offered a soft smile and spoke, “you think I could get my hand back now?”
“Yes,” Andrei’s eyes went wide, his hand letting go of Harper’s as if it were now suddenly as hot as flame. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” she spoke, taking a step back, her first step of her accent up the driveway, “I’ll ah-” she hummed, her hand reaching up to rub the back of her neck, and Andrei watched it all still staring, shameless, “I’m going to go check on Maddie, let her know that you’re home. I’m sure she just ran inside to get something-”
Andrei’s eye didn’t leave her once as she stumbled back over her sneakers towards her front door. And he smiled a dopey grin as he took in the full sight of her. Harper wasn’t just a pretty face. She was petite and lean, but not in a fragile, feminine way. Harper was strong. He could see it in her muscles as she picked up the box she had abandoned in the driveway, and in the hop in her step as she jogged towards the house. Then she was gone, lost beyond what waited for her beyond the front door. It was then, with her out of sight, Andrei felt the force of Seth’s hand knocking him against his chest. 
“What was that man?” Seth was grinning as he reached down to grab his own bags and began to lead the way to his own front door. 
“She is very pretty,” Andrei smiled, following in his path, all the while looking back towards the door of Harper’s house. 
“Yeah, well,” Seth pushed open the door, his own words interrupting their conversation as he shouted out, “Mom, Dad? We’re home!”
Seth kicked his shoes off in the doorway, nudging them to the side with the toes of his dirty socks. Andrei did the same, tucking his sneakers to the side on a free space on a cluttered shoe rack before taking quick strides to catch up to Seth who was leading the way to the quest room that Andrei would be calling home until they went back to Carolina in September. 
It was small, with nothing more than a queen sized bed and a dresser for him to pack away his things. It wasn’t much, but it would do - especially with a distraction like Harper next door. He wouldn’t need much else. 
“Well?” Andrei pressed as he threw his bag down at the end of the bed, making himself at home. “Harper…”
“Last time I heard? She’s getting married in August-”
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
Without a hand to reach back for it, the front door slammed into its frame, leaving Harper to jump away from its firm rattle as it set her on course for her sister’s bedroom. One the way, she abandons what she considered the final box of her moving trip at the top of the basement stairs, and she doesn’t waste her time taking off her shoes - not when she will still need to run boxes to the storage locker she was renting on the outskirts of the city. But first, she needed answers. 
Taking the stairs going up two at a time, Harper hopped onto the landing and called out to her little sister, “Mads?” 
She paused, waiting for her to call back to her. Madison said nothing. 
Brows furrowing, she craned her neck to peer through the door that was left open just a crack. Anyone else would have considered it closed, but to Harper, it was an invitation to let herself inside. Looking one way, Harper looked over an unmade empty bed, and looking at the other, she found her sister seated at her desk, one leg brought up to hug it against her chest, while she appeared occupied. But Harper knew her better than that. Madison was just trying to look busy. 
Harper sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest, her lead leaning to rest against the door frame. If their father was home, she would have walked right in and closed the door, but it was just them in the house and he wouldn’t be back until the early hours in the morning. They would have more than enough time to talk; “What was that all about?”
“What?” Madison didn’t look up from her desk, instead she reached out for something Harper couldn’t quite see, and toyed with it in her fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Madison,” Harper’s tone was firm, caught somewhere between concerned sibling and mother. It was one of the harsh traits and realities of growing up without their mother - and growing up the eldest of two daughters. 
“Harper,” Madison countered, the smile in her voice almost enough to leave Harper groaning. 
Did she really have to be so difficult? Though, was Harper really in the position to push her way back into her sister’s life? She had been living on her own since she was eighteen, and was only now moving home almost a decade later because of her own mistakes. Mistakes Madison had not one clue about. They had grown so far apart there were parts of her life Harper was sure Madison couldn’t even fathom. Maybe that fact went both ways. 
“You can’t hide shit from me, you know that,” Harper reminded. Before, when she was still at home, and they were still close, they told each other everything. And even when they didn’t, they always found out. “I know something’s wrong.”
Pushing off her desk, Madison swiveled in her seat. “You always were the smart one.”
“Smart?” Harper raised a brow as she pushed up from where she propped herself against the doorway and moved to sit at the end of Madison’s bed. “Sure, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I know you, and what happened outside, that’s not normal.”
Seth and Madison, they had been inseparable since they were in diapers. There were pictures on the walls and buried deep in photo albums to prove it. Harper knew that better than anyone - hell, she was the one that was stuck babysitting them both until they were old enough to be trusted alone. Even then, her father - and Seth’s parents - often had her chaperone. She had attended too many middle school dances in her lifetime to admit and even more hockey games. But Harper would do anything or her sister - and Seth, but only if he asked nicely. 
“Fine,” Madison sighed, “Can we keep this between us, though?”
Harper only nodded, scared that saying anything else would leave Madison second guessing her decision to tell her anything. 
“Last summer, things got kind of…” Madison sighed, her head hanging on her shoulders and sending her long blonde bangs into her eyes. A single hand raised to fix them as she spoke. “Weird I guess? We were at this party right before he left for camp-”
Harper’s stomach sunk, her head spiraling with every worst possible outcome, and every protective instinct sent her nerves raw. 
“He was with some girl. It just pissed me off, and we had a fight.”
She shouldn’t have been relieved by what she heard, but Harper was letting out a long sigh of relief all the same. Then, she sat there for a moment, her fingers picking at her own nail beds as she worried that Madison might not like the conclusion she had reached with the little detail she had offered her, “was that fight with Seth because you were jealous.”
“No,” Madison scoffed, “I was just mad he was with another girl?”
Harper’s head cocked and her eyes narrowed. “That’s what jealousy is, Mads.”
Madison blew out a breath and let her gaze fall to her feet. “Whatever, so yeah,” she spoke quickly, “I’m just not ready to see him yet.”
“Holy shit, Mads,” Harper couldn’t stop herself from letting a smile spread over her features, “are you telling me that you like Seth?”
“I think so. I mean, why else would I get upset like that if I didn’t? Right?”
“Right,” Harper nodded, “I baby sat both of you for such a long time, and I would have never guessed it’d come to that. But maybe I’m not as good of a sister as I thought I was…” There were a lot of things Harper wasn’t good at anymore. She wasn’t a good daughter, a good sister, or a friend. Most days, she wasn’t even good at being herself. “Do you think he likes you?”
Madison’s shoulder shrugged, and Harper couldn’t help but to smile. Suddenly, she felt like a teenager again. A teenager just trying to help her little sister through the mundane pressures of middle school and puberty. When the troubles were nothing more than getting a bad grade on a test, what jeans were in fashion and crushes on boys. 
“Last time I checked, the answer was no,” Madison sighed, but was quick to turn the table on Harper. If there was one thing the Alexander sisters were, it was supportive of one another. “And don’t say that. You’re a great sister.”
“That was last summer. Could be different now. He’s had a whole season away, and a lot of time to think about how things ended between the two of you.”
“Maybe-”
“Talking to him might help things, or at the very least put things at ease between the two of you. And if he doesn’t know how you feel, he can’t act on any feelings he might also have. You know?” Harper smiled, but it was quick to waiver. She was the last person that should be giving any kind of relationship advice. “I’m sure you don’t want my advice, though. I’m not exactly a love expert these days.”
Madison’s frown mirrored her own, but for a different reason. “I always want your advice. You’re the smartest person I know, and you’re my big sister. Don’t ever think for one second I don’t value what you say, or want your opinion.” It was the heart to heart they needed, and it was punctuation with a mischievous smile and a playful, “bitch.”
It was the very word they needed to break out into laughter. Harper lay back on her sister’s bed with open arms. She welcomed her sister from her perch on the chair, the two of them laying together in the bed for a moment as Harper stared at the ceiling. Her eyes burned with the emotional acid that were tears. Refusing to look at her own sister was the only way to keep her sister from seeing them. She had missed moments like that. She had missed what it felt like to have someone for support. Harper had missed her sister more than she had realized. 
“You’re smart, kind and beautiful, Mads,” Harper did her best to keep her voice calm, “if a guy can���t see that, then he’s dumb and not worth your time. And that still applies, even if it’s Seth. The guy should know how amazing you are by now.”
“You’re smart, kind and beautiful too,” Madison reminded her, “and someday a guy will see that… Like that hottie in the driveway! WHO was that?”
Nope. Was the first thing to cross Harper’s mind at her sister’s words, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t feel beautiful, kind nor smart, or if it was that she didn’t want to talk about the very awkward encounter with Carolina Hurricanes forward, Andrei Svechnikov, in her driveway. He had stared a little too long, and maybe so had she. His voice was so deep she could feel it in her bones as he spoke, and her hand? She swore she could still feel it wrapped around hers as she flexed it even then, as it was empty. 
He had left her feeling more than she had in the last month, though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she was feeling. So she settled on being confused, and not saying a damn word about it. “He’s Seth’s teammate, Andrei I think-”
Kissing her sister’s hair, Harper peeled away from the hug and began to move for the door before she could feel her sister’s pressure to divulge any further. What could she divulge? Harper didn’t actually know. Their encounter had been brief, but she had seen enough to support her sister’s question: he was very attractive, albeit young. But she wasn’t going to admit that. Not Maddie, not to anyone. 
Andrei was far too young to have her thinking anything like that. 
“Anyway, I have some boxes I need to unpack,” Harper hummed, her hand grasping at the door frame to whip herself from the room while calling out behind her, “and I’ll be ordering pizza for dinner. My thank you for helping my dumb as move back in!”
Then, before her sister could question her on it, Harper raced down both flights of stairs and was forced to stop in her tracks at the bottom of the second flight. What was once the basement she and her sister performed self-written plays for their father in, and also doubled as a mini-sticks rink was now a collection of piled boxes, and a new IKEA bed built and shoved awkwardly between furniture that has been around since the 90s. This would be her new bedroom. There was still much more to be done. Table to move, her boxes to unpack, and sheets to wash. It all seemed like too much, it all an overwhelming, suffocating feeling on her chest as Harper stood there surrounded by it all. 
Her palms began to sweat, and a hand raised up to pull at the collar of her shirt that was nowhere near her neck. It was the new beginning she needed, even though she hated that it had to come at the ripe age of twenty-seven. This wasn’t where she was supposed to be, living in her father’s basement, but it was where she needed to be. 
Harper had accepted that. 
But Darren hadn’t. 
Her phone vibrated in the tight pocket of her rights. It had been buzzing on and off throughout the evening as she had unpacked the U-Haul, but it was only as she stood surrounded by the mess that was her life that Harper had the time to answer it. Even then, she almost didn’t when she was her ex’s name on the call display, but she wanted to give him the closer he seemed to so desperately need. 
“Hey,” her voice croaked, “what’s up?”
“I just got in. You left your keys on the counter? And I can’t find the-”
Harper’s eyes shut tight, a single hand raising up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. Darren knew this was happening. She didn’t know why he pretended he didn’t. It was only going to make it more difficult for the both of them. 
“I moved out the rest of my stuff today, Darren.” Harper did her best to keep her voice firm. They were over. That needed to be clear.
“Harp-”
“Don’t!” Her grasp tightened around her phone, her heart racing in her chest, and her stomach on the verge of lurching. At first, going back home was just to get space. Harper had spent weeks sleeping on the sofa, trying to work things out, but there was no healing for Harper. Their problems were only solved temporarily, or only seemed to exist for her, not for him. She was tired, living each day in resentment while Darren lived each day, loved and taken care of. 
Harper wanted that same respect. 
Darren promised it. 
It never came. 
“Don’t call me anymore. Goodbye, Darren.”
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦
Winnipeg was cold until it wasn’t. Even in the early days of summer, Andrei could feel it. The heavy sweat on his skin that came with the thick humidity in the air. It should have reminded him of Carolina nights, but his place back home had a temperature control that didn’t rely on an old, rickety air conditioning unit that was wedged in his window. It rattled and stalled before roaring to life again when the heat became unbearable. It left Andrei tossing and turning on what would have been a comfortable bed if it weren’t for the heat that surrounded him. 
Blankets were tangled between his legs, shoved to one side of the bed and then the other before joining the pillows on the floor and leaving Andrei laying in nothing but his boxers in the bed. It wasn’t enough. He needed to cool off somehow. 
Groaning, he pushed himself up from the bed and moved quietly into the kitchen. Andrei moved through the cupboards quietly. Opening one after the other until he found a glass and filled it up with tap water when he couldn’t find a pitcher in the fridge. He filled it until it overflowed, drank it dry, and filled it again. It was cold, but wasn’t cold enough. It left him cursing under his breath as he placed the glass down on the countertop. His head hung low on his shoulders, his eyes shutting for a moment as he contemplated messaging his brother to sleep on the couch in his condo for the remainder of the summer. 
But when his eyes opened, they fixated on the blue bin below, and a photograph that was buried among empty beer cans and old pizza boxes. Usually he wouldn’t have looked twice, but there was one face prominent on the glossy image, the pretty neighbor, Harper. 
Crouching down, Andrei pinched the picture between his fingers and pulled it from the recycling bin. He winced as the box tumbled, clamoring as they fell to the ground, but the house remained silent. He was the only one awake. Letting out a heavy sigh, Andrei stood up straight, and held the photo in the moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window. 
Harper wasn’t alone in the photo. She was embraced by a handsome, apparently older man with his hair cut short and stubble covering his jawline. In elegant cursive it read, you’re invited to the wedding of mr darren fletcher and ms harper alexander. The save the date was for the August long weekend, just under two months away - but when Andrei moved to the large calendar that Mrs. Jarvis hung up on the kitchen wall to keep track of deadlines for the school year Andrei noticed one thing: the wedding date on the calendar was scratched out.
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Taglist: @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @mp0625 , @misunderstoodwerewolf , @callsign-denmark , @puckmaidens , @xciciix , @cixrosie
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pillow-anime-talk · 8 months
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Good day! For your event, may I ask for prompt 20 with William from mtp? Congratulations on reaching 4k followers milestone! Your writing is great, keep it going! :3
# tags: scenario; current relationship; soft romance; fluffy shit; a bit of angst; mention of cancer; sfw
includes: gender neutral reader ft. william james moriarty {mtp}
author’s note: thank you, anonnie! have a nice day/night too :)
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20. “Why are not you listening to me?” “... I’m very lucky to have you, you know?”
Warm summer weather, someone wonderfully playing violin music in the center of the city, beautiful looking women and dignified men are a typical Saturday evening in London in the middle of August. You and William took a walk around downtown, occasionally stopping by the shops to buy something sweet or as a souvenir. This was your partner’s first free time in many long weeks that he could devote to rest, to you and your love. He didn’t have to worry about work, his brothers and friends, the battle with Sherlock or the rich people around him every day. He could pretend to be one of them, enjoying a nice time with you and your warm hand that held his slightly larger one tightly all the time. You were his greatest treasure and the most precious pearl.
That day you visited several food stalls, bought a lovely set of hair bows, drank amazingly warming coffee and stroked the cats basking in the sun, right next to one of the monuments. It was a day full of attractions and smiles.
“…Next week I’ll have to go to a meeting at the library. Annabelle, Jack and Mary want to throw a small party on the top floor of the building to gather the rest of the money for a hospice for children with cancer.” You said with a shy smile and then glanced to your right. The pleasant smell of cinnamon buns and whipped cream hung in the air. “I’d also like to help Susanne make a cherry pie for a little girl who’s turning ten that day… Hey. Why are you not listening to me?” You stopped mid-step, looking at the man with furrowed brows. His calm face expressed many emotions – from sincere joy, through true affection, to pride and understanding for you. There was no boredom or nervousness in his gaze, he was just happy.
“…I’m very lucky to have you, you know?” The question was purely rhetorical and made your cheeks blush warmly. Lightly embarrassed, you squeezed his manly hand tighter. “It is really wonderful that you are helping these small children.” He added a little softer, pulling your body into a long hug. The smell of cinnamon tickled your nose even more, and you just nodded.
“These children are loved by no one but us. They are amazing and very smart. Maybe someday you’ll come with me to the hospice? I’m sure they’d love to hear your stories.” You said happily, dragging the man towards the coffee shop.
“… If that’s what you want, of course I’ll go there with you, my dearest.”
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rookieforlife · 2 years
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Angel City FC's Christen Press on the 'Unfair and Unjust' Expectations as a Female Athlete
The soccer star opens up about the impact she hopes to have on aspiring young players while launching her all-inclusive and limited edition clothing line, the New Everyone Club
Forget the old boys' club mentality. Angel City FC's Christen Press is putting her own spin on the idea with her new, limited edition merch collaboration — the New Everyone Club.
The collection is a first of its kind clothing line meant to celebrate and embrace underrepresented groups and create a community where all walks of life — women, people of color, non-binary individuals and other marginalized groups — are invited to the table to mutually empower one another.
"When we had the initial narrative of what is The New Everyone Club, the first thing that comes to mind is, how do we bring this story to life?" Press, 33, tells PEOPLE while announcing her collaboration with Angel City, Klarna and re-inc. "Looking at images of spaces that have been dominated by men like golf clubs and board rooms was part of the initial conception for this."
But she realized that it's not "enough to have an old boys' club and say, 'Okay, let's open the doors to women.' That's not good enough. 'Let's open the doors to people of color. Let's open up doors to queer people.' That's not good enough. We have to design spaces with those groups in minds, and that's the only way you get equity."
The line will start with socks, shorts, shirts and a hoodie with all-inclusive sizing, for anyone to wear.
Press is thrilled with New Everyone Club, but she also laments as a female athlete, there are higher expectations on her to do more outside of the soccer pitch than male athletes.
"I think on the one hand, there is a cerebral understanding that I have that it shouldn't be my expectation as a female athlete to be so much more than an athlete," she says. "But those are the unfair and unjust expectations that are put on women."
Still, Press wants to do her part for young, aspiring players.
"Being inspirational for young female athletes absolutely falls in that category of bringing me purpose and meaning, and so that's the why, and when you have a strong why, then everything else is easy and falls into place," she says.
In order for her message to be heard, the US Women's National Team player knew she had to capture the perfect campaign image for her line. They photographed it in a dark library, a nod to those old boys' club spaces that others typically can't get into.
"Looking at images of spaces that have been dominated by men like golf clubs and board rooms was part of the initial conception for this, and Angel City did a great job collaborating with us on that and then truly blowing it out of the water and how we brought it to life."
And now, as her team tries its best to make the playoffs, Press, who's sidelined due to a June ACL tear, is focusing on spreading positivity.
"It's actually beyond soccer and beyond everything because part of the reason that I was so excited to join Angel City was because the values reflected," Press shares. "Those [of] my own and the ones that I've instilled in my business."
The collaboration first drops exclusively on Klarna Sept. 23 and ranges in price from $38-$168.
With 10 percent of proceeds being donated to the Downtown Women's Center, a non-profit organization fighting to end homelessness for women in greater Los Angeles, Press knew this special collab was the perfect match.
"It's for all people that are trying to pave a new way forward, who are bucking old norms and status quo expectations and ready to re-imagine a more beautiful future," says the two-time Olympian. "It is absolutely why I thought it would be a fantastic opportunity for our brands to come together, to celebrate our beautiful and diverse communities that we've both developed, either inside or close next to the women's soccer world."
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letabbyfight · 5 months
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All Six PWHL Teams Have Homes; Toronto Set To Play At Mattamy Athletic Center (Exclusive)
With the new women's hockey league set to begin play in January 2024, all six PWHL teams have a home venue and practice facility
Published 10/18/23 08:37 PM ET | Dan Lauletta
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Sources familiar with the league’s plans told The Messenger that the PWHL Toronto team will play a majority of its home games at Mattamy Athletic Center in Downtown Toronto. Bruce Bennett/Getty Images
The PWHL Toronto team is planning to dip into the city’s storied history when the team takes to the ice for the inaugural season in January. Sources familiar with the league’s plans told The Messenger that the team will play a majority of its home games at Mattamy Athletic Center in Downtown Toronto. Mattamy is part of the historic building once known as Maple Leaf Gardens where the NHL’s Toronto Maple Leafs played from 1931 to 1999. The iconic signage along Carlton Avenue remains, although the building now has multiple uses. Mattamy’s hockey rink, located on the third floor beneath the famous roof, has a seating capacity of about 3,000.
There is plenty of interest in where each PWHL team will play games, but with training camps set to open in four weeks, practice venues are of more immediate concern. Sources told The Messenger that Toronto’s team is expected to practice at Ford Performance Center, which is also currently utilized by the Maple Leafs and the AHL’s Toronto Marlies. Dedicated locker rooms at Ford are part of future plans for the PWHL team.
Ottawa was the first PWHL team to offer a window into its home arena when general manager Michael Hirschfeld said during his introductory media availability that the team would practice and play games at TD Place Arena — currently home to the Ottawa 67s of the OHL and the Ottawa BlackJacks of the Canadian Elite Basketball League — and that a new, dedicated dressing room is being built out for the PWHL team.
Further down the road, a proposed project, known as Lansdowne 2.0, is in the approval stages and includes a replacement arena for TD Place, which has been in use since 1967.
Montreal appears to have the most obvious and stable arena situation heading into the league’s debut season. The team is expected to play and train out of Centre 21.02 at Verdun Auditorium. The facility, opened in 2020 as a high-performance hockey training center specifically for women’s hockey, was founded by Montreal general manager Daniele Sauvageau. During the free agent period last month, Montreal was the only team to introduce their signings in person, doing so at Verdun. The PHF’s Montreal Force and the PWHPA’s Montreal hub, as well as Team Canada, have previously trained there.
South of the border, Minnesota is expected to train at TRIA Rink and play home games at Xcel Energy Center, a deal first reported by John Shipley at the St. Paul Pioneer Press. That would put them in lockstep with the NHL’s Minnesota Wild. Given that the PWHL is targeting game venues with capacities in the 5,000-seat range, there is some concern about Xcel’s 20,000-seat capacity arena feeling too big in the league’s inaugural season. The PHF’s Minnesota Whitecaps had a successful run playing games at TRIA until 2022. The Athletic reported earlier this month that Minnesota GM Natalie Darwitz is working with the facility to build out a dedicated treatment area, equipment room and lounge.
Boston is expected to play most home games at the 6,500-seat Tsongas Center in Lowell, as reported by Mark Divver of New England Hockey Journal. Sources told The Messenger that the team will train and have dedicated locker rooms at Boston Sports Institute in Wellesley.
While the PWHL named New York as one of its six original markets, that geographic descriptor is a loose one. A source familiar with the league’s planning said most home games will be played at Total Mortgage Arena in Bridgeport, Connecticut, home of the AHL's Bridgeport Islanders. The PWHL team is expected to have a dedicated locker room and train out of Chelsea Piers Connecticut in Stamford — the venue that hosted Connecticut Whale Games in the inaugural NWHL season.
The home rinks will not be the only ones in use during the 2024 PWHL season. The 24-game schedule will include neutral-site games, potentially accounting for two of 12 scheduled home games. There could also be alternate venues used in-market. Toronto could play games at Scotiabank Arena and New York may head to Long Island for the occasional contest at UBS Arena.
When reached for comment, a PWHL spokesperson said formal announcements about facility partnerships will be made in the coming weeks.
The inaugural PWHL season is set to begin in January and the game schedule is expected to be released later this month.
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straightplayshowdown · 6 months
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Indecent: The story of Sholem Asch’s controversial play, The God of Vengeance, and the passionate artists who risked everything to bring it to the stage. The story—about the daughter of a brothel owner who falls in love with one of her father’s prostitutes—was polarizing even at its first readings, with many of Asch’s fellows arising him to burn it. Nevertheless, it achieved great success on the stages of Europe and in the Yiddish theatre scene of downtown New York City. But when an English-translation was attempted on Broadway, the play—featuring the first kiss between women on a Broadway stage—proved too scandalous for the general public, and the entire cast was arrested and charged with obscenity. 
Medea: The plot centers on the actions of Medea, a former princess of the kingdom of Colchis, and the wife of Jason; she finds her position in the Greek world threatened as Jason leaves her for a Greek princess of Corinth. Medea takes vengeance on Jason by murdering his new wife as well as her own two sons, after which she escapes to Athens to start a new life.
Propaganda under the cut!
Indecent:
Best, most emotionally resonant play I have ever seen performed. It recounts the controversy surrounding the play God of Vengeance by Sholem Asch, which was produced on Broadway in 1923, and for which the producer and cast were arrested and convicted on the grounds of obscenity. In God of Vengeance, the brothel owner's daughter falls in love with the female prostitute. Vogel's play goes far beyond recounting the censorship. It's a complex story that follows the show's playwright and performers and how their relationship to the material changes from the plays original run, to the Broadway censorship, to the Holocaust. It focuses on the need for hope and love.
A troupe of ghosts rise to keep alive the story of author Scholem Asch's most controversy play. In three languages & innumerable roles (including a turn by Katarina Lenk in the 2017 Broadway production) the lovers in God of Vengeance preserve for the stages of eternity one rain-soaked & sacred night. Meanwhile Asch, once a passionate defender of the plays love story against intracommunal accusations of fueling antisemitism and well, indecency...he gets quieter as Lemml becomes the stage manager of a story whose ending he will always forget. The play that convinced me that I could & would read Yiddish theater.
A breathtaking play about art, censorship, and Jewish lesbians, by THE Jewish lesbian. "He’s crafted a play that shrouds us in a deep, deep fog of human depravity: then like a lighthouse, those two girls. That’s a beacon I will remember."
Medea:
Imagine you are an Athenian man at the Dionysia circa. 431 BC. You are drunk. Your little Athenian wife is at home weaving or giving birth or talking to the slaves about vegetables or something. On stage, you watch a man dressed as a woman give one of the greatest monologues of all time about how hard it is to be a woman. Maybe you are moved, maybe not. Then you watch her KILL HER CHILDREN with a sword and FLY off into the sky in a chariot pulled by DRAGONS. Wyd?
I do love me a greek play. Chorus is all 'oh no, murder is happening, someone stop it. We can't, obvs '
It’s MEDEA by EURIPIDES. 
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soranihimawari · 8 months
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Good as Hell
A drabble of sorts inspired by this list:
Sunflowers by Van Gogh
SingleParent!Kita x reader
Supporting cast: Kita Hae (6years old); Miya twins
Word count: 1.7K
Rating: KSF (kita shinsuke fluff)
Warnings? Read the disclaimer below ⬇️
Disclaimer/Brief backstory:Kita’s unnamed ex has been out of the picture for about four years, abandoning the farm and leaving behind a two year old Hae on the screen porch along with papers to surrender mother/parental rights thus leaving Kita the sole guardian of his child; Miya twins agree to help their former captain out by becoming godfathers and it is also fair to imply that the rest of the notable players from Inarizaki are Hae’s precious, formed uncle squad.
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It’s not everyday that the farmer’s market near the Mori-Kita farmlands would host a night market, but alas, there comes a time for firsts like this summer night. On the eve of the summer solstice, all former students of the Inarizaki sports team had been contacted especially to help one former captain put on an excellent stand for said night market. One half of the Mori-Kita farm owners, Kita Shinsuke, had an easy time setting up the night market stand after receiving a few critiques on the product being sold via his financier, Mori-kun. Regardless, the former captain enlisted the help of all his underclassmen as much as he could to have the stand market-ready by the end of July.
The prep time had been scheduled about a month before the date of the local night market, yet you happened to be off from your inner-city job in the downtown area this particular weekend. A few coworkers from the motorcycle dealership had decided to take a few days off together for team building purposes and attend the summer solstice festivities in the country-side. You had received an invitation as the newest staff member in the mechanic division, suffice to say the men and women whom you work with were using this time to not only get to you know a little better, but to also ask those personal, yet kind of awkward family questions (ex. You have a boyfriend/girlfriend? Where did you learn to ride and fix motorcycles or dirt bikes? etc.). Your calm and nonchalant demeanor caused a few rumors to spread outside of the garage. To be fair, you do your job as best as the rest of them, but when you mentioned you had lived alone for an x-amount of years, your shop buddy, Kunei-senpai, had seemed to thwart any other awkward questions. He was able to shoo away those pesky up sellers from the showfloor out of the garage when they had been very clearly harassing you for dates and the like.
Thankfully, by the end of the first two work weeks, you had been included in very many lunch breaks and even had been invited to a bar by the shop owners to gain familiarity with everyone you work with. A few nights before the night market, you receive a call from Kunei, mentioning to meet up around 6:30p.m. by the old YMCA pool center:
“Apparently, that’s where the motorcycle parking will be, see you tomorrow YLN-san!”
Flash forward after busy work week, the night of the official night market arrives. You meet up with the others at the appointed time in the parking lot where Kunei-san had mentioned. You’re walking by the official banner entrance and you all eventually branch out. You’re at the warmed yams stand when you spot a lost kid who in their heightened panic runs straight to you, panic crying no less. You pay the stand owner and you ask for a sliced version of what you ordered, attempting to soothe and calm the kid. You kneel down after paying for the second portion as you introduce yourself:
“Hello, I’m yn-san. Can you tell me your name?”
The kid sniffles and bops their head.
“I’m Hae. Kita, Hae,” they straighten up and try to formerly shake your hard.
“Say, I have some extra sliced steamed yams here, are you allergic?”
Little Hae shakes their head and you notice how fair their platinum blonde hair is along with their bronzed fox-Iike eyes. It’s like they hit the generic lottery and that kid would break a lot of hearts when they’re older. Regardless, when Hae says they aren’t allergic, you hand them the little to-go boat with a disposable fork in the steamed vegetable. You’re eating yours as you suggest that you two stick together until Hae finds their way back to their parent’s stand.
“Daddy’s got a stand here tonight,” Hae says after taking a sip of the water you provided at a soda stand.
“And how did you get lost?” You wonder.
“My goddofāzās, ´Samu & ‘Tsumu, went to help my daddy bring stuff from the truck and I saw a cat plushie I wanted, so I walked to find it,” Hae looked dejected and embarrassed when they said that.
You try not to laugh, this was serious matter after all, but you’re sure whoever Hae calls ‘daddy’ is busy scolding his friends who were left in charge of watching the kid. Honestly, on the defense of the godfathers, Hae seemed really put together for a six year old. Sure, a little shaken up, but now with a stomach filled with a vegetable snack and water, you’re sure the kid is more determined to help you help find their parent.
Along the way, a few of your coworkers saw you being friendly with little Hae. They sort of send out a text chain saying that the kid looks like the spitting image of the owner of the sponsored booth for the night market. Luckily, your phone goes off and though Hae holds your hand, you use your free hand to read and catch up with the text chain. The ambient sounds of the night market around you calms you as you observe and let Hae lead you down a row of booths they think seems familiar. You give your thanks to your coworkers as they helped narrow down the booths and probable solo guardian of your one new pint-sized friend.
Elsewhere, a set of twins are getting an earful from a worried and angry father:
“Hae’s the most precious person t’me and you both lost ‘em?!”
“We sent out the Bat-Signal to the team, kita,” one of the godfathers says.
“Don’t worry, Hae’ll come running back here in no time,” the other says.
“For both your sakes, I pray my kid comes back in one piece…” Kita grumbles a string of curses as he reluctantly goes back to his stand to man the register.
It takes another fifteen minutes for Hae to start recognizing some familiar booths and although they complain about how much their feet hurt, you notice how the kid’s feet had already outgrown the shoes…
“Say, Hae,” your voice calms down their excited heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
You step in front of Hae and ask if it’s ok with them for you to pick them up and the serendipitous moment Hae says yes, you’re literally almost tackled to the ground by two men who wear the same face—so you scream and push Hae’s head into your shoulder as you make a run for it and those two fools slam into each other chest first. Hae’s laughing the entire time and now your brain is hitting overdrive as you let the adrenaline sink into your bloodstream until you hear a deeper voice call out to Hae. Judging by how much Hae squirms in your arms, you presume this was their father’s voice you hear.
Slowing to a stop, you see the kanji in large font as the cashier jogs to meet you.
“Daddy!” Hae excitedly exclaims as their father who by the way, seems to have been original in terms of strong inherited jeans. You put the kid down and you watch Hae run off to their father’s waiting arms. The two gentlemen from before come back defeated and after a few minutes of scolding alongside a heart to heart with not following strangers, you clear your throat.
“Technically not a stranger, “ you point to yourself. “New friend, right Hae-Chan?”
Hae nods much to their father’s dismay, although when he looks at you in your black jeans, smudged crimson striped shirt, dirty under the fingernails from motor oil from the latest tune-up in the shop, and sensible boots, he can’t help but soften the scowl on his face.
“Hae, promise me you’d stay with your godfathers this time, ok?” Hae’s father says he lets them go into the other men’s care.
It’s only apparent to you now that the gentlemen from earlier are not only the godfathers, but also twin siblings who can be heard making small bets with Hae when they depart the stand for a few minutes.
“So,” Hae’s father begins. He sheepishly gives you a small smile while stuffing his hands into his jeans pocket.
“Umm…YLN, YN,” you extend a hand for him to shake.
He shakes your hand while apologizing for his child’s behavior—
“It’s alright, really,” you chuckle. “I liked their company…”
“I think I might like yours too,” he says.
You blush a bit, nodding along while he sort of chortles over speaking his mind.
“Over coffee sometime?…would that be ok?”
He pulls a business card from the register: it has a star and small cornucopia of seasonal vegetables on it: KITA FARMS INC.
He takes a pen and scribbles down his phone number for you on the back and hands it to you.
“I’ll call you sometime,” you say, squinting at his precise penmanship. “Kita Shinsuke.”
His eyes are a softer bronze tone when you say his name for the first time. It’s like you’re a bit unsure for a moment before he says your name back to you and it seems delightfully whole; the confidence in both of you rise and you make a very bold choice.
“If it’s not too much to ask, mind if I buy a few of those blueberries? I muddle them with some soda water and ginger beer at home…”
Kita smiled warmly at this and you hand him some spare yen notes.
“Keep the change,” you say as the register opens. “The first round of coffee is on you. Oyasumi, Shinsuke.”
A light breeze follows you as you disappear into the night crowd, Hae and her godfathers return with some ice cream and other souvenirs, and all three of them have this smug and impish look on their face.
“Daddy, did you ask YN-san to marry you?”
Kita denies it defending that he’d only do it after you had coffee with him.
Yet, his friends, his faithful kouhai since high school, the twin godfathers of this sharply witted child, burst into laughter when Hae goes to call their father out: “Your face is all red…”
“…they had a sunflower tattoo,” Kita says this to himself proud he finally felt the universe deliver a much needed ´win’ especially since it’s been four years since the mother of Hae had wanted nothing to do with either of them.
And for the first time in the four years since he came home to an empty place and an abandoned two year old inside the screened porch during the early spring, Kita felt this calming wave of genuine goodness the second he saw you with Hae, running through to get to his stand. He sees you now, a few yards away, and you lock eyes with him as you make your purchase of a blown glass sunflower pendant. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he reads the text from you:
I’m free day after tomorrow, does coffee sound great then? —Hae’s new friend✌🏼
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radicallyaligned · 9 months
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Women who aren't feminists and don't care about politics but actually do things that break gender stereotypes do ten times more for women than feminists who haven't done shit but have all the right opinions and waste their lives complaining in tunblr.
Radfems who have done nothing in their lives but work quiet girly jobs, engage in feminine indoor hobbies like paper crafts, and get useless degrees in fields that are already female dominated genuinely think that by being transphobic on Twitter they're doing more for the female sex than a female rocket scientist who wears makeup or a female combat veteran who doesn't believe feminism is helpful to her.
I would probably take "femininity handicaps women" posts more seriously if they were made by really fit, capable women instead of overweight radfems who don't know how to change their car's oil and can’t stay in employment.
Radfems aren't pro natural or pro healthy, they're pro ugly. Shaving is bad unless you shave your head. Having an unhealthy relationship with food is sad and a product of misogyny if it makes you thin, but if it makes you fat it's feminist.
I was in a gender critical server once years ago and a radfem who is pretty well known in the radblr community posted before and after pics of her younger, less political self vs. her current radfem self. The "before" photo was a fit, slightly sun tanned woman outdoors at golden hour in a sun dress without makeup and a thick head of beautiful curly hair. The "after" photo was a selfie taken in a messy white-lit bedroom at night of a bald, fat woman in a frumpy hoodie and sweats with a sickly pale pallor and dark circles under her eyes. She literally looked like a cancer patient. I think about that allllll the time
I feel like this is a lot of shaming women for how they look and eat and everything, and a woman's value is never ever determined by her appearance. But I see the point you're trying to make, however ineffectively.
I agree that praxis > complaining online. Consciousness raising is so important and discussion and community are essential, but that work is pennies compared to the wealth of carrying that into the real world.
I feel like I've reached a lot of women, and hopefully, positively impacted lives with this blog. But the work I've done that matters the most to me is mentoring younger women in my STEM field. Ensuring I'm on hiring committees and advocating for female candidates. Housing female friends so they can leave heterosexual relationships quicker. Interacting with my young female relatives without makeup, without shaving. Hosting female only gatherings in my home.
I think that work is the healing work, that brings meaning to the words I say on here.
And I try to live what I say, you know? When I give advice on here about financial career choices, or higher education, or taking care of our bodies - not towards beauty, but towards strength and capability and longevity - I only say these things because they work for me.
I'm writing to you from the shade of my front porch. After my workout this morning, I bought a box of nectarines and I've been enjoying them with a good book by a woman author. This afternoon, I'm meeting female friends downtown for coffee. This evening I need to pack for an upcoming trip - a group of 5 different female friends and I are traveling together.
I'm a radical feminist woman living a very woman centered life. I'm online, yeah. I'm also active. And happy. And involved in my community. I think when you balance the online with the offline, everything can work out really nicely.
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leeenuu · 2 years
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Honour guard soldiers prepare to rise the Ukrainian national flag during State Flag Day celebrations in Kyiv, Ukraine, Tuesday, August 23, 2022. (Ukrainian Presidential Press Office via AP)
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Ukrainian servicemen fire to Russian positions from anti-aircraft gun in Kharkiv region, Ukraine, early Wednesday, August 24, 2022. (AP Photo/Andrii Marienko)
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Dmytro Shengur cleans rubble in front of the house which was damaged after Russian bombardment of residential area in Nikopol, Ukraine, on Monday, August 22, 2022. In Nikopol, across the river from Ukraine's main nuclear power plant, Russian shelling wounded four people Monday, an official said. The city on the Dnipro River has faced relentless pounding since July 12 that has damaged some 850 buildings and sent about half its population of 100,000 fleeing. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)
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Russian rockets launch against Ukraine from Russia's Belgorod region are seen at dawn in Kharkiv, Ukraine, early Saturday, August 20, 2022. (AP Photo/Vadim Belikov)
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People walk around destroyed Russian military vehicles installed in downtown Kyiv, Ukraine, Wednesday, August 24, 2022. Kyiv authorities have banned mass gatherings in the capital through Thursday for fear of Russian missile attacks. Independence Day, like the six-month mark in the war, falls on Wednesday. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)
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Dr. Tetiana Myroshnychenko, a neonatologist at Pokrovsk Perinatal Hospital, checks on Veronika, a baby born nearly two months prematurely, in Pokrovsk, Donetsk region, eastern Ukraine, Monday, August 15, 2022. In Ukraine’s war-torn eastern Donetsk region, only one hospital under government control remains equipped to care for babies born prematurely in government-held areas. Doctors say the stress caused by the war and rapidly worsening living conditions are leading to more frequent birth complications for the area's pregnant women. (AP Photo/David Goldman)
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A blanket covers the incubator where Veronika, a baby born nearly two months prematurely, is cared for at the Pokrovsk Perinatal Hospital, in Pokrovsk, eastern Ukraine, Monday, August 15, 2022. When the air-raid sirens sound, the babies in the over-ground incubation ward cannot be disconnected from life-saving machines, explains Dr. Tetiana Myroshnychenko. "If I carry Veronika to the shelter, that would take five minutes. But for her, those five minutes could be critical," Myroshnychenko says. (AP Photo/David Goldman)
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A dog sits inside a destroyed shopping center, as Russia's attack in Ukraine continues, in Bakhmut, Donetsk region, Ukraine, Sunday, August 21, 2022. (REUTERS/Ammar Awad)
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Tatiana Marinchenko touching her husband, Oleg Marinchenko, a Ukrainian soldier, while joined by her father-in-law, Ivan Marinchenko, and her daughter, Ira Kalinichenko, at a funeral for Oleg in Kyiv on Tuesday, August 23, 2022. Mr. Marinchenko was killed on August 19 in a mortar attack in the Kherson region while working as a medic and chaplain with the Ukrainian military. (Lynsey Addario/The New York Times)
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An armored personnel carrier is transported past a sunflower field toward the frontline in the Donetsk region, eastern Ukraine, Monday, August 22, 2022. (AP Photo/David Goldman)
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stevenbasic · 1 year
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GITJ Post 294: Political Rally
This rally is…so great. I am so glad Josie brought me. She, her mom, a bunch of her mom’s friends…they have been to a bunch of these. The election is Tuesday, so this is a big one. So many women! We are taking up, like, all of downtown. No way can they ignore us, we are going to win. Everyone is voting for women, even lots of the men.
‘No, Lakshmi, you cannot go!’ my father had said. He even grabbed my shoulder, as I was walking out this morning. Ahhhh haha I had never done this before but I slapped him away. I left without another word, but I could see the look on his face. He is scared. Haha he is scared.
It is raining but no one cares, we are all so, like, energized. The speakers, now that we are all assembled, after the marches that all met up here in the city center, are very very inspiring. All the candidates for the women’s party - local, state, federal - they are all here. They told us what we can do, on Tuesday. They explained what is going to happen afterwards, when we win. They showed us what life will be like, how it will be different immediately and then a year from now, ten years from now. Omigod. A hundred years from now.
They have had it coming to them, I see it now, for a long long time.
One of the speakers, a professor from Westhall, explained it like this, told our story. A bunch of years ago, like when I was a girl, way before high school, boys had already been hypnotized by the internet, by their phones, by virtual games and fantasy, porn. The technology made it so they could do everything through their screens: school, work, play, jerk off. For women, too, yes, the opportunities were there. But we were different. The boys literally spent all their time in front of their computers. Every year more and more males - of all ages - became addicted to those games and the porn and they became anemic, weaker due to the lack of physical activity. They spent most of their time playing their stupid games, neglecting studies and sports and jobs. They started to fail, intellectually, socially, in their careers. They began neglecting their wives, they were not dating as much.
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But women, on the other hand, had started to hit the gyms, to meet their friends and chat, and plan. The more the husbands played games or masturbated, the more the wives worked out, went to classes, got good jobs, made money, set it aside. Donated to causes. It did not seem to bother men that their wives and girlfriends really enjoyed going to the gym, or reading, spending all this time bettering themselves. Firstly, without them around, the men could spend more time on their games, or with their porn, alone, without a girly voice telling them to stop. Secondly, the women started to be more fit and toned and muscular…hot, right? Men were learning to appreciate it, and being a strong woman was coming into fashion. And as the women got smarter, guys started to realize that smart is sexy too, so why complain? They really enjoyed that their wives were becoming more and more healthy, more and more learned, more and more successful. Great if someone else was making the money, now. More time to relax, for us. They actually encouraged their wives and girlfriends to continue. Get bigger and stronger, get smarter and get that big promotion. We’ll see you later…but what’s for dinner?
Women continued to take care of their men, they did. They wanted them to be good partners. They encouraged them, as much as they could, to eat the right way. The new vogue became, for men, training schedules and diets that were planned to prevent any growth or strength development. “Vulni-chic” was in. Softer men, smaller men, thinner men. The ones who worked to reduce their muscle mass, the lean guys were considered the sexier ones. And if you were short, too? Hubba Hubba. The more meager, the better. You’d look good on our strong, toned arm as we strode next to you in our tall heels. 
Boys were now growing up wanting to be thinner, weaker. Sickly was, haha,  something to which to aspire. The new generations of girls coming along, in contrast, were going to be healthier than any before them. With hard training and better food, they were growing naturally tall and strong, while the boys were being left behind, happy to eat the junk food their moms served them. Guys continued to be more and more attracted by virtual games, where they could waste their waning testoterone fighting huge, strong opponents or fucking sexy girls (or, as some of the newer games allowed, fucking huge, strong girls), completely ignoring their wives, not realising they were becoming as sexy and smart and powerful as the virtual girls dancing on their screens. Recently, as male membership dwindled, mixed gyms have begun to disappear, being replaced by 'women only’ facilities. Some colleges have gone back to female-only enrollment. Many companies are hiring in similar ways.
“You're either growing with us…” the speaker continued, from the podium, as if addressing every man on the planet, “or you’re being outgrown by us!!”
As women were becoming more and more attractive, as men’s tastes had shifted to being drawn to more powerful women, some men had started to realize that real life could be as enjoyable as their games. These are the ones that are going to help on Tuesday, in the election. The balance of power will finally forever change and - though there will be complaining - women are not going to accept an about-face in society. We are on our way and we are not going to be stopped. The world is already slowly becoming a matriarchal society, and now it is our turn to fully take the reins.
“By order of the Girl Army,” said the next speaker; a leader of a group of young women who had formed a loosely knit but enormous, nationwide group, “get out and vote!!”
I am voting for the future!
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