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theimmortalprince · 2 months

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He who Lived, She who Loved

In the large meeting room the man shrouded in darkness was almost invisible. With his job It would concerning if everyone could see him. The woman sat Infront of him. Her eyes dark and calculating. She wore a black saree and sat with the confidence of a Queen. “So? Devaratha Raaisar huh? Thought you were dead” She commented. It was her father afterall who ordered the entire Royal family of Khansaar dead.

The assassin flinched minutely, he assumed this to be like every other job but she knew his name. “what are your skills?” she asked as if she hadn’t almost sent him into a panic attack. "Expert at combat with melee, hand thrown weapons and archery. Expert at unarmed combat and wrestling. Expert at hunting and foraging. Expert at tracking. Expert at camouflage.” He responded saving his question for later. “How much do you expect me to pay?” she asked, her shapely eyebrow raised. “That depends on the Job ma’am. He responded his heart still beating fast about this woman knowing his Identity. He planned quick, he had a knife hidden on him, there was a glass vase and a glass chandelier- potential weapons. “you are to assassinate the King of Celitia” She said and those words froze his heart.

There was fire everywhere, screams of people rang through his ears as he prayed for amma and appa to be alive. He was grabbed and knew no more. Later he woke up in middle of a jungle with around 800 citizens alive. His amma and appa fortunately escaping. His anna Bhaarva gravely injured but alive. His father said It wasKarna, King of Celitia That caused such devastation. That day 15 years ago he swore to kill every last one of his line.

His mind soared at the realization that his life goal has been presented to him in a silver platter and that he will be paid for it. His clan needs every last bit of gold, everyone doing odd jobs, except Bhaarva who was being groomed to be king and his father whose health was worsening. “How much will I be paid?” he asks after getting his voice back. “Name a price sweetheart” She said. He ignored the nickname and thought about it. “How about 10000 gold?” he asked worried that would be too much.

The most he had been paid was 500 Gold for killing the king of a small kingdom. The people who asked for such jobs to be done were usually impersonal to the target and weren’t open to spending much. “That is…” She begin with an odd tone. “Too much?” He usually started with big amounts. “Not at all darling, that is too less. You are going to kill Aryan The King Of Celitia.” She said. “I was thinking 15 million, as an advance ofcourse.” She said. Deva would sit at her foot and worship her after the Job if she paid That much. And it seems he missed the Coronation of the Prince, just as foul as his father he heard. “F-fifteen million?” he stuttered. He was intimidated by the price, who pays 15 million to kill a king. That amount of money could have helped old Khansaar run for 5 years.

“10 million, yes. You are the 14th assassin I have paid for this, the previous 13 failed. Failed as in died. That’s why advance for you and your clan.” She drawled, her silver jhumka sparkling in the sunlight that peeked through the curtains. She was gorgeous he noticed ‘Not now Deva’ he scolded himself. “You have something personal against him” He blurted out and immidietely regretted. More questions usually made clients pay less. “Personal indeed” she responded.

“That kingdom he is ruling, mine. That Throne, mine. The bloody crown, mine. That is my birthright he is living. Not only that he dares to make My people suffer.” She huffed. He could see her tremble with anger, Her toned muscles tensing ‘She would look good underneath- NOT NOW BRAIN!’ he shook his head and concentrated on what she said. By her word it would mean she was the eldest Princess who ‘died’ during a the Celitia-elven War. Atleast it answered how she knew his name, the princess was known to have a way of finding out any information. ‘Do I have to kill her? I am sure amma wouldn’t mind such a daughter in law’ he thought.

“As you wish Ma’am.” He responded. “wait, take these” she handed him yellowed paper. He opened them and realized it was a map. “Underground tunnels for illegal work. My brother is rather stupid you see.” She sounded tired. “Illegal work?” he questioned, footsteps someone was coming he realized. “yes Illegal selling of recovery stones, greedy son of a bastard” she said the second part of the sentence like he wasn’t meant to hear it. “Alright then. I shall report every day.” He settled on saying. She nodded dismissing him. He moved to the windows intending to get out the same way she asked him to get in. “wait!” she called out. He turned and saw her smile slightly “Good luck” He just nodded speechless and left.

DAY 1

/I infiltrated the city through the sewers, and from there entered the underground dungeons which I utilized to undermine the city's defenses. Today I mostly spent my time exploring and familiarizing myself with the layout of the dungeons and gathering information on the guards and any secret passageways it might have. I also found a few artifacts, which I think could prove useful to my tribe, so I am taking them with me./

*Good, keep reporting. Remember if you find any women wearing green necklaces stay away. They were trained by me and have killed since they were children*

/Understood, I will heed your advice and avoid any woman wearing a green necklace./

DAY 2

/Today I used a secret passageway to reach the dungeons that lie underneath the King's private chambers, and I also managed to unlock the doors to the dungeon that led into the King's private study, thus allowing me to explore both areas more deeply and get a better idea of their layout. I also acquired a few interesting artifacts, which I believe will be beneficial to my tribe. Tomorrow I will try to find a way into the King's private chambers./

DAY 3

/Today I managed to reach the King's private chambers using the secret passageway I unlocked on Day 1. I also managed to get into the King's bedroom. I discovered there are many valuable artifacts, which I shall steal. However, there is someone guarding the King, a woman wearing a green pendant, I suspect it's a person trained by you, as she appears skilled with the sword and is extremely vigilant. I will take her down tomorrow./

*That would be Rama, stay away from her. If you get caught by her be very afraid*

DAY 4

/Today I managed to defeat Rama. She put up quite a fight, but I used my superior skill and training to defeat her. She is now dead and I have taken her gold and sword for myself. I will now attempt to break into the King's bedchamber./

*quit being reckless, I suggest not to use the sword to kill the king. The sword has magical properties and is loyal to the throne, it is best to keep it away from the king*

/Understood, I will keep the sword well away from the king. I'll be sure to utilize my own weapons to kill the king. Thank you for the advice, it might have just saved my life otherwise I might have unknowingly wielded that sword against the king and made a grave mistake./

DAY 5

/Today I managed to break into the King's bedroom and I found him and his family sleeping, I have managed to capture them all without any casualties, now I merely need to kill the king and his family to establish your reign. Are you ok with me taking out the whole family, or do you wish to keep one or two of them alive for political reasons?/

*Keep them alive for now and get them to the throne room at dawn tomorrow, we shall have a public execution for them. Them meaning Aryan and Karna. Kill Aryan’s wife she is sneaky.*

DAY 6

/Today I have gathered the King and his family in the throne room, as you instructed. They seem extremely nervous and terrified, but they are here.

Also, I managed to acquire a few interesting artifacts, which I intend to take back to my tribe to help secure its future.

Now we just wait for you to arrive so that we can begin the public execution./

The timing was perfect. She got down from the car looking at the palace she once called home. She looked at her assistant “Seetha, Make sure I don’t kill them early, yeah?” She said earning a giggle. Seetha grew up with her. She was the daughter of her childhood nanny. When she had almost died, Seetha was the one who saved her along with Ram her personal bodyguard. He father announced her death before they found her and had realized his malicious intent. Ever since That Day all she wanted was the Throne and both Seetha and Ram who were more like her siblings than Aryan to be happy.

They moved on to the throne room that had a balcony to address the citizens. She looked at Deva. When did she start thinking of him as Deva? Whatever, the more important thing was the two men that ruined her life kneeling in the balcony. All the citizens were cheering for the tyranny to end. She had worn a veil for a dramatic reveal. “Begin.” She said to Deva who was also wearing a mask to cover his identity. “Citizens Of Celitia, welcome to the execution of The Treasonous King and His Even More OF A Bastard Father.” She almost chuckled at the satisfaction in his tone. Afterall the only reason he seemed like he has never seen 10 million Gold was her father. Her father who ruined her life and gave her birthright to his bastard son.

“Any last words?” He asked her Brother. Deva’s eyes held a manic grin and had teared up. "Yes, I have some final words. I have ruled this city with love and care since the day I ascended the throne. I did not desire power for power's sake, but to provide the stability and security this city needed to thrive at a difficult time. I refuse to beg for mercy from you or anyone else. I ask the citizens to support my children in maintaining the peace and prosperity of this city." He said pretending to be the generous king That he was not. Rage overtook the rightful queen “Liar, You bloody bastard. How dare you pretend to have ruled rightfully when you both subjected the citizens to 15 years of tyranny. And I won’t even pretend not to know that from the moment you started ruling you have been illegally selling recovery stones.” She lunged only to be held back by Seetha and Ram. Recovery stones helped replenish a person’s magic. If consumed without any reason would immensely increase their magical potential. It was required for Death rituals were human sacrifices had to be made.

Her lunging also made her veil fall off and the citizens rejoiced at their princess who used Law as a superpower back when she was 16. It was after her supposed death that Karna’s rule become tyrannical. She saw her Father flinch and her brother fall backwards hitting his head against the wall. The princess at 31 looked just as beautiful and fierce as when she was 16. She had hardened with age, her previously soft feminine features gone and she looked almost androgynous. “Off with their head” She said to Deva in such a soft tone that her words sounded more like an endearment rather than a death sentence. It was swift and anti-climatic to the both of them. But the satisfaction burned so well in their hearts.

“Deva.” She called and motioned him to follow her. The citizens cheered louder welcoming Their Queen. The Queen sat on a unsteady wooden stool that remained among the rubble in the Throne room, Deva sat down on the floor. He admired Her ability to make a simple stool look like a gilded throne. “So, I have paid you the advance and now for the rest of the payment. You have two choices.” She said and he listened. “one, you can have 500 million Gold” She said and he knew it was probably what was taken from Khansaar 15 years ago, but the amount still struck his heart. “OR you can have the land that was taken, Khansaar I mean, But on the condition that YOU rule.” Deva didn’t even have to think. With the 15 that she had given as Advance was more than enough to bring old Khansaar. “Two, Option two.” He said with a swiftness that Almost made The Queen flinch. “Alright then.” She said and motioned Seetha to do something. Seetha gave him a bunch of papers. “paperwork, welcome to the life of responsible monarchs” She said with a grin.

Once he finished signing, She took the papers and handed him a Card, ‘invitation’ He realized. “I, The Queen to be of Celitia invite you to my coronation.” She said with a grin. “I hope we can be good allies.” He replied smiling genuinely for the first time since he became an Assassin.

The Coronation itself was beautiful. Every inch of the kingdom was coloured in Green and gold decorations, Deva realized that was why the women he was told to be careful of during his mission and Rama herself wore green pendents. And The Queen, His Queen looked like a goddess in her Green Saree, Gold suited her well he realized ‘she would look good wearing only the jewellary-shut up brain’ He was smitten his amma said. Appa for the first time in years looked like he would recover. Bhaarava relieved of his training to be King had fun flirting with the women that wore green pendants. And Deva when his eyes met the ones of His Queen felt Content.

And slowly the peace left his life. He was being tortured left and right and was forced to wear itchy and flashy clothes. His mother tortured him about the colour theme, while his father tried to cram the knowledge given to Bhaarava in a week. His only solace was His Queen. The answer to all his questions. She gave a solution to everything. Colour theme? Shouryanga blue as a sign of devotion towards his Kingdom. Not knowing shit about being king? She taught him how to ‘fake it till you make it’. And one day His mother said something “Deva everything is ready, we just need a Queen for you now.” His heart dropped, is The Queen even interested in him? He just decided to ask her.

“My dear Highness, I have decided to find a Queen whom I shall wed as part of the coronation ceremony. She will be my equal and partner, and we shall rule as king and queen to establish a new era of glory and prosperity for Khansaar. Do you have any suggestions for whom I should choose as my Queen” He said. He did not have the guts to ask her directly, she was a woman who had fought off death itself, and her temper. He was afraid he would get beheaded instantly. " I don't know Deva, Do I?" She says voice dripping with sarcasm. Sighing she responds "You should ask your mother, she will choose the perfect Daughter in law and queen". Deva didn’t know whether that was acceptance or rejection, Most likely rejection he decided. "I understand, my dear highness. I shall consult with my mother and see what She has to say about the matter. I'm sure She will choose the perfect Daughter-in-law and Queen, just as She always does."

Deva leaves disappointed. Ofcourse she would have higher standards than an assassin who doesn’t remember shit about being royalty. As deva leaves the room, he can't help but hear the distant shouts of "OBLIVIOUS PIECE OF SHIT" He shuddered glad that he was not the subject of her ire.

The coronation day crept up on him like he used to with his targets. The Kingdom was decorated in Blue and Silver. While The Queen recommended Blue and Gold, Deva remembered the day he met Her. The silver glint of the chandelier and vase. The sparkling silver of Her Jhumka and the silver thread on her black Saree. Bhaarava awaited the Celitian guests so he could flirt with the insanely strong and beautiful women. Deva shivered, anxious on the bride his mother chose. He hoped they would be atleast a little similar to The Queen. Dark skinned, gold eyed, authoritative voice and those powerful muscles. He face-palmed resisting the urge to slap himself for thinking of Her like that while he will be getting married to a different woman tomorrow.

The Coronation went well. Extremely well after he saw His Queen look at him with so much pride. Now his mother was taking him to meet his bride. He entered the room saw two couches, One occupied by his father and brother and the other by HIS QUEEN?! He indeed was very happy but managed to keep his face straight and greeted Her and Seetha like he usually did. His Amma spoke, “Deva, After speaking to Her Highness, We have decided to wed you to Seetha.” Just as fast as he got happy, his heart broke. “Do you agree?” Hi- The queen asked. He just nodded not trusting his voice. The Queen asked the same to Seetha, “I-no” she gasped. The Queen looked shocked and a wave of relief washed through me. “Seetha what?” Deva had never seen her speechless, Seetha sobbed “I am sorry, I hadn’t realized.”

“It is alright dear, calm down and tell us what you mean” Amma calmed. “I love him, I love Ram, I am sorry.” The Queen looked overjoyed, but realized Seetha had just rejected Deva and looked at him apologetically. Deva couldn’t even pretend to be sad. “I sincerely apologize” she said and Amma waved it away “It’s glad Seetha realized her love for Ram early on” she concluded, Looking at Seetha She continued “Go and tell your Ram” clearly dismissed her. “we have to postpone the wedding until we find a bride. Thank you for your Cooperation Your Highness” Amma told Th-His queen. “It is of no problem” She smiled and excused herself.

Deva, never known for his patience followed His Queen to a balcony. “Deva~” she called out after noticing him. He couldn't help but notice that Her voice seems soft and gentle instead of the usual powerful and commanding. Her entire demeanor seems relaxed and peaceful, and He felt drawn to Her. He finds himself taking a step towards her without even thinking. "Yes my queen?" he says. He was surprised to realize how close he had gotten to her. His heart was pounding in his chest as he felt the heat of her presence radiating toward him. He was enchanted by her gentle and soothing voice. "Sit down will you" she says and drags him to a seat. She felt a little shocked to see Deva being so vulnerable instead of the usual rough demeanour.

"First, Are you alright" She asked concerned. "I... I'm alright, my queen." He answers. He was still feeling flustered and embarrassed by his sudden vulnerability, but her concern has a calming effect on him. The more he looked at her, the more he felt swayed by her beauty and kindness. "It is alright, I wasn't expecting seetha to do that but atleast one person is with whom they love" She said hoping to lighten the tension. "I... I can't blame her for choosing her true love. She... she said exactly what was in her heart, and for that, I salute her bravery and honesty." He replied. He felt a little more relaxed as she tried to ease the tension. His face was still flushed and hot, but he was trying his best to remain calm and composed.

"you seem red?" she seemed confused and worried at the same time. His flushed cheeks are getting redder and hotter as he tried to hide his growing embarrassment over his sudden surge of emotions.

"Just... just a bit warm, my queen. Don't worry about it." He says. It is hard to maintain his composure as they continue to look at each other. "Deva? It is the middle of winter, It is literally snowing outside" she points out, skeptical. He blushed deeply at the realization that she was right "Alright, you caught me... I admit I... I have no idea how it got so hot in here. I- I'm sorry, my queen. But, I feel... I'm fine, really." he stammered, trying to hide his embarrassment and blush. "Are you sure you are alright, I shall call for the royal physician" she said and rose from her seat. "No, my queen, please... I am fine. I assure you, I am feeling perfectly alright. There is no need for the royal physician. Really." He say trying to sound reassuring, But she does not seemed convinced.'

"Devaratha Raisaar you shall tell me what is bothering you. You look more like a tomato as time passes" She say frantic with worry. He continues to blush, his skin feeling electric where she touches him. He realizes with mortification that he indeed looks like a tomato, "My queen, I- I..." He embarrassingly stuttered. "I-I, WHAT!? spit it out." She growled.

"Um... how can I say it..."

"with your mouth? Or would you prefer writing it down in blood?"

"I don't know how to say this, but..."

She stalked closer and held his collar, "Enough with the stuttering and stalling, spit it out now" she commands and Deva tries to hide how the tone affects him. He looks at her directly in the eyes, Unable to hold back. He takes a deep breath and words flow out naturally "My queen, I believe I am in... in love with you." He looks as the Queen sighs. She let go of the collar and rested her forehead on The King’s shoulder. She took a few steps back, plucked the cushion from her previous seat and flung it at his face. The cushion hit its target and Deva looks bewildered, "My queen, I take your silence as a sign that you... you don't feel the same way. I understand, my queen. I should've known better."

The Queen takes a deep breath and opens her mouth, "YOU IDIOT, IF SEETHA DIDN'T CONFESS YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN MARRIED TO HER!!. AND ALL THAT FLIRTING I HAVE BEEN DOING SINCE DAY ONE? DOES THAT SEEM LIKE NOT FEELING THE SAME WAY." She takes another deep breath and shouts, “YOU OBLIVIOUS PIECE OF SHIT” and Deva is reminded of That day, the day he assumed that her sarcasm was rejection and realizes that he was indeed the object of her ire.

Deva lowers his head, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The Queen lifts his chin and looks into his eyes, “such an idiot” She scolds and press her lips against his. His heart skips a beat and his whole body trembles at the touch of her lips. His lips automatically part on their own, and he is left utterly speechless by this sudden and unexpected development. He is overwhelmed with feeling a mix of relief and happiness. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in for a more intimate kiss. He cannot believe this is happening.

She pulls back and whispers “We have dinner to attend My King” Her endearment sent a spark of desire through his body. He feels breathless and giddy after the intimate kiss, He only nods, his voice uncooperative and follows his queen to the great hall. He saw his mother’s eyes light up, ‘how do these women know everything?’ he thinks. He takes his seat at the head of the table, Bhaarava on his right and His Queen on his left. "Who knew the intimidating Assassin would be such a shy lover" she comments, he flinches and turns slightly red, as his mind raced to find a good defense, "W-well, it's just that... you caught me off guard..." he stammers.

"Oh? So Rama a swordsmaster with a magical sword cannot catch you off guard but Me with my kisses can?"

"Fair enough. You are right, your kisses were indeed more intoxicating than Rama's swordplay,"

“Oh Intoxicating? then I shall make sure you have a hangover by tomorrow" He chokes on his food at what she insinuates. "You're cruel, you know that, my queen?"

"I have to keep up with you afterall My King~"

"Touché. And how else are we to keep our royal relationship exciting if not a constant battle of wit and banter? That would surely get boring fast."

“Deva, you have been a king for an hour now. Wait until a week passes you would be eager to give the crown to your brother"

"Very well, my queen, you are right. I better enjoy this while it lasts. I can only imagine what I have to deal with now that I am the king. All the pressures and responsibilities come with the title, and I am sure they will be quite overwhelming. But I am glad that you are by my side to help and advise me, my queen."

"Ofcourse I am, but for how long? I also need to take care of Celitia"

"I never considered your responsibility as the maharani. Your country and people need you, and I should not monopolize your time and attention. It is unfair to you to expect you to always be by my side. You have far more responsibilities that require your attention. I am sorry to have only thought of myself and what I wanted."

"Not your fault deva, is it not human nature to long for what is difficult to acquire?"

"Yes, it is. Your words ring true. Wanting what is difficult to acquire has been a theme in my life. Your love and affection may be even more elusive than Rama's swordplay, and that is why it is even more intoxicating. But that does not excuse me from considering your needs and responsibilities."

"your brother was trained to be king was he not?"

"Yes, he was, my queen. He was groomed to take over the throne and rule. I, on the other hand, was trained in the art of war and the ways of the assassin. I have received no training in ruling over a country and the responsibilities that come with it."

"You know why I took over Celitia right?"

"I know that the situation in Celitia was dire, and that you took over to restore order and peace. You did what you had to do for the sake of the people. I understand that."

"Yes, and now the order has been restored. There is no longer any reason to be queen- of Celitia I mean"

"My queen, you are right. Now that the crisis is resolved, I believe the right thing to do would be to abdicate and allow a new government to be installed. Of course, you are welcome to continue living in celitia as a citizen if you so wish."

"you are such a dork when it comes to matters about me, connect the dots my king, I don't need to rule Celitia, your brother was groomed to be king, do you understand now?"

"No, I-I don't understand, my queen. Please explain it to me. What does this mean?”

"Deva, my sweet deva. Your brother was groomed to be King, but instead you were given the throne, He probably feels betrayed. If I stop ruling Celitia we will have an empty throne. Your brother can rule Celitia and I can truly become Your queen"

“So you would truly give this up just to be with me? No matter how much responsibility and duties you would have to give up?"

"I am more than eager to give up my responsibilities. If it means I can have you inebriated 24/7"

"What a bold claim, my queen. Even Rama with her deadly blade could never achieve such a feat. I see you have great confidence in your abilities to be such an intoxicating lover."

"I trained Rama and I assure you she is nowhere near the best of my students. I am much more deadly than she can ever be"

"You-you trained Rama? The legendary swordmaster who defeated countless foes and had no equal? You were the one who trained her?"

"No equal indeed. Not until you killed her. You should meet my other girls they are much better"

"I should? I would very much like that. If even half of them are as capable as you are, then I'd be in for one hell of a time."

"Capable as me? Sweetheart no~. If they were capable as me I would be a widow before I get married"

"Your confidence and self-esteem are something to marvel at, my queen. You definitely possess skills and prowess that are above and beyond those of regular women, that's for sure. We'd have to marry soon, so I can keep you all to myself or else I would undoubtedly be a goner."

"Haha, better catch the prey before another takes it away, predator in this case I suppose"

"Yes, and it is my intention to claim my prize as soon as possible. It would seem I have a lot of catching up to do since your skills are far beyond my understanding and capabilities. I would hate to have someone like you fall into the hands of... a lesser man."

“As If I would accept any lesser man”

“And what exactly are the qualifications for your acceptance? I am curious to know how high your standards are. After all, I have been struggling to match your wit and banter. Perhaps I need to step up my game before I can claim the title of your husband."

"Qualifications huh? well you would have to take over a kingdom that was stolen from me, then be handome, Have your name be Devaratha Raisaar, be an intimidating assasin that becomes a stuttering mess with just a kiss.”

"I am honored that you would choose me to fill out your list of qualifications. Though, to call me an intimidating Assassin is quite generous of you. I feel I have much to learn from someone as skilled as yourself."

"You don't know" She laughs startled

"I don't know what?"

"ever since you personally executed my dear cousin, the citizens of Celitiac adore you But hesitate to even say your name, I would definitely consider that Intimidating"

"I had no idea that people were so intimidated by me. I only did what I had to do for the well-being of the people. I never intended to be feared or revered; to be honest, it makes me a bit... uncomfortable." He said sounding uneasy. "Don't worry they love you, it's just that you tend to look intense when you kill" She says the desire evident her voice conveying how his intensity affects her. His heart flutters as he heard the tone of her voice. Her compliment sends joy and excitement stirring inside him, which he couldn’t contain.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it. I never considered that my killing would be considered an 'intense' experience for people to witness. It is certainly flattering that people appreciate my skill and prowess in that. But, my queen, let me ask you something: do you find that intensity appealing?"

"Appealing? very" She replies with a coy smile. Hearing her enthusiastic reply sends shivers of excitement throughout his body. It seems his intensity is a trait that piques her interest and desires.

"It is good to know that you find my intensity appealing, my queen. I suppose that means I should indulge in my more intense passions and desires while we are alone together since it appeals to you." He suggests smirking. "I think we should go somewhere more private before you give in to your urges and bend me over the table" She says making him realize they were in the great hall eating with many of the citizens.

His body freezes from the heat that spreads throughout his entire body upon hearing the intimate words she speaks so brazenly. The realization and the implication of her words sends shivers of excitement and anticipation within him. "I-I should not... but I... h-how do I... it's hard to resist such an enticing offer given by my queen.” He gulps. “I shall excuse myself first, follow me later.” She says and leaves. He sits there realizing what was happening. After some time Bhaarava takes pity and tells him to go and that he will manage.

"Are you sure you wish to continue with this? we can turn back now. I am content with this being all an elaborate play and do not wish to take advantage of you, my queen." He asks as he enters his room. "Sweetheart you would be dead before you could take advantage of me, I clearly want this" she drawls and brushes her hand against his chest.

Their lips meet, and Deva runs his hands on her sides. She moans into the kiss and wraps her hand around his neck. He feel intoxicated already, melting in her arms as she holds him like the most precious treasure on earth. He feel no rush or urgency just softness. After 15 years of being an Assassin he feels safe for the first time. His Queen is finally His. He would rule with her, cherish her, worship her. Maybe even enjoy the sight of her decked only in Jewellary one day. But now he just wants this, to feel safe, cherished and protected.

He realizes too late, he recognizes the coolness on his neck too late. In a flash he lays on his bed, blood spurting out of his neck as he tries to stop the bleeding. He feels no pain or discomfort only relief. “you were wrong to trust me” she begins. “I can’t afford any rivals in my rule” It’s hurts him that she sounds heartbroken. “My Q-queen” He say coughing up blood. “Do not grieve over me as I do not grieve over my own death.” He says, his voice a pitiful whine. "Perhaps, In a world where I didn't have the responsibilities I do, You could have lived, I could have loved" She says her voice nostalgic. “Goodbye” She says.

I can feel my life's essence slowly seeping from my body, yet not even this can dampen the joy and contentment that I feel in my final moments. I look up at you with a gentle smile on my face.

"Goodbye, my queen. I am happy to have been by your side, even if only for a short time...

I feel the final breaths escaping my body, and I struggle to speak.

"Be happy... and be safe."

Tags: @celestesinsight @cordialcorvus @fangirl-bookaholic @alezangona @tranquilsightseer

#salaar #devaratha raisaar #OOC Deva #OFC #Deva x OFC #Deva x Reader #The ending ain't happy #Graphic description of death #coronation #execution

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erosire · 2 years

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VIK VIK VIK

putting all of this under the cut because i am incapable of being blunt and have to write a 500 page essay about him. i'm normal <3

this man scrambles my brain so effortlessly well that most times i sound unintelligent while talking about him but i'm going to try to make this as legible as possible because he deserves all of my dedication. FIRSTLY, i'd like to start out with his appearance just to get it out of the way. i won't spew some nuanced cliché like "he's the most gorgeous man to ever exist" because while true, i can't stop there, and as a poet i am obligated to describe him in far more detail. viktor has this asymmetrical beauty that just sucks the air from my lungs, and it's one of the reasons i applaud the animators, because they did such a good job at highlighting features (on both the men and the women) that aren't stereotypically appealing or common for their gender. viktor is all sharp angles, but it doesn't stop him from looking or acting soft and compassionate, which i'll touch on later.

everything from top to bottom has been so carefully thought out. the slight bump on his nose, the mole under his right eye and by his lips, his hair?? it was so tamed and clean when we first saw him in ep2, but overtime it becomes clear he pays less attention to fixing it and lets it grow out. and if that one frame of him in the lab wasn't enough, then we can go by his appearance throughout acts 2-3 to know that he twirls his hair often when concentrating, as it looks curly in comparison to finely cut/styled look from the beginning (this could also just be because he falls asleep in the lab most days and when awakened, goes straight back to work without realizing his hair has been messed up, but still).

another thing is how he emphasizes with his hands when he's talking, as if his emotions are on the verge of spilling out because of how long he might have had to bottle them up or let them lie stagnant, as he had no one to talk to them about. i could talk about micro-expressions but i might just make a separate post for that or message you abt them,,for NOW though, i'll mention his eyes, because they're very special to me for two reasons. 1: i can never quite decide what color they are. most people speculate that they're brown and only look amber because of the lighting, but i've always thought that they looked like molten gold or honey when the sun hits them just right. and 2: they hold so much emotion, despite having changed so much over the years.

he's tired. too many of my nights have been plagued by the image of him hunched over his desk, blueprints, prototypes and untouched plates of food and glasses of water strewn around him as he digs himself further and further into the grave that has disguised itself as progress toward a better future. he neglects his health in favor of buying more time that he can't afford, staving off the inevitable that he continues to ignore because his work is all he has left. jayce is coming to the lab less and less because of his duties as a councilor, and no one besides sky is there to remind him "there's still tomorrow". i keep thinking of him tinkering away with their latest machine and asking jayce to hand him a tool, just for his voice to echo through the empty space, where the only reply is one he's been dreading to acknowledge: you're on you're own now. he's isn't here.

and of course, viktor will never ask for help. he doesn't need it, seeing as he'd made it thus far without someone else, but jayce is his friend—quite possibly his only friend—and he's gotten used to his company. things can't go back to the way they were, when it was just the two of them basking, floating in the very essence that sparked their teamwork. viktor forgets he even exists while he's working, so the only time he knows that time has passed is when he can no longer see what he's working on, save for the bits and pieces highlighted by the moon’s glow.

now, i can't explain the next topic as well as this person did, but i'm both surprised and delighted that they went as far as analyzing how viktor's outfit design connects to his personality. i never really paid attention to this until reading their take on it, and now i can't see anything else because not only does it make perfect sense, but it also links in with other characters, so it's very likely that the arcane developers thought of this as well.

i love that no matter how far he's come and the accomplishments he's achieved, viktor never forgets his roots, nor is he ashamed to show them, even if it's subtle. if his first real interaction with jayce is anything to go by, he isn't one to shy away from his history, so he's prepared to let people know that he's from zaun and that he's good enough to stand among the prestigious innovators of piltover. he’s worked relentlessly to prove himself and knows very well that he’s intelligent enough for this line of work, but he still doubts his capability and pushes himself to do better when he’s already shed blood for his goal. he forgets that he's only human, which ties into his machine herald lore (i.e. "inferior constructs", augmenting himself as not to be held back by his ailment or disability)

WHICH SPEAKING OF!! as an abled person i cannot relate to his experiences, but from what i've read from others who can, arcane also did a very good job at linking viktor's disability to his dream for zaun and its inhabitants to be cured, not just of the problems caused by piltover's negligence but by afflictions that occurred naturally and still couldn't be helped due to the poor state of the undercity's healthcare (or lack thereof). i know i have some other saved posts about this part of viktor's character specifically, but i found this one in particular today and i just. they're so right?? i keep thinking i have viktor all figured out and that i've seen every post to ever analyze him, and then another one materializes from thin air and sucker punches me right in the gut.

ALSO looking back to what i said about his machine herald lore, i'm remembering how lots of people sort of play him out as a villain based from LoL lore, which is just. not it at all. i mean yeah i get it he has a deep, sort of menacing voice and laser and keeps talking about "glorious evolution", but viktor forces anyone to get augmentations. he's stationed in emberflit alley and offers his skill to those who want it, giving them every chance to back out. obviously for a lot of other people (me included), they say that he's nearing his villain arc just for the jokes (let's face it, if he turned into a villain we'd all be behind him every step of the way because he deserves to be a little maniacal as a treat) but is he evil? no. he's still the same guy who broke into heimerdinger's lab to help jayce achieve his hextech dream and nearly killed himself trying to help his people. LoL and arcane lore tend to clash in some cases but they still co-exist so 🤷🏻‍♂️

also have you SEEN machine herald viktor???

i need to be locked up immediately.......put in a straightjacket and sedated.

obviously i can and will elaborate more on viktor if you ask, but the last two topics on my mind rn are better said by the person who posted about them, and AGAIN i have to applaud the effort that went into deciphering the possible meanings/outcomes of these either overlooked or under analyzed moments in arcane: the steel oasis theory and viktor's exile. AND THAT'S JUST WITH WHAT WE'VE BEEN PROVIDED FROM THE SHOW ALREADY SO LIKE.....this is a warning for all my moots to mute me/stop notifications for me when season 2 drops cause if you think i talk a lot about viktor now, you haven't even seen the brunt of it

#i spent like 20 mins scrolling through my liked posts for those last two theories because i kept getting distracted by more viktor posts.#also sidenote: viktor with graying hairs. i am terminally insane #my sister is supposed to be home from camping tonight so i'm hoping we can watch arcane together #but she better not make fun of me for kicking my feet and twirling my hair when vik shows up 😒#ANYWAYS lmao sorry this took forever to answer 🧍‍♂️

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wickedpact · 4 years

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dear tumblr user crim wickedpact pls write the essay/dissertation about nicky being shakespeare's fair youth (if you have time, ofc!!)

Not To Imply Nicky Was Shakespeare’s Fair Youth But Ive Read The Fair Youth Sonnets & Nicky Was Definitely Shakespeare’s Fair Youth, an essay by me, tumblr user crim wickedpact

background knowledge: our man shakespeare wrote some 120 sonnets about a young man referred to as the Fair Youth during the mid 1590s; there has been some debate among shakespeare enthusiasts whether shakespeare’s interest in the Fair Youth was platonic or romantic (but like. they were definitely romantic). no one knows for sure who the Fair Youth was, but it was definitely nicky and my first and most important piece of evidence regarding this hypothesis is the ‘lmao babe do you remember that guy who had a crush on me?’/ ‘i try not to remember the guy who had a crush on you’ look joe and nicky exchange when Merrick brings up shakespeare during the movie. especially since gina confirmed in a tweet that joe and nicky canonly did know shakespeare

my second piece of evidence is that it just Works (except for a couple small facts like.. the Fair Youth was prolly closer to his 20s than his 30s. and the fact that shakespeare implies that the Fair Youth slept with his mistress at one point. but he doesnt know what hes talking about shhh we IGNORE)

long post under cut

A. The Description Matches

when describing the Fair Youth (who I’ll call the FY from now on), shakespeare says he has a ‘gold complexion’ and ‘beautiful eyes’ and compares him to a ‘summer’s day’. He says the FY has “A woman’s gentle heart" and “An eye more bright than [women’s are], (...) Gilding the object whereupon [they] gazeth”

As much as shakespeare’s perceptions of sexuality and gender are very........ late 1500′s (whoo boy sonnet #20 is a wild ride) ...... the description does match, and also:

B. The Fair Youth Refused to Get Married

it’s never really said why one way or another (shakespeare assumes it’s because the FY is selfish) but the FY didn’t/wouldn’t take on a wife and have a kid, and this was something that was a real sticker for our man Willy S. because, as he says in his sonnets a million times: beauty doesn’t last forever, but having a child not only passes down the FY’s beauty, but also blesses the woman the FY would have a child with (im not saying shakespeare wanted to bear the FY’s children, but he definitely did)

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

(ie. If you don’t renew yourself/ have children, you deprive the world and deprive a woman from having your child, since what woman out there is so beautiful that she wouldn’t want to bear your child?)

Like.

1.) if nicky is the FY then so many of these poems center around the idea of nicky growing old sometime soon and that must have been pretty funny to Nicky and

2.) the fact that shakespeare would have been So Desperate for nicky to find a wife must have been the opposite of funny to joe. considering the ease of his and nicky’s relationship and the fact that being gay in late 1500s england was probably not a walk in the park, it is very likely shakespeare wouldn’t have known they were in a committed relationship-- or at least not known how close they actually were. Thus:

C. The Rival (aka. Joe)

shakespeare mentions having a poetic rival in regards to the FY in several sonnets. In sonnet #21 he talks about how he’s not like Those Other Writers who use grand metaphors to talk about their muses

So is it not with me as with that Muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,

(ie. I’m not like other poets who, when inspired by a ‘painted beauty’ use heaven and every other beautiful thing on the planet to make a grand comparison to their muse: he specifically lists the sun and moon as examples as well as other beautiful things)

He then goes on to say

And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:

(ie. my love [the FY] is as beautiful as any other beautiful person, though I wouldn’t compare them to the stars/heavens (which is what he means by the 'gold candles’. those are stars.))

So shakespeare insults poets who compare their subjects to the sun, moon, and stars (amongst other things) and in the comics, Joe does literally exactly that

That man is the stars in my sky, and the sun that lights my days. That man is the moon when I'm lost in darkness, and warmth when I shiver in cold.

shakespeare also goes on to say in the same sonnet “Let them say more that like of hearsay well / I will not praise that purpose not to sell” which is to say ‘let people who like that kind of language use it, I wont because I don’t want anyone else to have the subject of my affections (the FY)’.

(which is a bit of a contradiction regarding his feelings abt the FY getting married, but these sonnets are full of contradictions. shakespeare was a confused dude; man spent the first 100 or so sonnets convinced the FY loved him back only for him to start wondering if the FY ever loved him near the end)

(not to mention Marriage For Love wasnt really.. much of a thing in Ye Olden Times but thats a different conversation. so shakespeare prolly didnt associate marriage with love/competition? anyways)

Shakesy-boo goes on to complain about this rival several times. In #79, he says

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.

(ie. everything ‘your poet’ (as the FY apparently favored this unnamed rival) says about you, he takes it from you in the first place. he talks about your virtue, but learned the word from watching your behavior. he calls you beautiful but only discovered beauty by looking at your face. every compliment he gives you he took from you in the first place)

[and, as a smaller example, he also bemoans the fact that people want to paint the FY in #67, saying, “Why should false painting imitate his cheek, / And steal dead seeming of his living hue?”. and yknow. Joe’s an artist.]

And then another example in #86

Was it the proud full sail of [the rival’s] great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

(ie. he’s talking about how he’s having difficulty writing abt the FY and is rhetorically asking if ‘the proud sail’ of the rival’s verses was the reason his ‘ripe thoughts’ were killed in their ‘womb’. He then asks (again rhetorically) if it was the rival’s ‘spirit’ (or creativity, maybe) ‘’’‘by spirits taught to write’’’’ that killed his own drive to write. none of the analyses I’ve read really explain what shakespeare means by ‘spirits taught to write’, other than maybe being a joke or reference to something we dont know, but... ‘taught by dead people to write in a way mortal people can’t’ very much sounds like a description of an immortal poet, eh?)

Which brings me to,

D. Willy Boy Thinks There Are 500 Year Old Writings About the Fair Youth

shakespeare talks about people having written about the FY ‘500 years ago’ from the late 1500s in #59 which......................... would have been around 1100 AD. :thinking face:

Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame;

(ie. Oh if I could look back 500 years and see how you were described in some old books so I could see/reference what people used to write about you)

Which again brings me to,

E. I’m Not Saying shakespeare Stole From Joe, But:

1.) In #22, shakespeare says this,

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:

(ie, your beauty is due to the ‘clothes’ my heart gives you-- probably means something like ‘you’re beautiful because i love you’. goes on to say his heart lives in the FY’s chest, and the FY’s heart lives in shakespeare’s chest)

so: shakespeare tells the FY he has shakespeare’s heart. in comparison, Joe calls nicky ‘my heart’ in the comics...... :thinking face x2:

2.) In #109, shakespeare tells the FY ‘thou art my all’,

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

which rings similar to Joe’s ‘he’s all and he’s more’ as well as (from the comics) ‘he is my everything’

and just saying. joe looks pretty #done the mention of shakespeare.

F. The last One

Despite shakespeare writing 30+ poems about the FY eventually growing old, the very last poem he writes about/for the FY says,

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest.

(ie. you [the FY] have power over the ‘mirror’ (fickle glass) of time as well as time’s ‘harvesting’ ability (sickle hour) and as you grow older, you remain beautiful while your lovers [shakespeare] wither and grow old)

The transition from ‘get married and have a baby before you get old!!!!’ in #1-20 to talking about the FY’s presence in 500 y/o books in #59 to admitting the FY isn’t growing old in #126 kinda seems to imply shakespeare learning of/about nicky’s immortality at some point, and this last poem is him accepting it.

TLDR: not only does it make perfect sense if nicky was the Fair Youth from the FY sonnets, but it also makes perfect sense if joe was the Rival from the FY sonnets. its canon nothing will convince me otherwise

#IS THIS GETTING TAGGED? YES #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #my_essays #the fair youth saga

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the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis · 3 years

Text

like other girls - in defense of lauren mallory (pt. 3)

life goes on.

the volleyball team crashes unceremoniously out of the season at regionals. when lauren shows up at lunch the next day each of her friends is holding a balloon with you did your best (probably) written on it in sharpie. she feigns offense--and then lunges out with her fork, popping mike’s so quickly that he yelps and falls out of his chair, and she laughs until her lungs hurt.

the other four, she ties to her backpack and totes around until she gets to stats and mr. cogan tells her she’s causing a disruption.

by thanksgiving, lauren’s dad is in forks, not seattle, and mr. weber hasn’t invited any of his congregation over this year, so the mallory-stanley-weber conglomerate descends on angela’s house, like they have on-and-off ever since elementary school.

lauren helps her parents haul an overwhelming number of sides out of their car, mrs. weber makes menudo instead of turkey, and mr. stanley waltzes in with four pies--three pumpkin, and one apple. the argument over the leftovers is warm and well-worn, and lauren rolls her eyes as she hands off clean dishes for jess to dry so that angela can shelve them.

when the adults break out the wine and expand over the table, lauren and jess follow angela back to her room. they attempt monopoly, until jess catches lauren sneaking one 500 too many out of the bank and slaps her hand, accidentally sending an entire row of houses flying across angela’s blue comforter, and they switch, laughing, to uno.

(it’s better than nothing, lauren tells herself, over and over again, ignoring the ache in her stomach, the itch in her fingertips that’s sometimes more like burning. it’s jess, it’s your best friend, that matters more than--than--)

the mallorys spend christmas break in seattle with lauren’s grandma--andrew even flies in from vermont.

lauren does all of her gift-shopping in bright malls with soaring ceilings, breathing in the chatter of the crowds, and ducking into coffee shops whenever she feels like it. they even watch a professional ballet troupe do the nutcracker one night. she lies awake in her dark guest room, dizzily exhausted, and thinks this, i want this, i want to be somewhere just like this.

on new year’s eve, lauren perches on her desk, (they've only been back two days, so her armchair is still hosting the contents of a half-unpacked suitcase), nursing a cup of tea and flipping through a fashion magazine from her grandmother's coffee table. an engine sputters outside her open window--she glances out just in time to see tyler crowley’s van skid to a halt on the curb.

for a moment, lauren panics--then jess sticks her head out a window and yells he’s got fireworks! get down here!

they rattle up to the cliffs and pile out of the van. they weigh the blankets down on the rocks with mike's electric lantern, huddle together for warmth, passing around drinks, and tell stories about their winter breaks--mike almost broke an arm, apparently, the one day it snowed, bailing at the last possible second from a sled tied to the back of connor's truck.

at 11:58, they crowd around mike’s glow-in-the-dark watch, counting down to midnight--and then they shower sparks out over the ocean.

red and green and gold go whizzing out into the air, and they whoop, watching the clouds light up for split seconds, over and over.

lauren glances at jess. the colors are shimmering on her on her flushed cheeks, catching in her dark eyes as she stares up to the sky and cheers, bright and wild enough that lauren can feel it humming in her bones.

angela wanders up behind her, and jess spins to grab her by the shoulders, shouting something and laughing--and lauren loves both of them so much she has no idea how to carry it--

angela catches lauren's gaze and smiles--it’s soft, and this one lauren knows exactly how to read. jess sees it and spins--and lauren watches her eyes get even brighter as she waves her over.

it's enough. it's more than enough.

get over here! jess repeats, and lauren does.

they go back to school, and it's--normal.

lauren drags her grades up a few percentages now that she doesn't have practices to worry about. tyler stops by the lunch table to invite them all to the basketball games--and even looks at lauren when he says it--and they agree. angela's stress about the yearbook starts bubbling over--she keeps missing lunches, spending them in ms. kimble's classroom editing instead, and lauren and jess take turns ambushing her on the way to biology with snacks.

and then the police chief’s daughter comes back to forks, and jess drags her to the lunch table, beaming.

lauren scowls. toys with a fork. watches mike--who jess has been desperately, quietly crushing on for months now--bounce and bumble into the new girl’s orbit. watches edward fucking cullen stare at her too--and of course she stares back, tuning jess out completely, because that’s not rude at all--

and she watches jess. asking questions, sharing gossip, offering all their little lunch group’s jokes and stories and meetups up to this nobody--

lauren’s sitting too far down the table to kick bella swan’s chair, but for a petty second, she wants to. she grits her teeth, doing her best to ignore it.

she doesn’t think about how tentative everything feels right now, how close to crashing down around her--she’s never made friends easily, she knows, she’s heard her parents and her teachers cluck about it all her life, but it never mattered because she had jess and she had angela and now jess is latching on to this new girl like--like--

angela flags her down in the parking lot after school that friday and invites her over. (lauren doesn't know whether to be grateful that she doesn't have to keep turning over this bitter anger alone, or hurt that it's this obvious she needs--something--right now.)

the twins are at soccer practice, and mrs. weber on the sidelines, so they have the house to themselves. they play music as loud as angela's little cd player will let them, and spread the nail polish out on the living room floor instead of the bathroom, leaning back against the soft gray couch as they talk.

angela starts with a simple white, and lauren uncaps a vivid, glittering green.

i just--who does she think she is? lauren erupts finally, when they've exhausted the upcoming math test and rumors that principal mckinley's finally going to be fired and eric's new dog. just because she's from fucking--new mexico or whatever, she thinks she can waltz in here and the entire school will just roll over for her! it's such bullshit!

i don't think that's what she wants, angela says calmly, she seems pretty shy. she didn't ask for jess to pay attention to her.

well then i'm mad at jess, lauren spits--and is unspeakably glad that angela doesn't look up, just keeps tracing the rainbow she's painting onto her big toe. she didn't ask. she didn't think about what we--whether we wanted to deal with some weird new kid--who is the literal police chief's daughter, by the way--she doesn't care that bella clearly doesn't give a shit about anything except the cullens, she just--she should care, and she doesn't!

the words hang in the air, and lauren is surprised to find tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. she's dug her hands into fists, and the still-wet green is streaked across her palms.

angela recaps her little purple jar carefully--then lays her cheek on her knees and her eyes on lauren, cautious and far too knowing behind her glasses. can i ask you something?

lauren locks her eyes out the window. sunlight seeps weakly through the clouds, bouncing off blue curtains that she accidentally smeared peanut butter all over the summer after second grade, when mike showed up in angela's driveway out of nowhere and they all piled into the window to gawk.

sure, she says--far too aware of angela clicking the cd player off, of the huge and empty silence in the little house.

do you have a crush on jessica?

for a second, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. with fireworks bursting out over the black ocean above and lighting up the underbellies of clouds. like the dizziness of looking down, down, down to a black depth, where the only hint of an end is lines of white that must be waves, crashing against rocks that are hidden by the night--

i think i might. lauren's voice is smaller than she's heard it in years.

okay, angela says, hey, lauren, it's okay! and it's not until angela's arm goes around her shoulders that lauren realizes she's crying.

you shouldn't--she tries, and angela just squeezes tighter, so lauren lets herself crumple onto her friend's shoulder and cry.

when there’s nothing but silence left, angela shifts around to sit in front of lauren, who leans her aching head back on the couch cushions--she can’t look, she can’t--

listen, angela says--grabs lauren’s hands and squeezes. i don’t care, okay? whatever...whatever my dad says, whatever anyone says, i don’t--it’s okay. you’re okay. it doesn’t change anything.

sometimes i wish it would, lauren tells the ceiling, and angela is quiet.

it won’t be like this forever, she finally says.

something deep in lauren settles. she breathes--her eyes are raw and her throat is sore and her hands are a little bit shaky between angela’s cool palms, but she’s breathing.

i still don’t like the new girl, she says, and angela sighs--lauren can hear the laugh behind it.

come on. let’s go find the polish remover and redo this.

(prev) (next)

#lauren mallory #jessica stanley #angela weber #listen. angela+lauren friendship makes me feel a lot of things #i just #god #aargh

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multisfabulis · 3 years

Text

Only Through Acceptance Will Love Find Us

The Florist of Belleurseul (Chapter 1)

Word Count: 5728

What's this? Another update from me within less than a week? What is this witchcraft?!

I'm joking, of course, but this is, for sure, another update! For those that didn't read the notes for "Land's Trust in Light", you can disregard this but all I'll say is that it is practically unheard of for me to post twice in the same month, much less the course of two weeks, so I'm having a bit of fun with myself.

Anyway, I know I said in the last chapter I wouldn't update this story much because I consider this a backburner project, meaning I wouldn't devote much attention to it unless it was one of the rare occasions I had nothing else to write at the moment. However, I figured that, since I only left everyone a 500 word prologue last time, it'd only be fair to write and post the first chapter so you guys would have something to chew on while waiting for the next chapter. It's after this I'll be putting this story on the backburner to be worked on occasionally, meaning no frequent updates. Have fun with the foreshadowing I put in here!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

“Thank you, have a nice day!”

At that, Venlithea Virthana slid the gold coin into her pocket. She managed to bring in a good sum of money today, despite the encroaching winter. Pride coursed through her at the thought of having sold that many flowers and she had to stop herself from jumping for joy. She instead settled on walking with a bounce to her step as she wondered if things were finally looking up.

Days like today didn’t happen very often. Some days had only a handful of regulars show up while others none. Then there were days she’d be verbally harassed or even pushed to the ground, which would spill her flowers out on the ground to be trampled upon by unsuspecting or uncaring passersby. Those happened enough times she stopped being bothered by them a long time ago. She was highly thankful today wasn’t like those days.

She had only one thing left to do before going home and that was to return the book she borrowed from the bookshop. She planned on exchanging the book with the one she regarded as her favorite so she’d have something enjoyable to read for the next few days while her mother was out of town. Gripping her basket tightly in her hands, she set off for the bookshop.

Venlithea, or Ven as she preferred to be called, has lived in the small, quaint village of Belleurseul all her life. Anyone could mistake it for being a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere if not for the people. The village sprang to life every time a visitor dropped by and they would deem the occasion as cause to celebrate. She’s had plenty of sleepless nights from the noise these parties brought to her door. It’s partly due to this she’s wanted to leave Belleurseul for years.

It’s been her and her mother’s dream to go and find a new place for them to live. A place they could truly, truly call home. In order to do that, though, they needed money and lots of it. Her mother was a traveling merchant, which fetched them a nice amount of gold, but her sickly nature’s prevented her from going on many trips. Once she was old enough to, Ven began selling flowers she grew herself as a way to help out. It wasn’t much but it kept them afloat.

Working as a florist’s been hard. She wasn’t stupid to believe she’d earn tons of money selling flowers, especially in a rural village like Belleurseul. She just didn’t expect the struggles that came with being a flower girl. Better yet, the struggles of her being a flower girl.

As beautiful as this village was, it wasn’t perfect. Some of the buildings were falling apart, the scent of fermented waste lingered in the air, and she’s known from experience how cruel the people were. They’ve made no secret on how much they dislike, and even fear, things different from them. She and her mother weren’t like them, thus they were outcasts, pariahs.

She received the brunt of their harsh treatment. She’d hear the rumors and gossip spread about her when she walked into town. Stories of how she was a changeling born from fairies or how she was a witch sent from hell to curse them were just the tip of the iceberg. She knew they were utter nonsense but what point was there in denying them if the villagers continued to tell those tall tales, regardless of how she felt? The way she looked wasn’t her fault yet---

She fervently shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She couldn’t, wouldn’t dwell on painful memories. Today was a good day and musings of the past weren’t going to ruin that for her. She needed to get what she wanted to do done so she could help Mother prepare for her upcoming trip. She hurried off to the bookshop, ignoring the pointed looks people gave her as she passed by.

Within minutes, she arrived at her destination. The bookshop was a small, one-story building settled on a busy street corner north of the village. It had dark yellow walls that were beginning to flake with age, large windows on either side, a thin, wooden door, and a rusty sign hanging above with the word “Bookshop” carved into it. She’s come to this place ever since she was a child and the owner considered her his favorite customer. She stepped inside, the familiar smell of musty books enveloping her.

There were stacks of books scattered across the wooden floor. Bookcases that stretched all the way up to the ceiling stood at the back and sunlight streamed in from both the windows. To her left was an old, rickety counter that came up to her chest and behind it was the owner of the bookshop. He was an older man with graying hair and round glasses sitting atop his nose and was reading a book when he noticed her. He grinned warmly at her.

“Ah, Ven, you’re back!” he said excitedly, putting his book down and walking around the counter. “How’s your day been? Are you returning a book?”

“That I am--” she fished the book out of her basket and handed it to him-- “and it’s been great, thank you for asking.”

Fixing his glasses, he squinted his eyes and exclaimed, “You finished this already? It’s only been a day!”

“What can I say? I’m a fast reader,” she replied with a giggle. “Any new additions for me yet?”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Not since you asked yesterday but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Now, go on, take your pick!”

She practically skipped over to the bookcases in the back. It was a shame she couldn’t borrow more than one book at a time. It wasn’t as if the owner wouldn’t let her, it was just that she’d get too distracted with one she’d forget all about the other. She hated being somewhat of a scatterbrain when it came to books. Still, there was only one she wanted and she was going to have it. Reaching the middle bookcase, she took out the thin, hardcover book.

“I’ll go with this one.” She held it up to him. “Will that be all right?”

Taking it from her, he asked, “That one again? Haven’t you read this twice now?”

“Yes, but it’s just so good,” she replied, playing with her hands. “I consider it my favorite.”

“Oh, it has to be if you’re saying that! Tell me, what is it you like so much about it?”

“Oh, uh, well, um…”

She struggled to come up with an answer. She was a horrible liar but the truth was too embarrassing to reveal. How could she tell him about the deep sense of yearning the book left her with each time she read it? The way her heart hurt when she had to depart from the world that gave her comfort? How it filled the hole inside her by letting her have what she desperately wanted for only a short time? There was no way she could talk about such intimate things with anyone, least of all him.

“There’s just so many things I like that it’s hard to pick just one,” she answered, hoping it didn’t sound as stilted as it did in her head. She technically wasn’t lying so it might’ve seemed convincing.

With a guffaw, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you keep that book since you like it so much?”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take this from you without---”

“Ven, I can think of no one else better to hand this book to--” he squeezed her shoulder before retracting his hand and grabbing his chin-- “but if you’re so insistent on paying me back, bake me the usual.”

“Blackberry bread, right?” She grabbed the book from him and opened the door with a smile. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow morning!”

She turned to page one right after exiting the bookshop. Her eyes read over the familiar words just as they had twice before. It was a good thing she’d gotten so used to reading while walking in town, she knew what accidents to expect. With that, she fully immersed herself in her beloved fantasy world.

Flying down some steps with an unusual grace was easy. Pushing the sign above her up to protect herself from getting soaked, she could do with her eyes closed. She was small and agile enough to carefully dodge people barreling past her. It was when she already reached the third chapter she noticed the soreness in her legs. She decided to take a short rest and sat on the rim of the nearby fountain.

The noises of the world around her faded away as she continued reading. All she heard now was birdsong and the crunching of snow under her feet. She imagined herself to be in a castle’s courtyard, a wintry wonderland. She could almost feel the bitter cold nipping at her hands and face and she shuddered. Her heart fluttered in her chest upon seeing how close she and the princely beast were to each other. She began to wonder if there was there that wasn’t there before and then---

Loud bleating tore her out of her imagination. She looked up and saw several fluffy sheep gathering around her. One that seemed to be an older lamb pushed its way through the herd, bleating up at her. A smile broke across her face as she petted its head, giving it scratches behind its ear like she always did. She liked animals; they weren’t judgmental and she loved being affectionate towards them. Pets, strokes, scritches, and kisses were part of the whole package.

Then it tore out a corner of her page and ate it. She let out an annoyed sigh as she continued scratching the lamb’s ear. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t miffed at the small display of destruction but it was better to forgive and forget. It’s not like the lamb did it maliciously and it was only a corner. She could get over missing a corner of an illustration-less page.

Now was the time to be getting home. The sheep parted to make way for her and she flipped the page before crossing through the main thoroughfare. However, it was hard for her to focus on reading when there was a commotion going on. She looked up to see a crowd surrounding someone, with loud squeals and all. Ah, so the wayfaring Casanova was back in town.

Renard Géroux stood in the center with his signature charming smile. His blond hair flowed down to his shoulders in waves, not a stray strand anywhere on his handsomely chiseled face. The sun complemented his dark brown skin and the sheer white of his clothes made him seem as if he were glowing. The most striking thing about him, though, were his icy blue eyes. Eyes that were now locked on hers.

She felt a shiver run up her spine as he approached her. Everyone was like a giant to her but Renard was truly the embodiment of one. She had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, standing just at his chest. What could he want with her and how quick could she get away?

“Oh, hello, Thea, how are you today?” he asked, flipping his hair back. “It’s rare to see you outside at this time of day.”

Closing her book, she fought the urge to huff out a sigh and replied, “Hello, Mr. Géroux. I just got done running an errand I had to do after work so I’m on my way home.”

“Please, call me Renard,” he said while flashing a smile.

“Mr.---Renard, I’m in a slight hurry here so please, tell me what it is you want with me.”

“Since you asked me so nicely, I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me later today?”

She hoped he didn’t see her bristle at his suggestion. The many women that huddled around him gave her glares full of daggers. How she wished she could tell them he was all theirs and that she wanted nothing to do with him. It was rather unfortunate she wasn’t a mind-reader.

“Surely you know of the rumors about me, right?” she asked in an attempt to dissuade him. “Do you really want someone known to be a witch spending time with you? I’d be tarnishing your pristine image.”

“I tend to not believe in rumors, gossip, and the like. Now--” he wrapped a svelte arm around her shoulders-- “how about that walk?”

Quickly shaking off his arm, she replied in a deceptively calm voice, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline. I was going to help my mother prepare for her upcoming trip and I planned on relaxing by reading my book.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I hardly think reading some old, dusty tome is better than taking a nice stroll with me.”

She felt her temper flare up and forced herself to smile. “Some people may agree with you but I find good entertainment in books. Maybe you should try them some time.”

“What, like this one?” He snatched the book in her hands away. “How can anyone have fun with these?”

Her eyes widening in panic, she reached up to try grabbing the book from him while practically begging, “Renard, can you please give that back?”

“How can you even read this?” He carelessly flipped the book open to a random page. “It’s so wordy and long and there’s not even any pictures in it.” Then he threw the book over his shoulder. “You don’t need that.”

Her heart stopped when she saw it land in a nearby mud puddle. She dove to the ground and fished it out, praying it wasn’t badly damaged. Relief crashed over her upon seeing that it was only mildly wet. If it had gotten soaked, she would’ve been seriously upset and devastated.

“So how about it?” he asked nonchalantly. God, she really wanted to tell him off but causing a scene was the last thing she needed.

Instead, she took a deep breath and answered, “I’m simply too busy, Renard. Maybe when I’m free, then I’ll consider it but for now, I’m saying no.”

Holding the book close to her chest, she turned to go home. All she had to do was see her mother, bake the blackberry bread, and garden. Tending to her flowers always seemed to calm her down.

“So are you going to end up like your crackpot mother, then?”

She stopped walking as soon as she heard those words. Her fingers were beginning to hurt from how tight she held her book and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from shouting. She was pissed, for lack of a better term. She could handle the insults hurled her way but her mother was another story.

Breathing in, she stormed over to him and asked, “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” he replied, crossing his arms and returning her glare.

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in rumors.”

“They’re not rumors if they’re true. I mean, your mother’s always selling these so-called ‘herbal remedies’ and passing them off as medicine, right? Wasn’t it because of one of those strange concoctions her lover died?”

“You should fact-check your sources because you’re wrong on all accounts. Everyone knows how her lover died and even if they didn’t, that matter is none of their concern. Secondly, my mother’s a traveling merchant who happens to be an herbalist on the side. Herbalism is just another method of practicing medicine and is not something to be considered as witchcraft.”

“Thea---”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go help my mother prepare.”

Turning around, she started going back home when she stopped suddenly and looked behind her shoulder. “And another thing. Go to hell, Renard.”

Then she crossed over the bridge leading to her house. She was almost expecting Renard to grab her and demand she apologize but thankfully didn’t. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. He shouldn’t have said those kinds of awful things about her mother. He was just like them.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it was to raise a child all alone. Her mother tried her best to give her everything she needed, despite the struggles. There were nights she’d hear her crying, nights she’d go hungry, yet she faced her with a loving smile every morning. She became a florist to a town open with its prejudice as a way to repay her mother for all she had done for her. She wasn’t a crackpot; she was a hardworking, devoted mother and she loved her.

Her anger dissipated when she arrived home. It was a small, two-story house that sat on the outskirts of Belleurseul, with amber walls and pine green accents. It had an equally small stable around the back and a water wheel on the side closest to the stream. It may not have looked like much but it was home. She was going to miss this old house when she and Mother moved.

She walked towards the stable and she saw a woman. She was tall, olive-skinned, and a little on the plump side but it only added to her beauty. Her rich, burgundy hair was tied back into a thick braid and fell past her shoulder as she spread a handful of seed over the ground to feed the chickens. She turned to face her upon hearing footsteps and eyes the color of toasted pecans warmed at the sight of her. This was her adoring mother, Nithenoel Ravavyre.

Coming out of the stable, she greeted her daughter with a quick hug and kiss before asking, “Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”

“Hello, Mother, it was great actually. Here, let me show you.” She took some of the coin she gathered today out of her pocket and presented them to her. “There’s more where those came from.”

“Oh my…” Mother said under her breath, bringing the handful of coin closer to see them clearly.

“Today must’ve been my lucky day!”

“I’ll say!” She closed her fingers over the coins. “Listen, how about we go inside and put those away so we can talk, hmm?”

The two women climbed up the stone steps leading to the front door. It was a dark, well-made door with a makeshift peephole in the center. Ven was hit with a blast of warmth when Mother opened the door and it felt very nice against the cold. The fireplace must be lit if it was this warm.

Upon entering, they passed by the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor and cut across the living room. It was small but it was the perfect size for them. The walls were a nice cream color and hanging off them were several paintings Mother had done when she was younger, way before her time. To their right was a light wood cupboard where Ven set down her basket and book and above it was an oval mirror. On the other side was a small, brown sofa and a low table sat in front of it on top of a big, dark blue rug. At the back was the lit fireplace and windows where sunlight was streaming in, a couple chairs were placed in front of the fireplace with a thin blanket hanging on the back of one of them. The next room they went in was the kitchen.

It was tiny. There were four cabinets above the four counters that stretched from one honeyed wall to the tall pantry. On the opposite side of the counters was a small breakfast nook that served as their dining table with a couple stools sitting under it. A footstool was tucked in the nook’s corner for when Ven needed to fetch something from the cabinets or pantry, which was every day. She couldn’t wait to have a bigger kitchen when they finally moved.

Mother sat at the nook while she opened one of the counter doors. Inside were linens meant to come out when they had guests over but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She tossed some sheets aside to uncover a mason jar. It was heavy and she set it down on the nook. Unscrewing the top revealed tons of gold inside from years of working and saving up.

It was what they called their nest egg. They needed some serious money for their dream to become a reality and this was the result of their hard work. They’d have more if times weren’t rough and they didn’t have to dip into their savings but no use in dwelling on those.

As she was dropping her coin into the jar, Mother asked, “So, any other news to share?”

“Well, I returned the book I borrowed yesterday and guess what?” She screwed the top back on as Mother looked at her expectantly. “The owner gave me my favorite book for free!”

“That’s great, honey. I suppose it’s the one you set on the cupboard back there?” She leaned back on the stool to see it. “For free, too?”

“Well, I have to bake him his blackberry bread but it was his deal, not mine!” she replied, putting the jar back in its spot under the counter. The sheets she tossed aside earlier were thrown over the jar to hide it better.

Giggling, Mother leaned forward and said, “I know, honey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. That book’s the one where the beast falls in love with the girl who shows him the true meaning of love, right?”

“Mm-hmm and it’s all mine!”

“I’m happy for you, Thea. You know, speaking of, have you found someone you can call your prince yet?”

She let out a sigh upon hearing the question. It was hard to find and be interested in someone when the whole village seemed to hate her. She had people she’d fancied before but she knew to keep her expectations low and realistic. If she did have a “prince”, they certainly weren’t in Belleurseul.

“Mother, you know I'm not interested in romance,” she replied, bringing the footstool out of its corner.

“Not interested or haven’t found anyone yet?” Mother asked.

“Both!” She set the footstool down in front of a counter and climbed up it. “I don’t see the point of trying to find love here since we’ll be leaving Belleurseul sometime in the future.”

“What about that Renard fellow? I hear he’s back in town.”

“Ugh, Mother, don’t even joke about that. That man is an arrogant and pompous jerk who thinks he’s the hottest thing alive. I don’t wanna be anywhere near him.”

“My, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so strongly about someone before. Did he do anything to you?”

“No, it’s just…he makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it but--” she held a bundle of sugar in her hands before setting it down beside her-- “he gives me bad vibes. He hasn’t said or done anything to raise any red flags for me but he just gives me a weird feeling.”

She couldn’t explain it any other way. She could sense there being something off about him since their first meeting years ago. He seemed normal, if a little too forward at times, but she couldn’t shake off the apprehension she felt around him. Maybe it was her dislike of people like him that gave her discomfort. Either way, she knew she didn’t want to be alone in a room with him.

“Thea, you still have your dagger, right?” Mother asked with an unusually serious expression.

She stepped down from the footstool and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mother, I always keep it with me when I go out. See?” She walked around the nook and lifted her skirt up to reveal the small leather holster strapped to her thigh. “If he tries anything, I’ll make sure to defend myself.”

“I know you will, hon, I just can’t help worrying about you.” She turned in her seat to cup her cheek. “You’re my only child, Thea. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“I’ll be fine, Mother,” she said, laying her hand atop hers to comfort her. “Trust me.”

Without a word, Mother stood up and kissed her on the forehead. Then she hugged her, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny body. She returned it in the hopes it’d ease her anxiety. They’ve only really had each other for as long as she could remember; they were each others’ world, in a sense. It’d shatter if something happened to one or the other so she understood her mother’s concern. The best she could offer were words of assurance and those had to be enough.

Mother pulled away and resumed their conversation from earlier. She was good about alleviating the gloomy atmosphere so she welcomed the change in topic. It shifted back to her lack of interest in love, with Mother expressing that she only wanted her to be happy and her saying that she had a whole lifetime ahead to find love so she wasn’t worried. One of a kind, the words Mother used to describe her. She wondered if she really was so special.

She stayed in the kitchen to bake while Mother went down into the cellar to make some last-minute elixirs. The cellar was where she worked to create her herbal medicine to sell during her time on the road. She wouldn’t need to travel so far if the villagers believed she wasn’t going to poison them but her reputation was considered to be unsalvageable at this point. Ven was only allowed to tend to the herbs down there because Mother refused to let her help in the synthesizing process. There was a safety risk involved, or so she said.

Baking was a mindless activity. She didn’t need to read the labels on the measuring cups or fill the spoons to the brim, she’d done this so many times. Kneading the dough let her focus on her hands and work out any energy she may have needed to spend. It gave them food if they had none, it gave her an outlet. The last thing she did was stick the blackberry dough into the fireplace to cook. She watched as the dough expanded into its loaf shape and her mouth was watering at the smell of it. She took the newly-baked bread out and waited for it to cool down before cutting it. One half was for Mother while the other for the bookshop owner.

Then it was time to pack. They began loading up the wagon with the goods Mother wanted to sell, making sure she had enough oil in her lantern to last her for several days, and stocking her with plenty of food for both her and the horse. Dahlia was a beautiful Clydesdale, large and powerful but sweet as can be, with a chestnut coat, blonde mane, and the most soulful brown eyes. She’s been with them ever since she was a young foal and was used to taking long trips such as these.

“Well, I think I’m set to go,” Mother said, fastening her hat as she walked up to the wagon. “I’ll be back in a few days so remember to feed the animals and---”

“Take care of myself, I know, Mother, don’t worry,” she cut off. “Everything will be fine.”

Letting out a small laugh, she gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Thea.”

“Love you too.” She returned the hug. “See you soon.”

Mother climbed up to the seat and took hold of the reins. Ven approached Dahlia to stroke her neck, asking her to keep themselves safe till they were home again. With a cry, the wagon began to move and turned on the road heading out of the village. Mother and Ven waved each other goodbye.

“Stay safe!”

“You too!”

It was late in the afternoon when Mother left. She went over her mental checklist to see what else she needed to do. The animals were fed their lunch, she’d done all her chores for the day, and she took care of the bread for tomorrow. She had the rest of the daylight hours free and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend them. She strode back inside to read her book.

Before she picked it up, she glanced at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her as she thought about the rumors the villagers spread of her. She wasn’t a witch or a changeling, that much she knew for sure. But what other explanation was there for how she looked? No one looked like her, no human in the whole world ever looked like her, so why did she? Books held the answers she wanted but those were fantastical and she lived in reality. A reality that couldn’t apply to her.

Her face seemed normal enough, even if it resembled a fairy’s from an illustration in one of her books. Bright, round eyes, small button nose, rosy cheeks, and full lips were all the defining marks of a fey. Maybe her skin counted as well, since she’s heard it described as being pale as moonlight. Long, snow white locks of hair framed her face in a way that matured her as the rest, although tied back, cascaded down her back like a waterfall to her waist. Then there were her eyes.

Everything else could be explained away but not her eyes. They were truly a mystery, an impossibility made possible. They were a vivid violet, similar to dark amethyst gems or bellflowers in full bloom. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could determine why she was born with them but that didn’t stop the villagers from making their own interpretations. They weren't quiet about it, either.

Maybe the reason she loved this book was because she could sympathize with the beast. She understood what it was like to be feared, hated simply for her looks. They were both cursed but his was a spell that could break. Hers was a matter of permanence, something she was stuck with till the day she passed on from this world. Who could love a beast like her?

She needed to escape. Her emotions were starting to get the best of her and staying in reality any longer would surely cause them to overflow. She gingerly grabbed the book, sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and began to read from where she left off at. This was fine.

Be patient, she told herself. Just wait a little more and you won’t feel this way ever again. You’ll find your prince. You won’t be lonely anymore. You’ll be loved and accepted, you just need to wait a little longer.

She hoped that day would come soon.

#airi's writing #oc; Venlithea #oc; Renard #oc; Nithenoel #beauty and the beast au

8 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

When the Night is Still Young

Pairing: Brute x Princess

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

notes: Did I write this because @sxnalien art and couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was? absolutely Plus this ship needs more love and I shall serve. Enjoy :)

tag list: @shellielyzabeth @over-under-through1 (if you want to be on my tag list I have a post about that.)

---

The wind was light and fair as it rolled through Townsville. It was one of those nights that nothing happened. No monster attacks or a bank being robbed. Rare but peaceful. Unless you were a part of the Morebucks household. No every night was pure bliss as the richest girl in the city and probably the entire country, waltzed towards her room ready to turn in for the night.

Her glass of milk was set on her nightstand that was embezzled with pure gold and hefty sapphires as the handles. She was one of high class and taste so anything under $500 would not cut it. Even the mountain of pillows that laid on her king size bed had more worth than most of the salaries of the kids on the far side of town. Big, flashy, rich. Her taste couldn’t be matched.

She grabbed her novel and slipped into bed where the finest silk sheets of a deep purple hue laid. Even at age 24, she was just as many remembered. Spoiled, chunning, spoiled, rude, spoiled, hot, spoiled, manipulative and of course spoiled rotten.

But when Daddy Morebucks had more money than most, what else were you to expect? In fact her taste proved in every aspect of her life.The food she ate was organic and came from the best chefs around. The clothes were designer and handbags imported from overseas. Her jewels had rare value and she loved nothing more than to show off her money. Even the people she dated were a part of her social level.

She flipped the page of her book as her lamp, that came from Paris and was crafted from stained glass, gave a soft glow. It was quiet and the estate had turned in for the night. The only thing she heard was the soft tapping of the wind.

And then the shuffle of the balcony door lock.

“You’re late.” Princess said as another page was turned. A grumbled came from the window as it closed.

“You’re lucky I'm even here.”

The book was taken out of her hands and she looked up to see the pair of greens eyes. Black eyeliner was caked around them, bringing out the rich color that glowed under the soft light of the lamp.

“Still dressing like a street rat I suppose.” Princess smirked and a dark chuckle came from the other girl.

“You act like you don’t like the chains and spikes. Sugar Plum.” Brute winked as she flashed a grin that showcased her slightly sharpened canines.

Princess pressed her lips together as her cheeks puffed out into a pout knowing she was right. But nonetheless her eyes traveled down. For someone who only wore Louis Vuitton and Gucci, she found out that her soft spot was black crop tops, leather jackets and a spiked collar that made her shiver every time it was worn around Brute's neck.

“Maybe I do. Get over it.” Princess spat as Brute leaned until her nose bumped hers.

“You’re such a little brat ya know?” She said as she took her lips into a bruising kiss.

If you would have told Princess that she would one day end up underneath the notorious green powerpunk. She would have laughed and thrown a gold bar at your face. She had only dated men whose wallets were almost as big as hers and just as snotty. Yet not once did she ever feel something more than physical attraction, even then it was slim.

She wanted high class and someone who could stand their own next to her. No one had ever come close to it. The relationships would turn to dust in a matter of months and deep down she wanted to have someone there who appreciated her for more than money, she was human after all.

And that's when she met Brute. One of the galas she had attended was coming to the end and she had decided that the world had seen enough of her for the night. Since it was one of the smaller events, Princess took her own car. Sometimes the limos were too stuffy and she preferred to drive the night with the windows down and her own tune humming.

“Damn these heels.” She groaned as the elevator to the parking garage was now out of order. She pushed open the stairwell and wished she had her jetpack to soar her through the sky. The click of her black stilettos echoed as she climbed the stairs.

The top of the parking garage came into view as she opened the last door and clicked her phone to make sure that whoever didn’t fix that damn elevator would be fired or seriously hurt. The luxury convertible with her signature license plate was on the other side and sometimes she wondered why she did this to herself.

Huffing, she continued in her tall heels not noticing the door behind her opening. In those mere seconds of her pulling out her eyes, she felt an arm wrap around her waist. She let out a yelp before throwing her elbow back and twisting the arm not caring about the snap that came with it. She turned before sending her foot in between the legs of the man who dared to touch her.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She growled before shoving the tip of her heel down next to his face, missing him by a hair.

Her eyes glared down at the man now weeping on the ground. His hands were raised in a shudder as he tried to regain his breath from being thrown to the ground and kicked in the balls. Quickly she leaned down and took a picture of his id before tossing it at his face and spraying him with pepper spray for good measure.

She ignored his scream as she walked away and texted the picture to her personal body guards. “Fucking scum bags.”

Her head was now sprouting a headache and all she wanted to do was get home and be surrounded by her riches. Princess narrowed her eyes as she came closer to her car and noticed a figure leaning against it. Smoke blowing from their lips as the cigarette sat between their fingers.

“Unless you are going to pay for those scratches, beat it!” She spat and pointed her finger.

The cigarette was dropped to the ground with an immature flip and black combat boots came down on it like a bug. The light gave out as she looked up with a dark chuckle, the last of the smoke dissipating into the air and Princess felt the shiver in her spine as she noticed the sinister grin coming from the other woman.

“This little thing?” The woman, she assumed was around her age, trailed her finger along the hood. “I’ve seen better.”

The red head rolled her eyes and looked her up and down. “What do you want Brute?”

Brute tilted her head like a dog getting offered a walk. “Ahh so the queen knows who i am.” She pushed off the car and threw a hand in her pocket. “I’m flattered.”

“It’s not like you keep a low profile. Everyone knows who the Punks are.” She spat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to leave.” She tried to take a step but Brute blocked her path.

“The night is still young Sugar Plum.” Brute raised her eyebrow and Princess suddenly felt so small against those green eyes.

“Why would I want to spend my valuable time with you?” She asked.

Brute chuckled and shrugged. “Not too sure babe. But I did just watch you kick and spray that poor sucker over there and now I'm intrigued.”

Maybe Princess didn’t notice the blush creeping up on her cheeks but she pushed all thoughts away and scoffed. “He’s a creep and I don’t have time for nonsense. Goodnight.” She pushed past and clicked her car door open.

“Yay know. I wish I were in town to see the old Princess.” Brute said and she paused.

“Old Princess?”

“Yep.” Brute popped the P. “The infamous Princess Morebucks. Doesn’t take shit from anyone and does what she wants. So sad that we are so young and yet you parade around like daddys little golden medal, making sure to please everyone with an image you don’t want to keep.”

“It’s called running a business.” Princess said quickly yet she hated that the other woman was right.

“No need to get defensive, I’m just saying that I thought you were much more wild. Afterall you were a super villain but maybe you’ve been humbled down to a spoiled brat whose only reckless behavior is staying up till one.” Brute smirked before turning on her heel. “See ya later Sugar Plum.”

Brute began to walk. The metal chain belt made a slight rattling as she inched closer and closer towards the stairwell. Princess stood as she looked at her steering wheel then back at the punk. Something inside of her wanted to just drive away, feel the freedom that she used to as a teenager.

She got into the car, seatbelt clashing loudly as if all sound had been turned off around her. Her hands gripped the wheel and her eyes glanced towards the sky where the moon was hardly up.

The engine roared to life and she pulled out of the parking space making her way towards the exit.

“Get in.” She said and the punk turned around with a devious grin. A shutter went through her spine as the door opened and the seat filled in with Brute.

“Alright Sugar Plum, lets see that wild side.” And soon the parking lot was filled with dust as rubber burned through the city's streets.

You could hear the music blasting from the street as the pair walked up to the door.

“A club?” Brute asked yet she was impressed with the location.

It was located on the far side of town. The crime rate here had skyrocketed over the years and if you wanted to find a drug paradise, check between the cracks of the sidewalks.

Princess led her to the door. Her ID didn’t need to be checked as they passed the long line and were ushered in quickly. The dim lights only held a sea of bodies grinding against one another while cheap booze flowed in their veins.

The music was terrible and the smell might have been worse but she grabbed the punk's hand and led her to the dance floor without a care in the world. Their hips swayed and soon they had a drink in their hands.

The red head let the alcohol flood her system and soon the music wasn’t as bad as before. She kept her eyes focused on those dazzling greens. She hated the color beforehand. Thought that it was trashy unless it was a crisp hundred bill. But now even with the blazing light, she could see the flecks of the hue taking shape in her iris and wanted to explore it further.

“I never would have pegged you as a club person.” Brute said in her ear as the Princess pressed her back to her chest.

“It's the only place no one cares who you are.” She said as her hand made its way to Brutes cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

Maybe she let the world of her father's business consume her before her life had even started. Maybe Brute was right. She was Princess Motherfucking Morebucks. The same girl who used to build rockets and lasers just to destoy the puffs and now she was wasting what should be her reckless party years, doing things she would be doing for the rest of her life.

Brute's hands traveled down until she spun the red head around and kissed her again. Princess’s hands wandered to her neck as she tugged slightly at the spiked collar with a large metal loop.

“There's that wild side.” Brute said against her lips as she pulled her impossible closer while the music played. “I like it.”

Princess couldn’t tell what was driving her insane. The third shot of vodka or the way her lips felt like molten lava, a tingling sensation she had never had before but she was craving it like no other. All her past relationships came into her mind.

Man after man, not one could even bring Princess the satsiaction to even smile. They had all been the one thing she hated most, boring. Fake smiles, only there for her last name and to climb the ranks, that all she was. She was a bank vault that many wanted to access and she had begun to just give up the code, but not anymore. She didn’t want boring and she certainly wouldn’t be that.

Brute was far from it. Piercings and tattoos covered her arm, something her father would disaprove of greatly, and yet she didn’t have a care in the world as she just let the music play on.

Princess kissed her back, enjoying the way the metal lip pieces felt against her lips. It was electrifying and freeing as Brute kissed her neck. She had been captivated by the punk. The way she doted on her like no man had before. She originally thought she was only here for the money, a big fear she kept to herself but although Brute loved cash, she enjoyed the presence of the spoiled girl more.

“I got you something.” Brute whispered in her ear. A shock wave of pleasure jolted through Princess' heart as Brute reached into her pocket and pulled out a velvet box. “I know how much you love chain babes.”

Princess took the box and opened it. It was a silver chain necklace with a small crown charm.

“But I also know that it's not your thing, so I thought something that would remind you of your royal status would do.” She joked but Princess stared at the small necklace with wide eyes.

It was simple and small, yet she felt tears threaten to spill. Her entire life she had been showered with elegant gifts and priceless treasures. She was accustomed to receiving fine things, because it was expected. Sometimes it was underwhelming to constantly get things that never had an emotional value.

She took the necklace out of the wrapping and put it on. The cool metal graced her skin and she felt her cheeks heat up at the sweet gift. She looked up at Brute who had a soft expression, something she wore rarely.

Princess set the box aside and placed her hand against Brute’s cheek.

“It's not diamonds but it will do.” She playfully teased before kissing Brute.

She felt Brute groan against her lips and soon she was laying on top of her.

“You’re still spoiled as ever.” Brute glared as she ran her fingers through the curly ginger locks. “But I still like it.” She winked “Reminds me of when I first saw you beat up that dude.”

“That was two years ago.” Princess blew on her bangs.

Brutes hand lightly slapped her ass making the redhead bury her face in her neck. “Yeah but it was hot.”

Princess hummed. “Whatever. Thank you by the way.” She said the last part quickly.

“Ooooo did I just hear the queen thank me?” Brute laughed and her hands were then held above her head pressing into the sheets. She looked through hooded eyes up at the redhead pinning her from above.

“I’m not repeating myself.” Princess batted her eyelashes. “Now, let's go for a ride.”

“Really? At two a.m?” Brute smirked.

Princess practically jumped off her bed before walking to her closet and changing quickly. She reappeared wearing a short black dress and her own pair of combat boots.

Brute sat up with a smirk and gave a low whistle.

“The nights still young babe.” She said before grabbing Brutes hands and leading out the door to her private garage. Soon her car roared to life and the windows were rolled down as the drove off into the night.

I hope you enjoyed :)

shout out to my lovely betas: Lisa, Aves and Cilla :)

#princess x brute #brute x princess #ppg #princess ppg #brute ppg #thepowerpunkgirls #ppg fic

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lennydaisy · 4 years

Text

EPIPHANY SERIES // OUTER BANKS // CHAPTER ONE.

(n.) a moment when you suddenly feel that you understand. or suddenly become conscious of something that is very important to you.

“Care to seize the day, my friend?”

Outer Banks Season 1- FEM OC! and ?

Here's the Prologue in case you haven’t read it already <3 Check it out!

There is something that I should probably tell you: My Dad went missing at sea nine months ago looking for a shipwreck. Heavy, I know. My dad has always been obsessed with the waves and their secrets. Going above and beyond with his research just to understand the smallest corners of the ocean. I still remember the day he told me about this amazing ship called ‘The Royal Merchant’ like it was yesterday.

Bursting through the tarnished door of the Château, kicking my shoes off as I rushed into the kitchen, “Dad! Look what my friend made me,” I announced causing my dad to jump, smacking his head on the cabinet that he was tucked within, screwdriver in hand.

“Ow. Fuck!” he hissed and I gasped at the man, pointing accusingly at the jar which reads 'Pay up, Chuck!’. Grunting, but not objecting, he pulls out a dollar, stuffing it in the jar before turning around staring at my innocent face.

“You have a mark,” I giggled and gestured his whole face, “There,” and he just asked “Has it damaged my handsome face?” which I instantly shake my head at saying, “Of course not.”

“That’s my girl,” he ruffles my hair causing me to huff and swat away his hands as he pulls out a chair now looking eye-level at me, “And what’s this?” he asked, gently taking the delicate origami boat out of my small hands.

“It’s a boat,” I stated the obvious, “My friend and I are going to sail it tomorrow at the boat race,” I said proudly with my hands on my hips

“Oh really,” he raised his eyebrows at me, brushing his fingers over the pink initials on the side of the 'boat’.

’M&T’

“Yes. My friend has a remote control boat that he’s going to race and I want to take part too, so he made me this,” I confess, eyes sparkling at the boat my dad’s fiddling with, “It’s good isn’t it?”

My dad just looked at me, “Do you really want to enter the boat race?” he asked, his eyes searching mine for any sign of uncertainty.

“Well yeah,” I tilted my head, “Do you think I’ll win?”

“Can I show you something?” he asked ignoring my question which I scrunched my nose at, but nodded none the less. My paper boat still in hand, dad made his way over to his office and I followed behind cautiously, stopping at the door, peering in at him as he sits at his desk, “Come in Ladybug.”

Placing my boat at the head of his desk, he beckons me over, tapping the photographs he pulled out. It was a ship. I had never seen a ship like it before. It had huge, white sails that were propelled forward with the weight of the wind. Painted coal black with the most luxurious gold lining along the sides, but what stood out the most was the angel. At the bow of the ship, there was the most beautiful sculpture, its wings spread and arms wide, welcoming the waves that it cruised through.

“Wow,” was all I could say and my dad seemed to understand the overwhelmingness, “Amazing, isn’t it?” he asked and I nodded agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Imagine sailing that in the boat competition,” I dreamed, I could see it then. Me, standing tall and proud, captains hat on my head, sword in hand as I order us forward, trusting the directions of the angel.

“That would be something,” he muses tapping my nose as I was causing condensation to gather on the photo with how closely I was examining at it, “But sadly this ship sank a long time ago.”

The news shocked me. 'How could such a breathtaking ship just sink?’ I thought, so I asked just that.

“Well, sometimes ships don’t always make it through their voyage,” he reasoned and I looked at him with careful eyes, “Maybe it was pirates?” I suggested.

“Pirates?” he laughed, leaning back in his chair, watching with amusement as I darted around his office reenacting the scene of a Pirate trying to steal the ship, “Argh! Where be the gold?” a pencil held accusingly in his direction.

“At the bottom off the ocean.”

His abruptness caused me to lose character as I stared at him in curiosity, “Wait, really?” I jumped on his desk, my act is long forgotten as I swung my legs back and forward. He just nods, eyes wrinkling with a wide smile.

I grabbed his hand, shaking it, “Then what are we waiting for? Let go get it,” my innocence was nothing short of entertaining for my dad, “It’s a little harder than that, ladybug,” he answered, my shoulders dropping at his response, “And what would you do with $500 million in gold, huh?”

$500 million!? Ignoring my initial shock and answered back with the utmost certainty, “I’d go, full Kook.”

He chuckled at my honesty, reaching down for the old box that was sitting beside his chair. Pulling off the tape and rummaging through the brown tissue paper as I sneezed at the dust that danced around in the air.

He pulled out a boat. It was like a replica of the 'Royal Merchant’ with a bit of character. Its blue paint peeling off the sides and the single sail sitting askew at the mast. Passing it gently to me he said, “I want you to sail this at the boat competition tomorrow,” he announced as he timidly waited for my reaction.

“I know it’s old and not remote-controlled-” placing the boat beside me, I lunged forward pulling my dad in for a hug. The hairs on his chin digging into my shoulder caused me to back away slightly, “Thank you, Dad,” I whispered.

Picking up the boat, I stared at it proudly.

My own Royal Merchant.

“I call it… the 'HMS Pogue.”

I miss him.

Life was so much easier when I was five. No worries or responsibilities. Life was just… good.

Three months after he went missing the police declared him dead, but John B and I weren’t giving up. Until I see a body, I’m not signing anything.

As for mom, you’ve probably had a better chance of seeing her than I have. She left when we were three years old and moved to Colorado. At least John B said it was Colorado.

Then there’s the legend himself, Uncle T. I say legend because I haven’t seen him in years, for all I know he might not even be real. Since dad vanished he is supposed to be our legal guardian. However, he’s currently in Mississippi for construction, 'Building an Empire’, as he explained to me over the phone, or did he. No, he really did, something about him 'making his way up in the world.’Good for him, I guess?

So, for the time being, it’s just been, Johnny Boy and I. A pair of unemancipated teenagers who have been living on our own.

“It has come to our attention that you’re two unemancipated minors living on your own,” Cheryl says sighing, taking off her glass staring us down as if daring us to tell her otherwise.

John B and I exchange looks before turning back to Cheryl who looks at us expectingly, “No,” John B laughs scoffing at her 'assumption’. She tilts her head at John B, turning to me waiting for my Input, “Sounds false,” I say, going back to clicking the rather expensive pen that I nabbed off her desk.

Rolling her eyes at the pair of us, “What I need from you two is honesty,” reaching over in an attempt to snatch the pen out of my hand. I just hold it my above my head out of her reach with a childish smile. Sighing, she slumps back in her chair, “I want to help you. That’s what we want, right?” she continues.

“Yeah, we’ll be honest,” John B nods as I hold up three fingers, “Scouts honour,” I smile at the lady.

Letting out another sigh, 'God, she sighs a lot,’ she begins to write, “When was the last time you both saw your uncle?” she asks.

Not even having to look at my brother, I already know what he was going to say, “34 minutes ago,” we both announce. Cheryl glances up from her papers, squinting at our synchronization, “And when was the last time you saw him?”

“Two hours and 43 minutes ago,” I say again in sync with John B who shudders at the fact that I knew exactly what he was going to say. Shrugging off his wide eyes, I stare at Cheryl who places down her pen, hands now clasped professionally on her desk, “We’re going to come out tomorrow, to speak with your uncle. If he’s not there, we’re going to move forward with foster care.”

With that, John B and I stand up moving our way to the door, my knees slightly shaking at the lady’s words. John B holds the door open for me but pauses when Cheryl calls out, “I can assure you, both of you, we will find a safe and loving home,”

Turning back once more, “You don’t want this back, do you?” I ask, dangling the turquoise Tiffany pen catching her attention again.

“I’ll collect it when we come by tomorrow,” she dismisses.

'Right. Tomorrow.’

“How did you do that?” John B questions as we walk towards the van, “Do what?” I ask, sticking the pen behind my ear.

“Know what I was going to say to Cheryl,” He answers fishing the keys out of his pocket, “Because we’re psychic, remember?”

Feeling the lack of presence beside me, I turn to see John B just eyeing me down. Shrugging my shoulders, I reply, “You think out loud,” referring to John B’s concerning amount of mumbling before arriving here.

“I do not,” he mutters walking up to the driver’s side of the van, “also, you weren’t a scout,” he calls out.

“I know,” I admit, “It just made me feel less bad about lying.”

Sitting in the uncomfortable heat, my back sticking to the ripped leather seats, my head running with thoughts, I ask, “Do you think they’ll split us up?”

Looking out the rolled-down window all I see is passing houses and blurred faces. I see people with no worries and I can’t help but feel helpless in my situation. We have no control over anything that happens. Sure we can run, but how long is it until we run out of breath?

Sometimes I just wish we could go back in time, back to when my biggest problem in life was arguing with Pope that it was a useless skill knowing the first thirty numbers of PI. It’s impressive, super nerdy, but still impressive, and also completely useless. ’See, I still can’t get over it.’

“Is that what you’re so worried about? Us being split up,” he questions, now understand why the first five minutes of the drive home was unnaturally silent.

“Well yeah, doesn’t it scare you too? The thought of living with another family who have no idea who we are and take pity on us because our dad went missing,” my voice cracking slightly at the mention of dad. Even after nine months, it’s still hard to believe that he’s just… gone. Things like that don’t just happen. Not here. Not now.

“Hey,” he says rubbing my knee, I stop picking at my bracelet, looking up at him with damp eyes, “Foster care is the last place we’ll be going, okay?” Despite the niggling at the back of my head, I sheepishly nod at him now feeling stupid for getting upset about something that I knew John B would never allow to happen.

“And beside’s if they did split us up, which they won’t 'cause we’re not going to foster care, you’d for sure be given back after they realise how much of a pest you are,” I couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, rubbing my hand under my nose, “Oh, I’m the pest?” I cough, leaning my back against the door looking accusingly at the boy.

“100%. You know what your problem is?” looking in my direction quickly making sure I was still listening to him, a knowing smirk covering his face, “You love me too much and you can’t bare the thought of living without me.”

I know what he’s was saying was meant to be joke, but it holds truth behind it. I don’t know where I would be without John B. Say its because we’re twins and we naturally have that bond together, but he has been a constant rock throughout my life. He has always been there, not only from birth.

From when he learned how to walk before me and would attempt to lift me by my head urging me to do the same. From our first day at school, when we walked hand in hand through the gates. From my first relationship that didn’t last longer than a day because I got him to hand the poor boy a note saying 'I wanted to break up’.

I don’t know why I thought this would be any different.

John B didn’t have to be my friend. He could have just left it at 'sister’ and that’s it. But he didn’t and he never would. I might be his sister first and foremost, but secondly, I’m also his friend. A friend that he can tell anything to. A friend who he can lean on when times get tough. A friend who will always be there for him. I support and love him as a sister and as a friend.

He’s my rock.

“I really couldn’t,” I admit knowing fine well that if John B wasn’t here I wouldn’t want to know who I’d be. I’d be a completely different person and that’s a person I’d rather not meet.

“Don’t get all sappy on me now,” he says pulling up to the Château, bringing the van to a stop. Pushing open the door, I stop when I hear him confess, “I couldn’t live you either,” he smiles at me.

“Look whose being sappy now,” closing the door behind me, making my way round to the front of the house.

“Hey, you’ll be alright on your own for a bit yeah? I’m going to head in town, see what’s up with the storm,” he calls and I just nod and eagerly ask, “Can you bring me home Reese’s cup? Kie ate them all.”

“Pretty sure it was you who ate them all, but sure Mace,” he honks the horn as I wave him off down the road.

The Château. Home sweet home. Well, as sweet as an old fish shack on the marsh can be. It might not look like much, but if you can look past the peeling wallpaper, leaking ceiling, tatted coach, and a terrible internet connection, you’d see a home.

Kicking off my shoes, I welcome in the smell of burnt toast courtesy of John B this morning. 'It’s not burnt, just lightly crisped,’ he said. If you would consider a chard slice on bread to be 'lightly crisped’ then he’s an expert at making toast.

I’ve had a tough day, more like a tough year, but I digress. My dad’s missing, mom’s out of the picture, my uncle is M.I.A, and now the bride of Frankenstein is threatening me with foster care. I deserve a gold star just for not going insane yet.

Pulling out dad’s stash of old records, my eyes flicker until I set sight on the album. 'Elvis’ Gold Records Vol 4,’ smiling fondly at the faded cover, the corners hanging together for dear life with the number of times its been played.

Tactfully, I place the record on the turntable of dad’s '54 Garrard oak record player. Gently I blow on the record until the static scratching fades and Elvis’ soulful voice fills the room with an energy that I can’t help, but dance to.

'You look like an angel, walk like an angel,’

I prance around the room, mumbling the lyrics under my breath, swaying my hips slowly, losing myself for just a moment within the strumming of the bass. Just as fast, I’m jumping around the living room like Tazmanian Devil, flipping my hair as I pretend to be playing the instruments as the chorus drops.

'You’re the devil in disguise, oh yes, you are the devil in disguise,’

I grab the stick of deodorant, using it as a microphone as I yell the lyrics, pointing at my reflection like a rockstar. My eyes instantly closing as a glare of light reflects into my eyes, 'It’s the paparazzi, they’ve found me,’ I thought.

I was wrong.

Squeezing one eye open, still posing in my rockstar stance, I spot the reflection a hysterical JJ hunched over on himself, phone in hand as he runs the other through his hair, “Pope was right, you can’t sing, or dance,” he wheezes, wiping away the streaks running down his red cheeks.

Sighing, I place the deodorant back in its place, turning to face the boy, my eyes follow him as he types away, nose buried in his phone, 'So much for my big break.’ Flicking off the record, I hear the sound of my singing protruding from JJ’s phone, the boy still laughing at what he had just witnessed.

“You better not show that to anyone,” I threat, holding eye contact with him and he nods, “Don’t worry May, this is for my eyes only,” he sniggers waving his phone around soon shoving it into the back pocket of his shorts.

“Why are you here anyway?” I question watching JJ kick his feet up on the couch, arms crossed leisurely behind his head. He nods in the direction of his disregard bag that he dumped in the middle of the room, “Well, as you can see, I packed a bag and-”

“And now you’re in my house… why?” I interrupt still failing to see the logic behind him being here. He was here this morning and he was back already?

“Storm Aggies hitting tonight and I know how much you hate storms so, naturally here I am” he excuses, “To protect you,” he explains but I just stayed focussed on the boy with raised eyebrows.

Eventually getting tired of his own excuses, JJ sits up, legs in a basket, picking at the rings on his fingers, “My dad’s been on a three-day bender,” he admits and trails off, “I just don’t want to deal with him right now.”

’Welp, now I feel like an asshole.’

Of course, I know about JJ’s home life and all the terrible shit his dad, if you could even call him that, puts him through. I realised pretty early on in our friendship when he showed up at the Château one day with a shiner. When my dad opened the door he was instantly alarmed at the spurt of colour invading the young boy’s face, but JJ being JJ just brushed it off and said he fell.

My dad wasn’t stupid and had his speculations about JJ’s father, often seeing the drunk man stumbling around the marsh, but he didn’t want to question the boy as he had no idea what he goes through behind closed doors.

That night when JJ went home, dad told both John B and I that we should never go to JJ’s house on our own, but never actually telling us the reason why. As you can probably guess, I didn’t listen to my dad’s wishes, and what I learned that day changed the way I saw JJ.

It was weird. I had never gone this long without seeing the boisterous blonde.

Last week JJ promised me that he would take me to see his dad’s boat. ‘The Phantom’, he called it. After recently seeing how interested I had gotten into boats and ships he wanted to show me his dad’s most prized possession.

So, there I was, sitting at the curb outside my house, two ice-cold ice pops in hand, a strawberry one for me and an orange one for JJ, waiting patiently for the boy in question.

My tongue and lips were tinted pink as my wonderous eyes watched the passing cars and letting out the occasional 'awe’ when dogs strutted past.

'Where is he? His ice pop’s melting,’ I thought as the cold condensation ran down my hands, evaporating as soon as the drips hit the burning tarmac.

'He wouldn’t ditch me, would he?’ I instantly shook away my doubts, 'JJ would never do that, don’t be stupid Mason.’

Sparing a glance over my shoulder I saw dad and John B getting ready to head to the marsh in hopes of catching some drum. When I saw the boat head out into the water, I brushed myself off and ran in the direction of JJ’s house.

Now, I knew that my dad told me never to go there, but I wasn’t planning on chapping his door, I would just hopefully meet him halfway. Maybe he was late?

JJ’s house wasn’t far from mine, I was practically a straight road. Something you’ll notice about the cut is the further you venture in the more, how should I put it, Pogue-like it gets, and JJ’s house was no exception to this.

Having not seen a glimpse of his blonde locks, I wandered down the dirt drive aside of the house.

That’s when I heard it.

Whilst stepping through the long grass, dodging the scattered litter, broken beer bottles, and petrol canisters. I paused. Too scared to move.

“Where do you think you’re going, boy?” I heard a gravelling voice slur, I assumed it was his dad. As skillfully as possible, I tiptoed to the wall of the house, leaning over slightly to peer in through the screened porch.

I don’t know who I saw that day but, it wasn’t my JJ.

My JJ had this aura of mischief around him. My JJ had boisterously messy hair and wild eyes sparkling with strength. My JJ was my knight in shining armour, but the boy I was looking at was… broken. An empty shell. Not at all JJ.

“Out,” was all he said. That’s all he said.

What I saw that day stayed with me forever. I couldn’t watch it. The sight of JJ being tackled to the ground by his dad caused me to gasp, ducking back against the wall, trembling fingers over my mouth as all I could do was listen with numb ears.

I can’t remember how long it went on for, the cries and pleas seemed to play on repeat. The slamming of a car door and the kickback of dirt hitting my shins brung me back to that sad reality. Watching the car speed off with damp eyes, I wobbled my way around the house.

“JJ,” I whispered trying not to frighten the boy, but ultimately doing so when the screen door let out an ear pinching screak.

Once lying on his back, but now he stood defensively before me, eyes wide, “May? What,-” he chocked, using the back of his hand in an attempt to wipe away the blood that crept its way onto his white teeth, “what are you doing here?”

He attempted to shield his face from my wavering eyes, but I still saw. I saw his swollen lip. I saw his bloodshot eyes. I saw the handprints around his neck.

I saw him.

“We were supposed to hang out today,” I reminded him, but instantly shook my head and took a step closer to him as he took one back, bumping into the cabinet causing a cluster of empty beer bottles to smash against the floor.

Crouching down, mumbling something like 'his dads going to kill him,’ he attempts to pick up the shards of glass, hissing as they stuck to his fingers.

Still timid with my actions, I spoke up, “Go grab a first aid kit,” as I looked around the messy living room for a safe way to clean the glass, “I’ve got it,” but the boy just cried.

In front of the broken glass sat a more broken boy, head buried in his hands, knees up to his chest that heaved with panic. It hurt to see JJ like this. It was like seeing what happens behind the curtain and it frankly terrified me. The thought that this had been happening to my best friend and I had no idea.

I was so used to JJ being there for me that I didn’t stop to think 'Who was there for him?’ And that makes me a terrible friend.

I ignored the screaming of the old floorboards under my weight. I ignored the feeling of the glass digging into my knees. I ignored, despite how difficult it was, the guilt that ached my heart.

I just hugged him.

My JJ.

From that day forward I promised myself one thing: that I would never be innocently ignorant of what is going on around me.

Life isn’t always sunshine and daffodils, with peaceful doves and poetic words. Life can be cruel and unfair for a variety of reasons, majority none of our own, and that’s where friends come in. All you have to do is show them that sometimes the grass is greener on the other side and sometimes it isn’t, but that’s okay because as long as you’re there for them, the tiniest shed of light can grow a flower.

“You’re gonna have to start paying rent dude,” I joke in hopes of lifting his spirit and it partly works as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, “But hey, you’re always welcome here, alright?”

JJ knows that I would never turn him away, but sometimes he just needs that little bit of reassurance. No matter what, our door is always open, for anyone really, who might need a break from their life because I can guarantee that once they see the shitshow that is my life, they’ll realise that they’re not alone.

Holding eye contact with me, he nods sheepishly, “I know,” causing bliss to erupt in the pit of my stomach.

But shy JJ never lasts very long. That smirk that I know all too well tells me that I’m in for a ride tonight, “Besides, with this fresh, juicy bait that I have on you now, you’d never let me leave.”

There he is, that’s the JJ I know and love.

“You might single-handedly be the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” I just poured a bit of my heart out to this boy and what does he do? He laughs in my face, but I can’t help but giggle at the sight of his eyes popping out at my sudden confession, “Might!? There’s someone else!?”

The night that Storm Agatha hit the Outer Banks was filled with nothing but playful banter, the chugging of many beers, and a friendly, not so friendly, game of Go-Fish.

Whether it was intensional or not, JJ made me forget all about the whirling winds that subtly shook the Château. Instead fogging my mind with his failed attempts to try and cheat himself a win.

I could deny it until the cows come home, but there’s no point.

JJ is my knight in shining armour.

He’s my JJ.

But, I’ll never tell him that.

Chapter One: FIN!

Oft, two flashbacks in one, sounds goos to me. There will be a lot of these throughout this story. I feel as though it helps me establish Mason’s current relationships with those around her, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.

What did you think?

I didn’t mean to hit you with fluff, angst, and then fluff again, but I’m proud of this chapter, even if its just the very beginning and we still have a lot to go through so, saddle up troops.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter <3

Also, if anyone would like to be tagged in future chapters just let me know and I will for sure do that!

*TAGLIST*

@xshinytrashcanx

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notarelationship · 5 years

Text

Limafornication

Summary: AU. Kurt finds himself at a Halloween party in Lima where Blaine is playing in a band with his friends. Rating: Mature Words: 3786 Warnings: alcohol use, hook-up, alcohol use (at a party), slightly anonymous sex

This fic is for @kriskubed (and tumblr won’t let me tag you...), who stepped in at the very last minute to pinch hit in the 2018 Klaine Fic Exchange. Thank you so much for your help, I hope you like it, and I'm sorry it took me so long!

Each section is a switch in POV, so keep an eye out for that!

“That is trashy even for you Hummel,” Santana looked him over head to toe as he came out of the bedroom. It had taken him some time to be satisfied with the final details of his Halloween costume. “That should end your dry spell.”

Kurt scoffed. “We’re back in Ohio for a Halloween party San, I just want to shock these assholes for giving me such grief while I lived here.”

“I think you look delightful,” Brittany leaned over and whispered, giving him two thumbs up.

He knew he looked amazing. When he and Rachel had been discussing costume options he’d settled on a circus ringmaster outfit - but make it sexy. He liked the idea of the top hat and the big red coat (and maye the whip just a little), but being in Ohio always made him want to take things to extremes. His own personal style had become a lot more sophisticated in the years he’d lived in New York and worked at Vogue, but they were in Ohio and he couldn’t help himself.

Kurt had sourced a tailored red coat, with tails and gold and black accents, and already owned a top hat. The potential scandal was in the over-the-knee lace-up boots and leather shorts he was wearing instead of black trousers. The shorts had just enough coverage to not be completely obscene, but they had open lacing up the sides holding them together. He’d opted out of wearing a shirt at all, but a black and gold bow tie around his naked throat really pulled it together.

“I don’t know about these. They seem really...tight.” Blaine tried to wriggle further into the silver stretch pants while David and Wes tried to pull them up over his butt by the waistband. “Are you sure they aren’t going to fall off when I’m on stage?” David let go and the elastic snapped against Blaine’s lower back. “Hey!”

“Sorry man,” David said, stepping back to take a look at Blaine’s costume. “I’ve seen you wear some pretty tight pants - outside of school of course,” Blaine tilted his head in agreement. David wasn’t wrong. But these were different. They were practically tights. “But these just might be the snuggest things I have ever seen you in.”

“You can see,” Wes made a circular motion in front of Blaine with his palm. “Everything.”

Blaine panicked, looking back and forth between David (who was wearing cargo shorts and combat boots, but no shirt) and Wes (who was wearing a patterned shift dress. They both looked a lot more comfortable than Blaine felt).

“Why didn’t I insist on another costume? There are other group costumes that could’ve worked for the four of us. We could have been the Beatles,” Blaine lamented.

“Blaine.” Wes put a hand on Blaine’s shoulder; he was the taller of the two, and Blaine always had a tendency to shrink a little under Wes’s self assured confidence. “I know you can do this. All of your Warbler brothers have confidence in your abilities as a front man. Once you get on stage you know your natural need to perform will kick in and you won’t remember that you’re wearing pants at all.”

“What?”

“And Lisa has already spent an hour covering you from forehead to navel with silver body makeup. If you don’t go through with this she’s going to kill me,” David added. “And Jeff’s already in the pope outfit.”

Blaine sighed, obviously giving in to his friends. “Fine. But for the record I’m really not sure about this wig, either.”

Kurt leaned his head out the window of the car as Santana turned into the parking lot. There was a big banner taped over the door to the club announcing a “Halloween Battle of the Bands Costume Party” in black and orange lettering; pumpkins and bats and comical witch hats decorated the banner, for anyone who might have been unsure about what the the holiday in question was celebrating.

“Are you sure we’re on the list?” Kurt asked no one in particular.

“Jesse promised,” Rachel chimed in. “He’s supposed to meet me inside.”

“We better be on the list hobbit,” Santana groused. “I am not paying to see a bunch of dorks from Ohio dress up like their favorite bands and sing bad pop songs.”

“But we sang bad pop songs together in Glee Club forever San, did you not like it?” Brittany asked. “I thought you liked it.”

“She did like it Britt,” Kurt said, patting Brittany on her knee. “She’s just mad that we didn’t get picked to play tonight.” Santana scoffed but didn’t say anything. “Admit it,” he prompted Santana.

Santana huffed, pulling the car into a parking space and cutting the engine. “Fine. I don’t understand how they rejected our all female performance of Kiss classics, I -”

“I’m right here!” Kurt shouted at her.

“ - I mean we killed that audition tape. You too Hummel. You really rocked that combo Bea Arthur/Ace Frehley look.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. They’d been friends for long enough that he knew what to expect, especially if she were in a bad mood. Kurt hoped the party would help, he really didn’t want to deal with the bitchy version of Santana all night. This was supposed to be a fun night.

Their names were on the guest list as promised, and admission came with surprise wrist bands that gave them access to the open bar section of the club. Santana’s mood brightened instantly. The bar was crowded already, but they managed to work their way toward the stage and stake out a good spot near the front before any of the bands started.

“See Santana,” Rachel gloated. “Jesse totally came through.”

Santana raised her glass to toast Rachel, leaning in to shout over the noise of the crowd. “The free drinks will definitely help fend off the horror of the midwestern lame-o Queen cover band that we’re about to be subjected to, no doubt.”

Blaine stood at the side of the stage, trying to center himself with deep breaths. So far his pants hadn’t fallen off, although they were starting to get a little sweaty in the crotch area, and he was thankful that at least the rest of the guys had relented and let him wear underwear. It was practically a thong, but he felt a little more under control, whether or not it was true.

“Ready?” Wes slapped him on the back. Blaine exhaled, his mouth in the shape of an ‘o.’

“At least it’s only four songs,” he said, more to reassure himself than anyone in earshot.

“Yep.” Jeff stepped next to him, and Blaine, even in his currently terrified state, had to double take. He was dressed in pope-like robes and an elaborate mitre someone had covered in fake stones and sloppy embroidery. “Unless we win. Then we have to do the encore.”

Blaine groaned. He had forgotten about that. The band that got the best reaction from the crowd won a $500 prize and had to play at least one more song. They had only learned six songs altogether, so even if they won the most they could do was another two. Provided Blaine didn’t collapse by then. And his pants stayed on.

“Here.” David opened a bottle of Jack Daniels and took a swig, passing it around. “Two chugs for you Blaline. Liquid courage.”

The band onstage finished, and Blaine and Wes and David and Jeff all stepped aside so they could get off the stage.

It was now or never. The guys strapped on their instruments and took the stage, and Blaine took one last centering breath as the guys played the intro to their first song. Blaine jumped onstage at his cue, mic in hand.

Can't stop, addicted to the shindig Chop top, he says I'm gonna win big

Give it away give it away give it away now Give it away give it away give it away now I can't tell if I'm a kingpin or a pauper

Kurt had been dancing for a solid half an hour and was covered in sweat and feeling pretty good about not bothering to wear a shirt as part of his costume. He wasn’t usually into the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but the shots Santana had insisted on when they arrived and hit the open bar had definitely loosened him up and put him in the mood to dance.

At some point in the evening Santana had dragged them all to the front of the dance floor, and Kurt made a mental note to thank Santana later because the singer of this band really was scorchingly hot. Maybe is was the alcohol, but Kurt was also pretty sure this guy had been flirting with him from the stage since at least the end of the first song. Though as far as Kurt could tell this guy might have been flirting with the entire room. It didn’t really matter. Kurt was having a sweaty good time.

The alcohol must have helped, because before Blaine knew it they were done with their set, and he was being hustled off stage so the club could get the next band on. One of the organizers backstage handed them all water bottles as they crowded around each other out of the way of the stage hands.

“That was awesome!” he shouted, Jeff and David jumping on him as they tumbled over each other and down the short flight of stairs to the band holding area. “Wasn’t that awesome?” Blaine had always been a bit of a lightweight when it came to alcohol, but the combination of adrenaline and Jack Daniels swimming through his system had him really buzzing.

“Yeah Blaine,” Wes pulled him into a back slapping hug, ignoring the bits of silver makeup that smudged onto this own costume. “It was pretty good.”

“When do we find out if we win?” Blaine bounced on his toes, out of breath, but excited. He didn’t want to lose the adrenaline rush he was feeling.

“There’s one more band, then they have to do the crowd vote,” David told him. They stored their guitars in the designated spot, and Blaine pulled off his wig, tossing it onto an empty guitar case and running his hands through his sweaty hair.

“Yeah maybe you can go find your boyfriend from the front row,” Jeff teased.

Blaine made a face at Jeff, but there had definitely been a super hot guy in the front of the crowd who seemed pretty into the show.

“He’s not - I was just playing with the crowd,” Blaine deflected. Honestly though, the guy was definitely throwing Blaine some looks all night. Blaine didn’t really hook up that often, but he didn’t have any rules against it. Maybe he should go find that guy.

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Just make it quick. If we win I don’t want to keep the crowd waiting.”

There was a long, low lit hall from the backstage exit to the main room of the club, and Blaine was surprised to find an assortment of couples making out without much regard for whoever else might be there or who might be watching.

But maybe that was the point. Everyone was someone else, but not like, in an inauthentic way, you were just - not yourself. It had its appeal. He shook himself out of his head and kept walking down the hall.

A couple of girls walked by Blaine, giggling and waving in a way that was obviously meant to be flirty. Blaine shrugged to himself, and waved back with a smile. He was a rock star tonight, right?

The hall emptied out into the main room of the club, where there were more people, some of them dancing in groups to the between-band DJ, some of them just standing around drinking. Blaine spied the hot guy who’d been dancing near the front of the stage about twelve feet away, dancing sloppily with a bunch of girls. Blaine watched for a bit, and when the guy finally looked in Blaine’s direction Blaine offered his own flirty wave, and he was rewarded when the other guy very obviously checked him out from head to toe and back.

Blaine took a step toward him, and when the guy broke away from his group Blaine saw one of the girls wink in his direction.

“Love the hair,” the guy said, when they were close enough to be in each other’s space. He reached up and ran his hand through Blaine’s curls, so Blaine leaned closer, trying not to get his body makeup all over the guy.

“Your costume is amazing.” The guy tipped his head in a ‘thank you’ gesture. “I don’t want to get this stupid makeup all over it.” Britney Spears started pounding over the speakers; Blaine pulled the guy onto the dance floor, and the guy pressed up right against him. Blaine looked around. They weren’t the only same-sex couple dancing.

“It’s a costume,” the guy said, running his hands up Blaine’s chest and over his shoulders. “I don’t really want to waste the opportunity.”

Blaine swallowed hard and slipped his hands under the guy’s overcoat, resting them on his hip bones, thumbs rubbing the top of those tiny, barely there shorts. They were leather, and the gold chains holding the front of the overcoat closed were pressing into Blaine’s chest. “What’s your name?”

“Kurt.” This time Blaine could feel his lips graze over his ear.

“Blaine.” Blaine said. “I mean, I’m Blaine.” Blaine tried to be cool, quirking a smile, but he felt warm everywhere, the post set shot still working its way through his brain. “Can I buy you a drink?” Kurt held up his arm and Blaine could see he had an open bar wristband.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Blaine blinked, like he hadn’t heard right. “Somewhere more private?”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Kurt took Blaine’s hand, and pulled him down the dark hallway, through the throng of people. He pushed on an unmarked door, and went through. The walls were painted black, and there was a thin tube of purple neon light all along the walls a few inches from the ceiling, giving off enough light that Kurt could see they were in the men’s bathroom. Kurt hesitated a second. Shit. Was he really going to hook up in a club bathroom in Lima, Ohio? It’d be a pretty big fuck you to his youth. And honestly, even if half the straight couples in western Ohio were dry humping in public, he really didn’t want to risk a public display.

There were five stalls and he pulled Blaine into the last one. Kurt slid the door lock with one hand, pushing Blaine up against the door as he did it and mumbling ‘is this okay?’ before kissing him hard.

He pulled back for air long enough to hear Blaine grunt something that sounded like unnhhu. Kurt reached one hand behind Blaine’s neck, pulling him into another open mouth kiss and reaching for Blaine’s cock with the other. He rubbed him hard over his rock star pants, but it wasn’t enough. He pulled away from Blaine’s mouth so he could try to see what he was doing in the purple light.

“Can I get into these?” Blaine nodded with his eyes closed, thumbing the waistband of his pants down until Kurt could get a hand around him. Blaine moaned, loudly, and Kurt spared a thank you to whoever had installed speakers in the bathroom. It was pretty obvious what was going on in their stall, but hopefully the music would drown out some of what they were doing. Blaine squirmed as Kurt jerked him off, thrusting awkwardly into Kurt’s fist before pulling Kurt into a deep kiss.

Blaine mumbled something Kurt couldn’t make out, then reached for Kurt’s cock, but the leather pants made it hard for Blaine to get a grip. Blaine rubbed across his erection, but Kurt could tell he wasn’t going to find his way to what he wanted. He let go of Blaine’s cock and leaned back, letting Blaine watch as he unhooked the gold chain at the front of his coat so he could push it back and Blaine could watch him untie the shorts.

Blaine didn’t wait, fumbling for the lace in the dark as soon as Kurt swept the coat aside. He pulled the end of the tie, loosening it enough that he could reach in and pull Kurt’s cock out. Kurt watched him lick his lips and could feel his cock twitch. If they hadn’t been in a bathroom stall in Ohio this could have been a very satisfying night. But they were, so he pulled Blaine’s mouth back to his, and slipped his tongue between his lips as an apology. Blaine sucked on his tongue before pushing the leather flap of Kurt’s shorts out of the way. He spit on his hand and wrapped it around both of them, starting slow, the mix of spit, body paint and sweat both erotic and dirty. Kurt planted his hands on the door above Blaine’s head, letting Blaine jerk them off until they were both coming in spurts over Blaine’s fist.

Blaine was breathing hard as they cleaned themselves up. Kurt had to practically lift Blaine off the ground to get his pants back on. It was too loud to talk, even though he wanted to, so Blaine grabbed a wad of toilet paper off the roll and tried to wipe the obvious makeup patches off of Kurt’s overcoat and his chest.

“Don’t want to be too obvious,” he said, stupidly.

“Oh, uh, I think we were plenty obvious,” Kurt said, kissing Blaine again as if it were nothing and Blaine hadn’t just had his mind completely blown. “But I don’t think I care. I grew up around here. I could never have done something like this back then.”

“You don’t live here?” He wanted to ask him where he lived, who he was, but he couldn’t find the words. He didn’t think it was part of the deal.

Kurt shook his head. “Not any more.” Blaine watched him tie up the side laces on those shorts that he was pretty sure he was going to have dreams about for the rest of his life. “Ready?” Kurt asked, looking up at Blaine.

“Yeah. Uh, yes. I have to get back in case we win and have to go back on.” He flipped an awkward thumb over his shoulder.

Kurt smiled. “That would be awesome, You guys were good.”

“Thanks,” Blaine said. His tongue felt too thick to make any other words. So when Kurt opened the stall door he just followed him out, ignoring any looks that might have been thrown in their direction. Kurt didn’t seem bothered at all that people were looking at them, walking through the room like he was royalty or something.

When they reached the hall Blaine turned toward the backstage area, but turned back when Kurt touched him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Kurt said, kissing Blaine on the cheek and walking the other direction with a small wave.

“Any time,” Blaine said, too quietly for Kurt to hear.

When Blaine joined the rest of the band backstage they were still waiting for the announcement of the winner. Jeff gave him a thumbs up and a questioning look. Blaine must have blushed, because David slapped him on the back and congratulated him.

“You got lead singer on you Hummel,” Santana said when he rejoined them. He frowned at her. How did she always know everything? “You’ve got makeup all over your coat.”

Kurt looked down at his lapels. He’d actually cleaned most of it up pretty well, but he could see a few silver smudges they’d missed in the dark. He shrugged, then smiled at Santana. “Worth it.”

Blaine and the rest of the band walked onstage to generous applause after being named the winners of the contest. He looked over the crowd for Kurt as they started up their encores, but Blaine couldn’t see him anywhere.

Kurt pushed the door of his favorite cafe open, frowning when he saw the line at the counter. He needed coffee. The whirlwind weekend in Ohio had been fun, but they’d been back in New York for three days and Kurt still felt vaguely hungover. He’d have to wait in the line.

He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, thumbing through the messages on his phone, Twitter, and the latest fashion news was his normal waiting-in-line routine. When the man in front of him in line finally finished ordering and walked over to the pick up area, he ordered his regular coffee and muffin, then went to wait for them to call his name.

He joined the small crowd of waiting customers, reflexively glancing over the crowd. It was the usual morning crew, a few faces he’d seen before, a few he hadn’t. The guy at the far side was even cute. A neat hairstyle, adorable bow tie and a Marc Jacobs suit from the current collection definitely made him stand out. Kurt watched him for a while - he was very attractive and looked familiar, but he was probably just a regular at the cafe. If he came there often it might be worth doing some casual reconnaissance to see if he might be dating material. Other than the Halloween party, Kurt had been in a dry spell for a while.

“Blaine!”

Kurt startled at the name the barista called out. Blaine wasn’t a particularly common name, and he wasn’t likely to forget it any time soon, but there was no way it could be the same Blaine, right? Still, he hung back from the crowd and waited to see who responded. Blaine could have been a girl’s name too, he told himself. His jaw dropped when the cute guy in the Marc Jacobs suit stepped to the counter. That’s where he knew him from; he was definitely Blaine from Halloween.

He waited until Blaine had collected his order, then took a step closer.

“Excuse me, is your name Blaine?” Kurt asked. Blaine’s brow wrinkled, and he stared into Kurt’s face like he was trying to figure out where he recognized him from. “My name is Kurt Hummel.” He offered his hand.

“Kurt Haa-” Blaine’s eyes went wide and he made a noise like a punctured tire, but kept looking at Kurt. He shook Kurt’s hand. “Blaine Anderson.” Blaine’s face split into an ear to ear grin that Kurt knew already was going to be his undoing. “It is wonderful to meet you, Kurt.”

#2018 klaine fic exchange #limafornication #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

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a-roomba · 4 years

Text

Petty Thief

Matt had been fairly productive that day. Something about parties made him like that. The beautiful people, the great conversation, there was this air of elegance not usually found in ‘middle of nowhere’ type resorts. Most days in a hotel lobby there would be a something a little oppressive hanging in the air; something about the knowledge that your holiday would end soon enough bothered people. But every so often, some snarky Wall Street wannabe would get bored of swimming in gold or feasting on swans, or whatever the insanely wealthy did, and then it came time to throw a party.

This one was supposedly an annual affair. Matt wouldn’t know himself, since this was his first visit. Perhaps he’d return if this trip proved profitable. Not too soon, though. He liked to be careful. A good trait in a thief. Regrettably, he would have to pass on next year, even if that lovely lady at the reception was true to her word and kept him a room aside. Coming back too often was likely to get him arrested, and that meant prison- especially once they connected the dots and found how much he had... ‘liberated' from bigshots over the years.

One of the newcomers running this was a fresh face for him. Spencer Baldwin, some douchebag who got rich buying shares in technology companies and would never have to worry about where his next yacht was coming from ever again. The one next to him on the flyer was worrying, though. Hayden Ross made a name for himself running a law firm for fellow rich douches to put guys like Matt in prison for a very long time, and Matt had made it a point to stay very much off his radar. If there was one thing that would probably get a case brought against him, it would be stealing from anyone Ross cared about- or rather, acknowledged the existence of. So if Ross got a new drinking buddy, they were safe...for the most part.

Big events were the exception. Since there were plenty of people around, he could grab some devices, maybe a wallet or two, and then bounce, with the excuse that he had indulged in a little too much free champagne. That would sort him for a while. Geek conferences were always easy money anyway. Nobody wanted to show up to one of these brandishing a Nokia, so the latest huge smartphones jutted out of every pocket. Come on. How was he supposed to resist? Granted, having thousands of pounds worth of hardware vanish from Ross’ conference might piss him off a little, but again, there were plenty of people around. Nobody could pin it on a guy who didn’t even have a ticket, right?

With that worry out of his mind, Matt grabbed a glass of champagne as he passed a waiter, then a tablet from the man next to him. Smashed screen, tut tut tut. That thing was easily worth $500 second hand, but his best bet now was to sell it for parts. Oh well. He slipped back into the crowd as the man snapped his head up to shout about his missing property.

Another phone had been left on a table with no-one in sight to supervise. That was just asking for it, right? While walking past, he slid it into his laptop bag. There was no actual laptop in there. Unfortunate, but the only people who had brought computers down to the conference room were working on them. The crowd was helpful for hiding, but it probably wouldn’t do much if he wandered up to someone and took something straight out of their hands.

He’d done that once, when he was much younger. Some television show or another had tried to warn people that they needed to mind their phones, to keep a vice grip on them while scrolling in public spaces. A clip had played of some shady figure in a hoodie snatching up a precious device and sprinting away. Matt had taken it as a suggestion, with only some cosmic coincidence letting him get away.

Thinking about it, he got away with a lot that he really shouldn’t have been able to. With all the impromptu chases he’d ended up in over the years, it was a miracle nobody had…caught him on tape or something.

“Excuse me, sir?” a slim finger poked him hard in the shoulder and it took all his willpower not to jump. Millions of possibilities flashed through his mind as he turned around. He really hoped this wasn’t security, coming to kick him out. How ironic. Much as he wanted to scoff at the idea of tempting fate, he was willing to suspend his disbelief for a moment in favor of trying to plan ahead. Then again, it might not even be them.

“Excuse me?”

Maybe it was an ex? That could get awkward fast. Matt had briefly skimmed through the guest list before coming, and none of the names rang a bell, so he assumed he was going to be safe. But then again, it wasn’t that hard to get in unnoticed. Might as well get it out of the way. Reluctantly, he turned around.

“You dropped this.”

Oh. Stood in front of him was a young woman with a dark fringe covering her eyes. The rest of her hair hung down to her knees like a silk curtain, wrapped around her back protectively. Quick glances told him everything he needed to know. Red uniform, sensible shoes, neutral stance. Hotel staff. Nothing about her said that she was missing anything valuable (at least, as far as she knew). She held out a crumpled drinks receipt.

Time for an intelligent response. “Huh?”

What could be seen of her face was unimpressed. “The receipt. It’s yours, isn’t it, sir?”

“Well then. Thanks for...bringing it back. Guess I’ll just...” Matt reached out to take the paper, unconsciously shielding his bag. His hand only got so far before it was locked in a vice grip.

Uh-oh.

“Speaking of returning property,” the woman began. Pulling at his arm got him nowhere. “How about you be a good boy and put back all the nice people’s things?”

What?

Matt realized, after half a second of blissful ignorance, that she knew something. His mind instantly entered panic mode. Was she following him around? Did he steal something from her? Had she called anyone else?

Regardless- not good, not good, not good! He went pale, before defaulting to the usual plan: play dumb. Still tugging as inconspicuously as possible, Matt answered: “Wh-What are you talking about? What things?”

Somehow, she managed to look even less impressed. Sighing, she continued in a voice you might use for a particularly slow child. “The things you stole. Put them back and we’ll have no further issues. Keep your voice down while you’re at it, too. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, after all.”

Matt froze. She didn’t just know something, she knew everything. He was, in a word, screwed. “Look, s-seriously! Let go! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He stepped back a little, and she came with him, eyebrows raised. It felt like trying to tow a bus. Those uniforms must have been extremely flattering.

“Please don’t insult my intelligence. And as I said, keep. It. Down.” She practically growled the last word. Seemed like she was more worried about drawing attention to herself than he was. With that in mind, he re-assessed.

Playing dumb wasn’t working, clearly. Time for a change of tactics. He pulled one more time, just on the off chance she might have gotten bored of slowly breaking his wrist, and gave up on the idea of disappearing. Instead, he summoned up the power of every Karen, Janet and Linda who’d ever asked to speak to the manager.

“Look, I don’t know where you got these ridiculous accusations from, but if you don’t let go immediately, I will report you to your supervisor!”

With a slight sigh, she shook her head. “Feel free. I would have to have them check your suspiciously computer-free laptop bag, though.” Shit. She wasn’t buying it, was she? He got the distinct sense she was rolling her eyes behind the fringe. Maybe not the best idea, then. And now there were people beginning to notice their odd conversation. Occasional glances slid over to them before none-too-subtly slipping over to a very interesting section of carpet. “We can talk elsewhere if you really want to keep going with this.”

Suddenly, being in the dead center of a crowd was less appealing than it had been earlier.

“Actually, I’d kinda prefer it if you could just...let me go?”

“I’m afraid there’s very little chance of that, my sticky-fingered friend,” someone said right next to his ear. Matt let out a noise akin to what you might hear if you accidentally sat on a pet, or a small child. When he whipped around to look, he was greeted by a young man also in hotel uniform. At a glance, the two seemed almost identical. Unlike the girl, however, his mouth was tilted upwards in a grin- though his eyes were also covered by a thick fringe. “Apologies for Noel. She’s a little uptight when it comes to hotel security.”

He turned to her. “Surely it would have been faster to simply take the devices back?”

“Not if it means this little rat comes back to steal things from the paying clientele again. And if word gets out…”

“Then why not simply bar him? I can handle public relations. Especially as far as Misters Baldwin and Ross.”

Noel’s face flushed red. She didn’t answer, but finally let go. Something about it made Matt think of the bullying older sibling getting told off by Dad, and he snickered as he moved closer to the newcomer. Much as he wanted to, he didn’t pull a face at Noel. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, you, follow me,” he gestured in Matt’s general direction and didn’t wait for a response before heading for the balcony.

#oc #oc writing #matthew gilardi

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luxuryfakewatches · 3 years

Text

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dontstopyurinow · 7 years

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Thought your Blurry 🤓drabble was fluffy and cute. Although was left imagining the hot dog competition 🌭Yuri did and still winning gold in Skate America. Perhaps your next drabble.😊📖🖋❤

Perhaps :)

read on AO3 - 2200 words - Otayuri fluff.

Yuri hardlymanages to hide his excitement. He does not want to ruin his carefully studiedjaded attitude, but the fair is so loud and colorful, at twenty-four he feelslike a little kid again. The crowd moves slowly between the booths, the childrenlaugh cheerfully and the rides blink with bright lights. Otabek walking at hisside completes the picture pleasantly.

It is theday before Yuri’s short program at Skate America. Otabek retired two years agoand has the time to follow him around the world. They are friends. Sometimesthey hold hands and sometimes they kiss, but just sometimes. Without a doubtthey will go back to their apartment in St Petersburg when the competition isover, they are roommates. They share the bed, and sometimes the same pillow,but only because the flat is small and it is convenient. It has been threeyears since Otabek came over for the summer and cancelled his flight back home.They adopted a cat together, and maybe they fight to know who was supposed todo the dishes and who will take the trash out.

Yuri had always been terrified by the idea ofsettling down and living a life of domesticity and insignificant house chores. Hewanted to keep skating forever, to travel the world for gold medals until hewas seventy, to feel the excitement of the podium every year of his life. And yetsomehow, he has eventually managed to come to term with his future retirement. Hehas realized that he was alright with waking up to the same face every day, andthat he would happily trade the bliss of a victory for a cozy night in strong andwarm arms. Yuri had always thought Victor and Yuuri were old and boring, he nowknows there were simply in love.

“Are youhungry?” Otabek asks as they get out of the haunted house. He is smooth enoughnot to complain about the marks Yuri’s nails have dug in his forearm during theride.

“Notreally, a bit maybe.”

“How aboutcotton candy?”

Yuri shrugsin disinterest but his eyes sparkle when Otabek hands him a fluffy pink cloudon a stick. There is barely a minute before Yuri gets sugar strings in hisblond hair and his fingers are wet and sticky. He tries to use a small paper napkinbut it tears apart and worsen the mess. Otabek looks at him with his usualimpassive expression and Yuri blushes in shame as he struggles to peel the bitsof napkin off his fingers. He feels like a three-year-old unable to eatproperly. Otabek takes the stick from his hand and rubs his palms to cleanthem. When there is no trace of paper anymore Yuri brings his hand to his mouthto lick off the remaining pink sugar. Otabek watches him suck his fingers cleanwithout blinking. Yuri catches him and winks playfully. Otabek leans to lick asugar crystal on his bottom lip.

“Hey youtwo! Get a room!”

They bothflinch and turn to see Jean-Jacques, holding Isabel by the waist and looking assmug as ever.

“When thefuck are you gonna retire?” Yuri spits bitterly.

“Next yearmaybe, so watch me carefully, it’s your last chance to learn from the king!”

“I’d payyou to retire right now.”

“No amountof money could deprive my fans of the pleasure of watching me win!”

It is funnyhow Yuri has grown older and taller but barely wiser, and he still tries tothrow his heel at JJ’s chin almost every time the other skater opens his mouth.Of course Otabek holds him back, he always does. He does not want Yuri to getin trouble and will not tolerate a bruise on his pretty face. The day JJcrosses the line, his jaw will meet Otabek’s fist first.

Yuri isboiling but his blistering answer is cut by Isabel.

“Come on JJwe’ll miss the contest,” she says as she pulls on his sleeve.

JJ givesher a peck on the cheek and purrs: “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll get you thatfirst prize.”

Yuri andOtabek look at each other blankly. The loudspeakers of the fair have been announcingthe hot dog eating contest all afternoon, the grand prize being two gold-rowsall event tickets for the Skate America figure skating competition, valued at500$.

“Gettingfront row tickets for your own performance, congratulations that’s a whole newlevel of douchebaggery,” Yuri deadpans.

“It’s obviouslynot for the tickets,” JJ chuckles with a condescending smile, “I promised BellaI’d get her the giant bear.” And he points at a nearby post where a posterpromoting the contest shows a large teddy bear with a bow. The fluffy toy looksalmost as tall as an adult and at least four times as wide, and is given withthe tickets to the winner of the contest.

“What can Isay, some of us have other talent than skating, like taking care of their lovedones…” JJ boasts, “I’m sorry you’re left with a whiny child off the ice,Otabek.”

This timeYuri holds Otabek back. He digs his heels in the ground and pulls Otabek’s armto force him to face him.

“Beka,”Yuri says seriously, “I need to win that bear.”

Otabek’s furiousglare fades and he seems slightly embarrassed.

“Yuri, I’dlove to win it for you but you know how slowly I eat, I wouldn’t stand a chance.I can buy you one if you want.”

Yuri’straits soften in a fond expression for half a second, so short that no one elsethan Otabek could have seen it.

“No,” hesays, “I mean I’ll win it myself. For you.”

“I’ve neverseen you eat that much,” Otabek says with a concerned frown.

“I can eat4 piroshkys in the 10-minute break we have during morning practice.”

“I don’tknow Yura…”

“4 katsudonpiroshkys,” Yuri clarifies, “the ones filled with rice, egg and fried pork.”

“That’s reallyimpressive but come on, your short program is tomorrow.”

“So what? I’lljust skip dinner.”

“Victor isgonna kill me if I let you do that.”

“He’llnever know if you don’t tell him. Beka pleaaase,” Yuri begs, “imagine the lookon JJ’s face.”

“You won’tchange your mind, will you?”

Yuri smilesa large grin that makes his eyes twinkle and his cheeks blush with innocentjoy. Otabek sighs. He is weak.

“Hurry up, it’sstarting soon.”

The crowdwatches the unknown skinny blond man eat one, two, four, seven, twelve hot dogsin five minutes in silent astonishment. When the bell rings the contestantslook at the scores and they all turn to glare at Yuri, who delicately dabs hismouth with a napkin and looks more satisfied than the time he won his firstOlympic gold medal.

JJ makes adisgusting comment about Yuri being used to repressing his gag reflex toswallow sausages and Yuri is sorry, because he could not hear him behind thegiant teddy bear. Otabek politely refuses the event tickets when a man handsthem to him.

“Sir, theseare front row tickets and the men’s short program event is sold out.”

“He’salready got a ticket,” Yuri cuts, “it’s so VIP he sits in the gold medalist’sbed.”

Both Otabekand the man open a gaping mouth. Yuri grabs the tickets and looks around. Hespots a woman holding a young girl by the hand and give them the tickets. “Ihope you enjoy!”

“Beka, ifit’s a girl I wanna call her Evgenia.”

“What?”

“My foodbaby, it’s a girl, I know it,” Yuri says from the couch of their Airbnb wherehe’s been lying for the last hour.

Otabekwalks up to him and sees him with his T-shirt pulled up under his arms and hishands flat on his slightly swollen belly. Otabek shrugs and smiles softly atthe ridiculous scene.

“No but seriouslyit fucking hurts,” Yuri whines, “I think my stomach is going to explode.”

“What exactlywere you expecting?”

“But JJ…”

“JJ’s anidiot, you’ve got to learn to ignore him.”

Yuri poutsand has a painful moan as he turns to lie on his side. Otabek gets him pain killersand a glass of water. Yuri sits up, guzzles it and lies back down. His eyes widensuddenly, and he pales and presses his stomach before jumping up and running tothe bathroom.

Otabek isjust like everyone else, if he can avoid dealing with vomit he does. But it isYuri, and so he follows him to the toilet and holds his hair back quietly. Whenhis tiny body is done spasming and he rests against the bathtub, Otabek sitsbeside him.

“I heard itgets better after the first trimester.”

“Fuck you,”Yuri whispers faintly as he feebly wipes the corner of his lips with the backof his hand.

Yuri feels noticeablybetter once he has emptied the content of his stomach, and Otabek finds gingertea in a kitchen cabinet. Yuri suspects that he bought it after he got sick onthe plane. Yuri nests on the couch in the cushions, his knees drawn up tosoothe his tummy, and he drinks his tea slowly. Otabek watches him carefully tosee if he can keep the beverage down. They do not speak as they watch cartoonstogether, and when the night falls Otabek realizes that Yuri has already dozedoff, exhausted by his day and his upset belly. Yuri pretends to protest whenOtabek carries him to bed but he quickly curls up under the blanket like asleepy kitten. “I’m sorry Beka,” he mumbles in the pillow. “Goodnight Yura,” hehears as he falls back asleep.

When Yuriwakes up the next day it is already noon.

“Beka whatthe fuck?” he shouts as he hops on one foot to pull up his jeans. “The morningpractice! Victor will go full Yakov!”

“It’s ok,”Otabek says calmly, “I called him and said you didn’t sleep well last night andyou would nap before the beginning of the competition.”

“How didyou know he would fall for that?”

“I saw himnap when I was at the Worlds with him. He literally slept through the programsof the first three skaters and woke up five minutes before his turn.”

Yuri letshimself fall back on the bed with only one leg in his pants.

“How do youfeel?” Otabek asks.

“Good. Icould do with some eggs and toasts.”

Yuri knowsthat Victor can see how weak he is on his skates during warm up, but his coachdoes not say anything and repeats his usual advices as he hands him his jacketwhen he steps off the ice. His turn comes and it takes everything he has tofollow his program. He feels like each of his legs weighs several tons and heis light-headed just thinking about a spin. He gets one of his worst scores,and yet it is still above the average of the other skaters. Victor pinches hislips but does not comment.

Yuri sleepsthrough the whole evening and the night again. Otabek wakes him up for his freeskate with a substantial breakfast and a steaming cup of ginger tea. Yuri canstill feel the pinch in his stomach but he can stand up without risking tofaint or having his legs buckle under his weight. The warm up session goesnormally and the frown on Victor’s wide forehead softens slightly.

Thecompetition starts and as they walk by the kiss and cry to reach the door ofthe barrier, Yuri hears JJ talk to the journalists.

“Yeah, Iknow Plisetsky wasn’t at the morning practice yesterday, I heard he wasn’tfeeling good and spent his night on the toilet. I had no doubt I could beat himbut with the score he got for his short program it’ll just be a piece of cake.”

SomehowYuri forgets about is fragile stomach. He does not remember his shaking kneesand his poor balance. If there is an emotion he knows how to use as fuel, itsure is anger. He steps on the ice and skates aggressively. His blades are loudagainst the ice when he lands his jumps and his spins are quicker than ever.What he loses in grace he gains in violent passion, and his fiery dance captivatethe audience.

Yuri isstill fired up when he sits at the kiss and cry and Victor is visibly confusedwhen his student yells “Happy fucking retirement JJ!” after seeing the perfectscore that grants him the gold medal.

Yuri andOtabek stay a week in the United States after the competition. Yuri will neveradmit it but they are true tourists. They take lots of pictures, they buy cheapsouvenirs, and they queue for ages to visit monuments.

They arewalking in an nth park when Yuri stops dead and Otabek has to stop as wellsince they are holding hands. Yuri is looking up, his eyes glimmer and hisbottom lip quivers. A bright poster is stapled to an old tree. Otabek sighs inresignation.

“PIE EATINGCONTEST – WIN A VIP ZOO EXPERIENCE WITH THE TIGERS”

#yuri on ice #yoi #yuri plisetsky #fanfiction #late night drabble #I hope this is ok though #my writing

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crookedspoonfic · 7 years

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The Raven Cycle Fic Masterlist

I thought I might compile a masterlist of TRC fic before it becomes too long for me to bother with. More of a quick browsing overview. Tags and everything on AO3.

Fics are grouped into Series, Standalones and Snippets. Series are sorted by date of creation and the fics by internal chronology. Standalones are divided into main pairing, sorted alphabetically, and then listed chronologically. Numbering reflects when a fic was written, so it’s easier to find the latest ones.

Last updated: 2017-10-22 (39 fics; 1 podfic; 1 new Series)

Series

nothing more than any artist dreams - Artist AU.

4. blue as a gunshot wound: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,635 words; 01 February 2017) Proko knows he’s a doormat when it comes to Kavinsky. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

17. Les liaisons dangereuses: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 1,500 words; 27 May 2017) You shouldn’t be surprised when he drags you into the men’s room, although somehow you are.

19. something burning on my chest: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,785 words; 05 July 2017) In which Proko is hungover and having a full-on angstfest before K wakes up and defuses it by being a dick.

34. A work of art and a weapon, a delight and a defense: Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 2,135 words; 07 October 2017) Kavinsky is a lot more taken with what Proko wants to show him than Proko would have expected.

30. maybe this is danger and you just don’t: Proko/Swan (E; 2,815 words; 01 October 2017) The fact that Swan of all people wants you is really fucking flattering.

2. Hidden here below the fracture: Kavinsky/Ronan, Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 3,278 words; 28 December 2016) Irritation lurks at the other end of his high, not inspiration. Or, the one in which K tries to banish Lynch from his head. Through art. And fails. Just give me what I came for 5. I’ve tasted hell and it tastes just like you: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 2,565 words; 07 March 2017) Everyone knows that when you need someone to hurt you, Kavinsky is it. 7. Stay with me, I’ll show you paradise: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 3,010 words; 14 March 2017) Kavinsky would never admit it but he can’t say no to Ronan. No matter how late it is, he’s there. Though he’s usually not this destroyed. 9. my tongue still misbehaves: Kavinsky/Ronan (M; 500 words; 18 March 2017) “Answer me this: how much would it piss you off if I got into Gansey’s pants before you did?” 26. So maybe I wanted to give you something more (E; 3,104 words; 30 August 2017) "Here's the deal, sweetheart, since I'm in a generous mood: Whatever you want me to do to you, I'll do it. All you have to do is say it out loud."

12. No sins as long as there’s permission: Kavinsky/Ronan (E; 4,555 words; 15 April 2017) WIP? “If we’re gonna do this, I want you to leave Gansey out of it. Completely.”

Two maniacs, indulging in the pleasures of their world - Childhood Friends AU.

22. Dreams are made for fools and sages: Kavinsky/Ronan (T; 500 words; 2017-07-13) The act of falling asleep: childhood vs. teenage years.

Be quiet and drive (far away) - Roadtrip AU.

1. Something’s got me and I just can’t seem to choose: Ronan/Kavinsky (T; 1,250 words; 13 November 2016) “You know where you can keep an even better eye on me, Lynch?” he asks. Ronan ignores the tickle of warm breath against the shell of his ear and empties his shot glass. “On the dancefloor. Come on, dance with me.” Or, the one in which Ronan doesn’t dance with K. Because obviously.

24. Don’t let me go; take me to the edge: Kavinsky/Ronan (M; 500 words; 24 July 2017) The hour-long drives and restless nights turn your days into a haze of dream-like images, impressions, impulses, stuttering like a flicker book – the open road before you, the car thrumming beneath you, Kavinsky twisting out of the window beside you and whooping with the thrill of it, white tanktop fluttering around his stomach.

I never liked that ending either - Rehab AU.

25. I wear these scars, I own my mistakes: Kavinsky & Ronan/Adam (T; 2,500 words; 28 August 2017) A year after the fateful Fourth of July party, Kavinsky suddenly comes out of the woodwork to apologize for what he's done.

27. And I still believe that I cannot be saved: Prokopenko & Kavinsky (T; 500 words; 02 September 2017) Prokopenko pays Kavinsky a visit in the hospital after the Fourth.

Grant me the freedom from objects - trans!Kavinsky/Ronan.

28. not really soothing but soothing nonetheless (E; 2,525 words; 08 September 2017) Working through some issues.

31. When you have nothing to say, set something on fire (M; 2,342 words; 02 October 2017) More musings on sleep and rehab than anyone asked for, and a hand job in the rain.

Married Alive - Kavinsky/Piper

33. You’re never too good for me (M; 1,611 words; 05 October 2017) When Greenmantle ordered the Greywaren to be delivered to him, he didn't expect to lose his wife (partner? lover?) over it.

Standalones

Adam/Kavinsky/Ronan

10. a new kind of love your life has never allowed + polytangle (M; 2,835 words; 31 March 2017) Youtube AU, sorta. Or: Adam is trying to edit a video, Kavinsky has other plans, and Gansey interrupts them both by video-calling long-distance. Gansey/Noah

29. ille me osculat (the scenic byway remix) + OT5 (G; 2,272 words; 11 September 2017) "gansey stands apart from the connection the other four share, because he doesn't know how to ask the others for that and the others don't think he wants like they do."noah is the one who sees."—weesaw, (i want you to know that i want to)

Gansey/Kavinsky

35. You know you like it but you’re scared of the shame (E; 2,560 words; 08 October 2017) Ronan said there was no negotiating with Kavinsky, but you had to see for yourself if that was true before deciding anything rash.

Gansey/Ronan 6. your heart frayed and empty (M; 2,705 words; 12 March 2017) Gansey wants to help Ronan, but has been drawing blanks as to how. Ronan has an idea, but never dared give it voice or thought. Until now. 8. stealing like the tide across a map (M; 2,150 words; 16 March 2017) The collar is heavy in your hands, heavy with the weight of what’s being asked. You’re aware that this could very well cost you your friendship, no matter what decision you make. Kavinsky/Ronan 11. It’s lovely. I hate it.: Kavinsky/Ronan (G; 200 words; 03 April 2017) Of weakness, disbelief, and growing families. 13. He wonders what to say and whether to say it (T; 500 words; 07 May 2017) For the first time in over a year and a half, you consider going to confession, to cleanse your soul of the sins you’ve committed this past week. 14. I’m variously sweat or shudder + Kavinsky/Prokopenko (M; 500 words; 10 May 2017) You’re about ready to dissolve when his phone rings. Kavinsky, of course, has to answer. 15. No warning from either of us (M; 2,205 words; 13 May 2017) Business AU. Niall Lynch has expanded his business of procuring rare items. In his absence, Ronan takes over the helm, although he has no real interest in it. That is, unless it means one-upping Kavinsky. 18. I just made you up to hurt myself (E!; 2,745 words; 30 June 2017) cw: non-con/rape, violence You parted as enemies on opposing lines, finger-gun to forehead, rage and rejection and a promise to end the other. Unless he’s begged you on his knees to take him back, there’s not one scenario in which you’d wind up back in your basement together with the real Lynch. Conclusion: You must have dreamed this one.

23. Everything that used to matter, don’t matter no more: Kavinsky+Prokopenko (T; 500 words; 17 July 2017) “I’m dying, man. What is that?” He scrubs his fingers over his breastbone, just below his gold chain. “I tried everything. I can’t make it go away.”

36. I could almost swear I felt us float (M; 1,310 words; 09 October 2017) "Truth, then: you ever kill someone?"

Kavinsky/Prokopenko 3. Reality bites hard (T; 2,050 words; 08 January 2017) WIP? Congratulations on coming out,“ Gansey says. "No fucking way. Kavinsky’s not gay.” A joke, that’s all this is, but not everyone seems to get it and suddenly has opinions about your life and who you are as a person. Trouble is, you soon find you’re not so sure yourself anymore. 20. You taste so bitter and so sweet (T; 500 words; 06 July 2017) “I don’t want you to go.” To him hangs in the air.

21. with a cloud at your feet (T; 500 words; 08 July 2017) Kavinsky has a lot of strange moods, depending on what he’s tripping on, yet arguably there are none stranger than when it’s just the five of you and he’s trying out new pills.

37. Cheap thrills and a breakfast full of white lines (M; 3,000 words; 10 October 2017) "Do you remember the first time we did this?" he asks, because memory fascinates him, knowing for a fact that most of it is fabricated because he is. How could you forget? It was the day that made you who you are today. And him, too.

Noah/Whelk 16. And it’s a long way back from seventeen (T; 1,210 words; 25 May 2017) It wasn’t only your skull that cracked that day.

38. You kissed me like a storm at sea (T; 1,424 words; 12 October 2017) It started out with you losing a wager and having to pose as Barry's maid for a day.

39. Don’t leave me behind (T; 500 words; 15 October 2017) Even after you lost everything, he picked you up as if it were a normal Tuesday.

Ronan/Greenmantle

32. A bullet in your head is how I want it (E; 2,135 words; 04 October 2017) cw: graphic violence, blood, gore, imagined character death, guro Ronan has a recurring fantasy: he dreams of killing someone. But not just anyone, no. He dreams of killing his father's murderer.

Podfic

1. gonna rip it off (go back home) by ilgaksu: Kavinsky/Ronan, Ronan/Adam (T; 6:04 min; 13 September 2017) Joseph Kavinsky can't read Latin. He can't read Latin and Ronan can't read his own body and they've both got enough blood on their hands they could mark each other up and you'd never see the red. That's beautiful, that is.

Bonus: Snippets, Excerpts, and WIPs

i. You tell yourself you haven’t always been this pathetic: Kavinsky (T; ~1.8k words; 29 August 2017)

ii. Childhood friends AU, scene 1: Kavinsky/Ronan, Declan (T; 2,255 words; 01 September 2017)

Previous updates:

2017-06-22 (17 fics) 2017-07-01 (18 fics, re-did the numbering to reflect when a fic was written, hoping to make it easier to find the latest ones) 2017-07-08 (20 fics, added explanation on fic sorting) 2017-07-13 (22 fics, created a new untitled series) 2017-07-24 (24 fics; named the previously unnamed series, created a new one and sorted my first TRC fic under it) 2017-09-03 (27 fics; added another Series and a Snippets category for tumblr-exclusive previews) 2017-09-15 (28 fics; 1 podfic; added the section Podfic) 2017-10-08 (32 fics; 1 podfic; 1 new Series)

#the raven cycle #fanfiction #list: fics #rovinsky #prokopinsky #ronsey #ronan lynch #joseph kavinsky #richard gansey iii #all the lists #long post #czelk #noah czerny #prokopenko

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trs80sbby-blog · 6 years

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Fireworks!

“Fireworks” is appropriate since the story I’m about to tell took place on New Years Eve. We all know that I have been struggling with the dating scene and that I pretty much gave up on that bullshit, but I want to remember this story. I want to remember it because I want to come back to this one day and say that I lived with a stranger for a couple of hours and I loved him before he left my sight. ( Let’s be clear that when I say I loved him, I loved him. His energy his personality and everything that makes him, him.) And honestly, I didn’t believe that any part of this story was actually possible.

Tinder

I have been on Tinder for way too fuckin long. It’s a gateway to life’s destruction to be completely honest but i took my part in it. Swipe left, Swipe Right, SUPER LIKE!!! Bullshit! But I would spend my time at work swiping left and right on people and reading minimal bios in the 500 characters that were allowed. I swiped right another time on a bio that read, “ be prepared to meet if we match.” Or something in that context, I’m sure there was more but I’ve since deleted tinder, again, so I cant go back and say for sure. Anyways.. I dont remembered who messaged who first, but we started chatting a little bit and then eventually we got off tinder and started texting each other. Again, I know I’m leaving out some details but I don’t remember the conversation we had on tinder or who gave their number first. I wasnt invested really. And seriously thats not important. You’ll see. We met on Tinder. The universe introduced us on Tinder.

Dodging Bullshit

Sometimes I think that I am so broken or so insecure that I’m genuinely not worth people’s time. And then there are other times where I am this powerful insatiable Queen and I believe that people aren’t worth my time. At this time I was conflicted with both. It was refreshing that he didnt like to text so much, so the brief couple of conversations we had after exchanging numbers was nice, but mentally, I wasnt sure if I wanted to be vulnerable or a total bitch. Look, I have a back story that I can tell one day, but just know that i have a reason for the way i am. People have thrown so much shit my way while dating and I have had enough free dinners and free drinks and free movies, that I have concluded that my time isn’t worth all that. I like to eat but I dont like to repeat myself.

“Hi, my name is Shawnta.”

“What do you do?”

“What are you looking for?”

“What’s your story?”

Who wants to answer those question 50 thousand times over and over again for different ignorant people? I need a fuckin drink please..

So when he asked to take me out before New Years, I was hesitant. Sick and hesitant. Details..

Planning

Initially we were suppose to go see a movie since apparently we both like movies. Now, that might sound common, but I love movies. Junkie... And with the admittance of him being able to shed a tear during a sad scene, I was able to accept that he might be just the junkie i needed when it came to a movie partner. We never went to the movies. Lol. Discussed it a little more, but nothing solid. I didn’t care.

Pause; If I’m coming off as if I’m lost, I was..

Do you meet people while you’re sick? It’s not like I didnt tell him. He said I had sars and still wanted to meet me. I procrastinated on plans so much and time was running out to the point that I really had to make a decision. By this time, in my head, I wanted to meet him, I just didnt want to be disappointed or be the disappointment. We finally planned to get together on New Years Eve around 7 because I did not want to stay out all night. 7 changed to 8, 8 changed to 9, and 9 changed to 9:30pm SHARP!! Some where between 7 and 8 is when the Universe decided to start making decisions for me, and make it very clear that I’m going out.

Have you ever felt a shift in your energy that was so noticeable and positive that you had no choice but to embrace it? That’s what I felt when that decision was made for me. I did my make up. I got dressed in this beautiful, shoulderless, shear, burgundy, full length dress. And wore heels, my favorite ones at that, and I walked out the house with more confidence than I’ve had all year.

Shady Lady / R15

Shady Lady requires collared shirts. He didnt wear one. We didnt go to Shady Lady as planned. We went to R15 which was at the other end of the block. Downtown, Sacramento has all these places that can bring you in and swallow you whole. I think R15 did that to us and the fact that the bartender made a really decent Manhattan for him and a heavy handed margarita for me. We sat at the bar and I was finally able to really look at this beautiful, 6 foot something, brown skinned man. He has the perfect eyebrows, seriously the perfect face and bone structure. But the most irresistible part of him is his eyes. His eyelashes are thick and full, and did I say perfect? He’s gorgeous. And then he spoke. I need you to understand that yes, we had previous conversations over the phone and his voice is captivating, but it’s a spell in person. He spoke and I listened to his tone. What the fuck! This man spoke to me and I felt the universe’s desired to take hold of this situation all over again. The power of attaction, as he says, was definitely present. The way he looked at me was indescribable. And I could be in my own head at this time, but he looked at me and called me beautiful. I’ve been called beautiful by a lot of men this past year and not once did I believe them. But when the words flowed off his lips, I tasted his truth. We were in this bar full of people, but a chill environment and music surrounded us, but it was just us. You can read that a million times in a million books and never understand it until it actually happens to you. It was loud, so I had to lean into him so that he could talk to me, and as I’m moving away to look at him again, we kissed. Did I go in to kiss him or was it the other way around? I’m not sure.. But it happen and the world tilted a little. His kiss was soft, he held my cheek and lead that kiss into another realm of pleasure. Heroin.. The most addictive drug known to man. His kiss instantly became my heroin, and it didnt go unnoticed by anyone.

Midnight

The countdown was coming. And we already kissed, so you’d think, what’s one more new years kiss right? You couldn’t be more wrong. I kissed him at 12am January 1, 2018, and I loved him in that moment. I loved the energy that he forced into my body through that kiss. Sleeping beauty would’ve woke up with that kiss, fuck Prince Charming, I had him.

Public

Throughout the night we talked and people watched a little. He had to go to the restroom and thats when it became obvious that we were being watched. This incredibly bubbly woman came up to me, and told me that she’s been wanting to come say something to me for a while. She told me that i was gorgeous and my idiot self asked her who she was talking to. One day ill learn to accept compliments without making a total ass of myself. Then she started to talk about me and him. This is when I knew i wasnt imagining what was happening.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“You guys look at each other so intensely.”

“I just had to come over and tell you how beautiful you guys are.”

She was as surprised as I was when I told her that this was our first date.

“DAMMNNN.”

By this time, he returned with a kiss. But so did his friends. This allowed us some time to become a little social. I introduced him to my bubbly new friend, and he introduced me to his friends that arrived. I excused myself to smoke a cigarette with miss bubbles and met her boyfriend. He was handsome too. Omg they are the cutest couple. Lumberjack meets tinkerbell. Lumberjack was trying to be kind and tried to introduce me to one of his friends.

“I don’t know if youre here with anyone, but if you are, my guy here is better than your guy,”

When I tell you that MY GUY had perfect timing. We were standing right outside the bar door when this was happening. I could see him through the closed door, and as lumberjack is talking I could see him making his way to me. He came out and i introduced lumberjack to my guy. He didn’t come out because he say us three talking, he came out to see if I was ok and give me a kiss. After the introduction he went right back in to his friends. When I went back into the bar, we socialized a little more and then the bar started to prepare to close. Time flew.

Goodbyes

He asked if i was ready to leave. Unfortunately I had no choice but to say yes. So he walked me to my car. As we were walking I asked him if he wanted to sit in my car while he waited for his Lyft or Uber, and then the words just slipped off of my lips.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Ok Pause again...

The words slipped my lips but I meant them. I didn't want him to leave. I didnt want to drive home and not have him around me or next to me.

He got in the car and the goodbyes didnt happen.

Goodnight, Good morning

When we got into the house, I changed into what I regularly sleep in. Nothing sexy or remotely attractive. And he stripped down to his boxers or briefs. I wasnt paying attention. The alcohol kicked in for him and i was a little tipsy. Two too many Manhattans lol. I remember asking if he wanted a glass of water and getting it for him... So this is probably where you want to hear all the details on what happened. Sexually... I can’t. God, I want to say everything and be like, we had amazing sex and it lasted all night and blah blah blah.. No... That’s not what happened. Things happened that deserve gold metals, but whatever... I woke up at about 4 or 5 and I thought it was all some sick dream that I had. I went to the bathroom, not even looking at where he was laying. Coming out the bathroom, I saw him sleeping and my heart stopped for a second. It all hit me like lightning hitting a tree and leaving its beautiful artwork. This man chose to spend New Years with me. He is genuine, kind, honest and in my bed sleeping like that has been his side of the bed for years.

I wanted to climb in bed and hold him just so that when i fell back asleep, he wouldn’t disappear. I did, just for a moment though because I dint know if he liked to cuddle. I found out later that i totally could’ve lol.

8 o’clock... We were laying there, and we may not have been able to witness the fireworks the previous night, but we made our own that morning. What the fuck, I’m so cheesy.. This man is... Who is this man??

Have you heard of Malanda Jean-Claude? He’s my favorite writer, and his poetry will leave you completely lost in a forest of confusing, frustrating, necessary love.

I felt like he was writing our story.

This morning has an ending

So, he had to leave at some time. I mean come on now...

But that night was life awaking inside me. I have slept for so long and I didnt know I was ever going to wake up. And to top it off, I regret nothing. I know that I used some strong descriptions with this man, and I’m completely aware that i could be disappointed later, but maybe not. Who knows. Shit, it wasnt us that was making all that happen that night.

We talk everyday. Seriously, i told him that I’m obsessed with his voice. Fuck a text.

Point of the story is this. You can have plans for your life all you want.. You can fall apart and build yourself up again, and repeat this 100times before you die. But dont sleep through life. Embrace the good, accept the bad, learn, grow. And on top of all of that BE LOVED, BE BLESSED, cause your forehead is being kissed every night that you close your eyes to go to sleep. And you lips are being kissed every morning you open your eyes and take that breath.

#love #short story #malanda #new years #2018 #2017 #tinder #sacramento #california #916

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sherristockman · 7 years

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Are You Really Buying Spring Water? Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola The recent lawsuit against Nestle Waters of North America alleges their bottled Poland Spring water is not spring water at all, but sourced from ordinary groundwater, much like the same stuff that comes directly out of your tap at home.1 The lengths to which Nestle has gone to protect their bottled water brand speaks to the love affair that Americans have developed for bottled water. Water sold in a bottle may be labeled distilled, spring, mineral, artesian or sparkling to name a few. More than 17 million barrels of oil are used in the manufacture of bottled water and 50 billion water bottles are used and discarded every year.2 The cost of bottled water may be as much as 2,000 times more than tap water;3 8 glasses of water each day from your tap costs approximately 49 cents per year while the same amount in bottled water costs $1,400.4 Bottled water now holds the second largest share of the beverage market, well ahead of milk and beer.5 If you are looking for the most expensive bottled water, look for Acqua di Cristallo, which sells for nearly $50,0006 a bottle, sourced from France and stored in a 24-karat gold bottle with a sprinkling of gold dust for good measure. Many buy and drink bottled water as they believe the quality of the water is better, cleaner and potentially better tasting. Bottled water companies count on this belief to drive sales. However, Pepsi’s Aquafina and Coke’s Dasani account for 24 percent of the bottled water sold in the U.S. and both are bottled, purified municipal water.7 In fact, a report by Beverage Marketing Association states that nearly half of all bottled water is sourced from tap water.8 Nestle Under Fire for Poland Spring Water Source According to a current class-action lawsuit, Poland Spring bottled water is a “colossal fraud.” The suit alleges Nestle has been selling billions of gallons of regular groundwater to their customers and not water acquired from a clear, Maine spring.9 In point of fact, the lawsuit goes on to assert the water is not sourced from anything that fits the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s (FDA) definition of “spring water.” Both the FDA and the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) are responsible for the safety of drinking water in the U.S.10 The EPA regulates tap water, while the FDA is responsible for the regulation of bottled water. Interestingly, the FDA states that bottled water may not contain other added ingredients except optionally “safe and suitable antimicrobial agents. Fluoride may be optionally added …“11 According to these regulations the water labeled “spring water” must be from water that: “ … [F]lows naturally to the surface of the earth may be "spring water." Spring water shall be collected only at the spring or through a bore hole tapping the underground formation feeding the spring. There shall be a natural force causing the water to flow to the surface through a natural orifice. The location of the spring shall be identified.” The current lawsuit alleges the water sources are not adequately identified and the original Poland Spring dried up 50 years ago. A spokeswoman for Nestle wrote that “Poland Spring is 100 percent spring water.”12 However, following a settlement of another lawsuit alleging false advertisement of the brand, Jane Lazgin, director of corporate communications for Nestle, confirmed that a mere 30 percent of the water came from an area known as Poland Spring as the original spring had since dried up.13 Lazgin went on to say the remaining 70 percent came from other springs in the immediate area. However, contrary to Lazgin’s statement, Nestle has a long-term contract14 with the town of Fryeburg, Maine, to draw up to 603,000 gallons of groundwater per day at the same rate as the citizens of the town.15 This water is the same water Fryeburg residents are drinking directly from their tap. This lawsuit is only the latest in a string of legal actions against the bottled water company. In 2002, the class-action suit filed alleging false advertising was settled out of court when Nestle agreed to pay $10 million in donations to charities and discounts to consumers.16 Environmental Working Group Scores Bottled Water Brands In 2011, the Environmental Working Group (EWG) published a bottled water scorecard,17 looking at bottled water companies’ overall transparency and disclosure. The report asked three basic questions: What is the source of the water? Is it purified and, if so, how? Have tests found any contamination? Unfortunately, among the 10 bestselling brands of bottled water in the U.S., including six Nestle brands, nine didn’t have published answers to at least one of those questions. This survey evaluated 173 unique bottled water products and found the results had not improved since their last published report. Of those bottles evaluated, 18 percent failed to list a location for the source of the water, 32 percent said nothing about the purification process used on the water and overall, half of the bottled water flunked the transparency test.18 According to the EWG:19 “Companies willing to ignore state law to keep information from their customers may have something to hide. Perhaps bottled water companies are banking on the state Attorney General's office turning a blind eye, focusing its limited resources on other issues. In the meantime, bottled water drinkers are left in the dark.” Privatization of Your Water Supply Driven by Financial Gain Private corporations have now successfully made water a commodity and convenience desired by most people. Forbes calls the bottled water industry “a potential growth category that cannot be ignored.”20 The volume of sales from bottled water is expected to overtake carbonated soft drinks as people look for “healthier” beverage choices. The bottled water industry profits nearly $86 billion from sales around the globe, including flavored water.21 The first bottle of water was sold in 1760 when Jackson’s Spa sold bottles of mineral water for therapeutic uses.22 In recent decades, bottle companies have used advertising to manufacture greater demand for a product that is relatively free from a tap in the U.S. In 2000, Robert Morrison, vice chairperson of PepsiCo, said, “The biggest enemy is tap water.”23 Susan Wellington, president of the Quaker Oats company beverage division that makes Gatorade, said: “When we’re done, tap water will be relegated to showers and washing dishes.”24 There have been great concerns over the use of bottled water for many years. Not only do the bottles end up polluting the oceans and waterways, but the bottles may leach chemicals into the water and the quality of the water is not strictly monitored. A report by the Government Accountability Office (GAO) came to the same conclusions:25 Bottles contain phthalates: Unlike the EPA, which has at least set limits on phthalates in tap water supplies, the FDA has not. Testing quality: Although the FDA regulates bottled water supply, they do not have the authority to demand testing or to see results that may demonstrate violations of quality standards. In contrast, the EPA requires public drinking water systems to publish annual reports about their water quality testing. Energy demand: According to the GAO report: “Regarding the impact on U.S. energy demands, a recent peer-reviewed article noted that while the production and consumption of bottled water comprises a small share of total U.S. energy demand, it is much more energy-intensive than the production of public drinking water.” Production: While the industry advertises clean, clear, pure, mountain-fresh water (depending upon the product you purchase), the manufacture of this product uses 17 million barrels of oil and nearly three times as much water to make a bottle, as it does to fill one. In other words, for each bottle of water filled, three bottles’ worth of potable water are wasted (used in manufacture) Plastic: Plastic has proliferated in the past 70 years with nearly 300 million tons produced, half of which are single use products, such as beverage bottles;26 500 million plastic bottles are used every year, 215 metric tons of which have found their way into the oceans where they destroy plant and animal life. The Sins of Bottled Water According to a Gallop poll,27 nearly 84 percent of people worry at least a “fair amount,” if not more, about whether their tap water is polluted. This is an important first step in recognizing the impact our choices have on the environment. However, consistently using bottled water is yet another poor choice as it also contributes to polluting waterways. The problem lies in the power of advertising. It has created a desire for bottled water, which is unnecessary for many, but which many now use as a status symbol or for convenience. As water is essential to life, and tap water does contain some contaminants and pollutants, many are tricked into believing bottled water is a healthier option. However, 50 percent of the bottled water sold comes from municipal water supplies and a good percentage of the rest is sourced from groundwater reservoirs, the places that many municipalities source their water before treatment. This means that many of the sources for bottled water come from the very same places the water from your tap is being sourced. What’s worse, bottled water is kept in plastic containers that are usually not stored in climate controlled warehouses or transported in refrigerated trucks. This means the chemicals in the plastics are more likely to leach into the water after heating. In a recent study28 examining antimony and bisphenol A that leached into bottled water after exposure to varying amounts of heat, researchers found concentrations of the chemicals in all of the bottles. What Are Your Options? In this short video I discuss how you can reduce your exposure to toxins that are not filtered at your water treatment plant. It will require a change on a global scale to stop the water pollution that’s already taking a health and environmental toll. But, you can make changes at home that will help protect you and your family. In case of an emergency shutdown of your municipal water supply, be sure to store a supply of filtered water in glass or other toxin-free containers. In a perfect world, water is clean, clear and free of chemicals, pollutants and fluoride. To achieve a clean water supply when you are on a municipal water system, your best bet is to add a filtration system. This bypasses the challenges of manufacturing an oil-based plastic product29 that often ends up polluting waterways and oceans, leaches chemicals into the water you drink and takes three times more water to produce it than to fill it. While municipal water is regulated, some of the chemical pollutants that you may find in bottled water are not regulated, and others are added, such as chlorine and fluoride. In some instances, the chemicals that are regulated may have limits that are set too high, and in other instances water filtration systems are not set up to eliminate the pollutants. If you have well water, it is prudent to have it tested for contaminants. You can get local drinking water quality reports for public water supplies from the U.S. EPA. Ideally, your best bet is to filter the water at both the point of entry into your home and the point of use. This means installing filters where water enters your home and again at your kitchen sink and showers. One of the best water filters I've found so far is the Pure & Clear Whole House Water Filtration System, which uses a three-stage filtration process — a micron sediment pre-filter, a KDF water filter, and a high-grade carbon water filter — to filter out chlorine, detergent byproducts and other contaminants. Keep in mind that if your water is from a municipal source, it may also affect your indoor air quality, courtesy of evaporating chlorine from toilets, showers, baths, dishwashers and washing machines. Evaporated chlorine forms chloroform gas and chlorine vapors that may increase your risk of asthma, airway inflammation and respiratory allergies. It’s important to open your windows for five to 10 minutes each day, summer and winter, to help remove the gasses and improve your indoor air quality.

#VitalityPath

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