#if i was rich i would not use my money responsibly i would buy glitter and fish keychains

[simplyghosting]

On one hand $30 is a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a keychain that looks like a fish

on the other hand

ohohohooo hee ho ho hee keychain that looks like a fish

#ghost posts #me and my sad wallet are still debating #it's a handmade keychain and $15 of that cost is shipping #which is more the insane part i mean $15 heckin dollars to ship a keychain #but it's international shipping too so ehhhhhh #if i was rich i would not use my money responsibly i would buy glitter and fish keychains

[outpost51]

WIP Whenever

hey remember how i got super excited about the snippet the other week, well i'm back with chapter 15 lmao leaving it open for anyone else that's also impatient and tagging: @sparatus @thetrashbagswasteland @teamdilf @princess-prawn @tabswrites @liv-is

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The line went silent and once more Talus was alone with nothing left to keep him company but his terrible thoughts and a worried varren. He took another swig from the bottle of whisky he’d been nursing for most of the night — or very early morning, he wasn’t sure anymore. It all bled together after his would-be daughter-in-law decided to take his two remaining sons away. Didn’t she have enough? Couldn’t her daddy’s money buy her another husband, another son? He’d worked for everything his whole goddamn life, and she’d just shown up all pretty in her gourmet — no, couture? Whatever. It was all made by some other rich fucks whose names he couldn’t pronounce.

‘Gaultius,’ Kadmos huffed, dusting some unseen dirt off his lapel. As if merely being around his trash twin was so unclean. ‘But that isn’t the point, Talus—’

‘Nah, the point’s you gotta appease your fuckin’ guilt for abandonin’ me an’ Ma—’

‘Ascina abandoned us for drugs before we’d even opened our eyes, Talus, it isn’t my fault you’ve chosen to keep yours shut!’

Talus tipped the bottle back again and found it as empty as his home. A startled yelp and a loud crash later, it laid in a thousand glittering pieces on the floor.

Much like him, but he was more of a crumpled, sobbing heap. A sad sack of shit, if one were so inclined.

He grabbed at the snout roughly attempting to push under his chin and reluctantly lifted his head from its resting place in his palms so Fishdog could waddle into his lap. It wasn’t Atria, with her endless questions and wild ideas. Or Linni, with his bright eyes that looked so much like his mother’s and held all the innocence he wish they held onto a little longer. Or Fira, with her generous laughs and the secret smiles she held just for him. But it was enough.

‘This don’t make us good,’ he told his estranged uncle from the passenger seat. As many times at Teker had glanced over at him, opened his mouth to speak, Talus was proud he went the whole flight to Cipritine and the whole drive to Valetoria’s place without looking at him once.

‘Didn’t expect it to,’ his uncle replied.

Val provided a good enough distraction for both of them, and his uncle’s fussing almost, almost convinced him to change his mind. That the wiry fuck wasn’t the same piece of shit that killed Ma.

Talus helped Valetoria to the rear cabin, just in case the bastard decided to take another mother away from her son. They hopped from his uncle’s ship to the one Temek had chartered without so much as a goodbye, and skipped off to Terminus space to find a minister to marry them.

At least Atria didn’t hate him. That brought his total count of two whole people in the galaxy that didn’t, if he counted Fishdog as people. Atria was alive, she didn’t hate him, and she had folks looking out for her. She was fine. He hugged Fishdog tighter.

“You’re right,” he slurred in response to the slow huff behind his mandible. “We gotta get ready so she don’t come home to… this.” He grimaced at the state of the living room and sighed when he realized the rest of the first floor looked much the same. Ignoring the shimmer of silver plates and blue-stained gossamer to his left, he stumbled to his feet on the third try, and to his credit, he only bumped into the same piece of furniture twice, thank you very much. His hand hit the switch for the outside light with a little more force than he anticipated, but it had long since gone numb. “Jus’ like her mama, that one,” he huffed. “Hates a messy house.”

The shimmer solidified more into a twisted, mangled thing and he forced himself to look away. She wasn’t real. If she was real, he would have to admit things he wasn’t ready to admit. Would never be ready to admit.

‘Fuck are you doin’ here?’ Tiberius was never the friendliest-looking of his uncles, and the addition of a metal jaw did nothing to help his image. ‘Someone finally give you what you deserved, eh?’

His uncle winced. Talus reached for the shotgun at his back. Maybe he’d finish the job, especially if the big bastard woke Linni. Good thing he’d sent Atria on an errand when he did. ‘I see a few years out in Terminus hasn’t changed you one bit. Where’s—’

‘Out. Like you should be.’

‘I’m not your enemy—’

‘An’ that’s why you’re walkin’ outta here alive.’

When he turned to grab the broom, he slipped on a wet spot that wasn’t there before, just barely managing to catch his fall with his face and sparing his poor arms the responsibility of doing their job. His vision flickered once, twice, and then he blissfully allowed the concussion to take him away from the rotting, purple-lacquered toeclaws stepping into view.

Talus woke some moments later a little dizzy, with a mysterious dull ache pulsing across the right side of his face. Deep, dark blue was smeared across the floor and something inside him panicked, ripping open still-fresh emotional scars — it was quelled when, through the syrupy haze of his higher brain processes, he realized the blood on the floor was his. Not hers. He’d slipped in whisky, he wasn’t on the Galatea, and he’d walked over broken glass in a thin slipper.

“Ah, that ain’t good,” he grumbled, probably too casual for a drake who’d just woken up bleeding on the floor. Nothing for it, he couldn’t feel it anyway. It’d scab over eventually, like his leg. Like his heart.

Teker had a lot of nerve stepping foot on their street, much less on their property.

‘Fuck’re you doin’ here?’ Talus slurred.

‘I called him, Talus.’ Camicidia stalked down the stairs in her fancy fucking shoes and her goddamn dressing gown, as if she’d made herself at home. ‘Keep your voice down, Atria’s upstairs.’

His jaw creaked. She was lucky he could barely see straight at the moment.

‘Where’s Fira?’

‘You keep her name outta your fuckin’—’

‘Shut up, Talus, fuck’s sake.’ Cami held up a credit chit. ‘It’s ten percent of takings, right?’

He hated the fucking pity in Teker’s eyes. Hated him. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ his uncle said — to Cami, not to him, the patriarch of the house, the owner of the house. Like he was some kind of incompetent invalid, and she was his guardian. ‘Think I could talk to Atria for a—’

‘Lil late to gun her mama down and take her away, Razor,’ Talus spat. ‘You keep her name outta your kin-killin’ mouth, too.’

It took five attempts to get off the ground, and he had to lean on the wall, but he finally managed to get the glass swept up. He blew out Atria’s candle first, then hesitated over Fira’s. It was always hard to extinguish her candle’s flame, to distance himself from the bastards that extinguished hers. He finally exhaled a shaky breath, and as the acrid smoke rose from the wick, another scent took its place. She flickered just outside his field of vision again. She was getting easier to ignore. So was the smell, sickly sweet vanilla and incense ash and the pervasive undercurrent of rot. He almost didn't gag.

#unreliable narrators are fun but pop pop is at rock bottom and i'm not done digging #do some of the references make sense out of context? no. i am still Excited tho #my fic #between a rock and a hard place #sneeps.txt

[darkmindsotome]

Traditional Etiquette

Title: Traditional Etiquette

Fandom: Love365 Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: Kei Soejima x MC

Word count: 4,189

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Summary: Your job leads you to being in attendance at the same festive location as your boyfriend. What will happen on this holy night when you are reunited with the man who turned his back on God and this holiday?

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #1: Kiss me under the Mistletoe

---

Traditional Etiquette

There was a different kind of chill in the air compared to the winters back home. It probably had something to do with the humidity. The wind here felt cutting against your skin making any exposed part sting in the air.

Space heaters had been placed around the grounds of the immaculately decorated historic house in an attempt to keep guests as far from the wintery chill as possible. Pulling the warm cashmere shawl tighter around my shoulders I made a few calculations trying to decide on the best way to make my exit.

Currently tucked safely inside my garter was a necklace once owned by an Empress. A gift from her husband and currently missing from a collection on display in the London National Museum. On the verge of an international incident that could easily turn into something involving military responses, the EAC had been contacted.

Thanks to the new assignment any plans I had for the holidays were dashed. Curse of a spy strikes again.

Naturally, the fallout from such a disaster was something everyone wished to avoid but that did nothing to improve my mood. The officials and museum had put a truly incredible replica on display to buy some breathing room in order to retrieve the original. Time was unforgiving and it was an inevitable fact that eventually the fake would be found out. This was a race against the clock.

I could still remember the way Kei looked at me the night I received the call.

“Ha-ha, your face is a picture.” His apparent joy as he watched me and my inner turmoil felt completely out of place.

We were in his rooms at Raven in Tokyo, sipping brandy tea with some low music playing in the background when my phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Well excuse me.” Glaring at him, I ended up drinking the brandy tea in my hands almost in one go as I attempted to avoid his all-seeing eyes.

I knew my inner disappointment at how the holidays were already a disaster before they started was on full display but I was trying hard to hide it. I mean it's normal to want to spend the holidays with your partner, right?

While I sulked Kei chuckled, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

“Will you really miss me that much?”

The sound of fine china being placed on the coffee table forced me to look at him. There was a smile on his face that was far from innocent as he stood from his seat and drew slowly closer. Instead of simply moving next to me he lulled me into a false sense of security and circled around my back leaning over so his mouth was millimetres from my ear.

A move that had the world around us blocked from thought as well as my ability to process the information I just received from work. He was demanding my full attention, commanding me to focus only on him.

“Someone is forgetting something very important.” His voice was low and dripping in that sensual honey-like poison that instantly set my heart racing. Cool hands snaked over my shoulders treating me to a massage that felt far more intense than it really was. “No matter where you are, what you do, who you’re with… I am always right here.” The chilled digits slipped further, deftly circumvented the fabric of my blouse. The teasing patterns he mapped out against my hidden body had me warming to the slightest of touches.

“…Kei.” His name ended up escaping me in a near whisper. How easy was it to fall under his spell? Two could play that game.

Taking one of his hands I brought it to my lips kissing the flesh between his fingers, dragging my tongue across the knuckles before giving them a nip with my teeth. I heard his breath catch behind me. I couldn’t see how his eyes had darkened with lust but I knew he was feeling me and that knowledge was enough to thrill me.

He guided his now marked hand to my lips, brushing them with his fingertips before pushing them inside stroking my tongue and the inside of my mouth. My head naturally tilted back catching a glimpse of the awoken devil behind me. It was then that I knew this was only the beginning.

“That’s right. Be my good girl…”

I suddenly felt flushed with the memory of that night. It was the last one we spent together before starting this mission. It wasn’t as if we had specific plans for the holiday. If anything, it was a time of year Kei usually spent avoiding the celebratory atmosphere. We might not share the same associations with the festivities but it didn’t mean I didn’t still want to spend time with him.

The idea of him sitting in his rooms at Raven. Large fire crackling, spiced cider in hand and the way the light would settle on him as he quietly read. It was a comforting image that brought a smile to my face.

Looking around the glamourous gathering with the twinkling lights and elegant festive decorations I suddenly felt very lonely. I wanted to leave, to get a flight out of here as fast as possible. The weight of precious metal and gems concealed under my dress was a reassuring reminder of a job well done. Still, it wouldn’t do to be so close to the end and have it all fall apart because I let my guard down too early.

Glancing around to make sure everyone was suitably distracted I made my move only to then bump into someone behind me.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” I instantly apologised. Curiosity rose as I wondered who could have moved so near to me that I didn’t even sense them.

“Completely my fault, Miss.” An all too familiar voice speaks up before I had a chance to even look.

“Kei?” His name comes all too easily to me. I instantly end up looking to see if anyone else had heard my faux pas.

“My apologies I was drawn to you and found myself at a complete loss of words.” Kei casually covers for me whilst treating me to his Princely performance. “Where are my manners? Kei Soejima at your service.” With a half-bow he scooped up my right hand, placing a featherlight kiss to the back of it.

“Lily Dunaway, a pleasure to meet you Mr Soejima.” I greet him with my alias and a smile that expertly hides any of my surprise at finding him here of all places.

Kei is far from stupid. He both knows I am on a mission and also what my alias is for work. I watch as he gracefully takes two glass flutes from a passing waiter.

“Champagne? Or were you perhaps looking for something else?” Narrowing my eyes at his suggestive comment for a second, I then accept one of the offered glasses.

“Champagne would be fine, thank you.” Playing the part of the perfect agent I timed my sip to his. “I have to wonder what small miracle would bring such a distinguished guest to me.” I ask in part as a curious agent but also as his girlfriend.

“Miracle? Well, I suppose it would be the season for it.” His smile was as ambiguous as his answer. Taking another sip from his glass I watched as the alcohol coated his lower lip like a gloss. It was a practically mouthwatering image.

We have an agreement not to interfere with work. Both of us stood there in our own private world sizing each other up, playing one suggestive comment for another. Reading between the lines as our little game continued.

“I wonder if you might grant me the opportunity to dance with the most beautiful lady at this rather stuffy affair?” He says with a slightly dramatic flair that felt like it overlapped with a Prince in a fairytale.

“Stuffy affair? Is that really how you would describe this event?” I can’t help but giggle in response.

“Attend one charity gathering at this time of year sadly they all seem to blur into one. All worthy causes, but the crowds sadly are nearly always the same.” His face takes on all the charms of a puckish little boy which only serves to cause my heart to flip.

“In that case, I would love to dance. You almost make it feel as if you are saving me from impending boredom.” I give a light and breezy reply hoping he can’t see how easily he has me bending to his commands. I’m still on a mission.

“Ha-ha, the pleasure is all mine I assure you.” Elegantly taking my glass from me, he placed it on a passing waiter’s tray along with his own. Slipping an arm around my waist he then began to lead us in a waltz that guided us deeper into the gardens away from the grand house and guests.

The music became fainter as we lost ourselves in each other’s eyes and embrace. His body moving perfectly in sync against mine was a sinfully chaste motion. It left me wishing for more contact than the minimal required to dance. We are so close yet so agonisingly far apart. He planned this, didn’t he? It is a very Kei thing and yet I still can’t get a clear read on the guy even after dating him.

I pondered this idea while maintaining eye contact with my boyfriend. His unreadable eyes reflecting only me while he continued to smile and move us in time with the muted tune. A large golden ornament hanging from a set of trees that made up the entrance to another part of this lavish historic garden caught my eye. I swear rich people…

For all my inner protests about flashy displays of money, there was no denying its beauty. A refreshing scent filled the crisp night air around it. It was a set of five golden hoops, wrapped in evergreens and fresh herbs with what looked like an ornate fruit bowl trapped inside. To finish it all off this spherical link cage had a familiar white berried plant hanging in a tumbling bunch beneath it all.

“So pretty.” I ended up expressing myself honestly and feeling a little childish in the process. I’d attended lots of luxurious events in the line of duty and here I was looking at a giant decoration like a cat that had found a room with a glitter ball in it.

“A Kissing Bough.” Kei didn’t seem to mind he just turned his head acknowledging the oversized ornament. He inclined his head after turning back to me relaxing his arm around my waist putting an end to our dance. “You aren’t familiar with it?”

“I think I saw something like it once on a European period drama but up close it's even more beautiful.” No point in lying at this point. We were alone and even if I didn’t account for Kei being able to see right through me, I couldn’t deny that tonight of all nights I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Well then allow me to explain. You are familiar with the tradition of Mistletoe?” He naturally straightened his posture in preparation for his impromptu lecture. I actually love it when he does this although I have no idea if he knows that or not.

“Yes, you are supposed to share a kiss under it.” I nodded and answered ever the perfect student causing him to smile warmly before he continued to fill in the finer details.

“Exactly but traditionally it was slightly more than that. It was part of the celebration in ancient Greece during Saturnalia that there was an act of kissing involving the plant. It is associated with fertility, peace, love and friendship. Druids are thought to be some of the first to bring the Mistletoe inside believing it to also imbue good luck and ward off evil spirits.” He was talking as if he were reading a story from one of his collections of old books.

His breadth of knowledge was really something. Kazuomi wasn’t joking when he said Kei was something of a know it all, able to hold conversations about anything and everything with ease. I imagine it is what makes him such a good diplomat.

“It has a long history then?” I chimed in encouraging him to continue.

“Yes, Romans used to settle agreements and conflict under it. Even in Norse mythology, you can find this little parasite. Did you know there was a time when it was not only frowned upon as a decoration but it was on a list to be banned from adorning a church? The idea didn’t take.” He whispered the last part in my ear as if sharing a secret which gave me goosebumps on my neck.

“How did it get to be such a well-recognised holiday decoration then?” Attempting to maintain my composed mask of an elite spy I casually brought my shawl higher up and tucking myself in tighter. He wasn’t fooled for a second and only chuckled seeing me react to him. Still, he didn’t touch me just continued with his history lesson.

“Well now in the UK it is connected to the Yule season but that isn’t the case in others. You could argue that the origins of this quaint little custom as we know it came from England in the 1700s but it was far more popular by the Victorian era. Before we had the tradition of a tree as a symbol of the holiday there was this.” He pointed above us at the hanging festive orb. I followed his reach and looked up.

I felt something shift but was not fast enough to react. Something about Kei always seemed to render me sluggish with my reactions. He had a way of making every movement of his feel like it naturally just belonged. Warmth pressed against my back and I felt his arms circle around mine.

His fingers located the back of my hand that was holding the shawl tight against myself. His long fingers began to stroke the skin there. Tracing the veins, following the lines to my inner wrist and back again in lazy slow patterns. He continued to speak, his voice low in my ear making it impossible for me to think of anything other than his sultry voice and touch.

“You said you are familiar with the tradition of kissing under Mistletoe but are you aware it is, in fact, a very poisonous little plant? Such a symbol, shrouded in all this romance. Providing a dash of poison to the whole affair.” His lips brushed against my ear lobe. The soft kiss made me shudder sweetly in his arms. “There are actually two traditions involved with this plant. The first involves plucking a berry from the bunch for every kiss stolen.” He reached up and stolen a single white berry from the greenery, balancing it in the palm of his hand in front of us. “When the berries are all gone so too are your privileges.”

Spinning me around in his arms so I couldn’t avoid his darkened gaze a devilish smile crept over his face. It felt like I was pinned in place while his fingers now at my back began tracing my spine through the fabric of my dress. I had never wanted to curse such a thin barrier between us more.

“The other follows a more common route. Anyone under the mistletoe that refuses a kiss will suffer from a curse of bad luck. What are you thinking?” He was seriously unfair. He knew exactly what I was thinking and insisted on teasing.

“That I’d very much like to avoid that curse.” At some point, I had begun to feel like I was floating, bound in his gaze the only thing in my world was the sound of his voice, and the temptation of his sinful lips.

“Well then. What do you say, ‘Lily’? Shall we escape the madding crowd and explore this little tradition for ourselves?” Taking my hand in his he led me through the tree entrance and into a walled garden.

It felt like I was following him through a magical world, the scents of the flowers blooming in the winter mingling with his natural musk kept me firmly in a dreamlike stupor as my body trailed along automatically with his guidance. I really would walk through Hell itself and fear nothing of it with this man. Where is the perfect student and spy now?

The house and its guests were hidden behind the high walls covered in the fragments of trailing plants. A thick frost had covered the world around us making it feel as if it was frozen in time.

Suddenly Kei came to a stop glancing around us briefly before pushing me into the shadow of some of the immaculate large topiaries. It put distance between us, breaking the spell.

“Kei?” The loss of his touch even for the briefest of moments had me searching for him again. I hated to admit it but this was part of me. A neediness I never knew I had. It was something he accepted and encouraged, drawing it out of me.

“I told myself I wouldn’t go this far. But then…  you had to look at me like that. When did you become so cruel?” Kei was standing in the moonlight whilst I was covered in shadow. The way the shadows danced over his perfect face made his pained expression look so very lonely. His eyes were wavering as they looked at me. That devilish smirk on his face was unmoving as he took in every inch of me.

“I wasn’t—mmm!” My protest was cut short by his remarkably fast movement. I barely had enough time to catch my breath before his lips crashed repeatedly into mine stealing it away leaving me light-headed and almost limp in his arms that held me caged in the dark.

“You forgot your lesson again. You looked so lost and alone… standing there…” He continued to speak in a pitifully pained voice as he peppered me with kisses. His arms holding me up as his hands ran over the confines of my dress.

“You were watching me?” I could hardly speak above a breathless whisper. My mind was telling me to keep it together but the way he was robbing me of oxygen and the way his hands were running over me had my heart hammering so loudly in my head I couldn’t focus on anything but him and how he looked so hurt.

“Only since the second you arrived. I only ever see you and yet you teased me by following THEM.” The way he spat out the final pronoun had me remembering the disdain he had for Boss. He was clearly feeling a lot of emotions right now and knowing Kei couldn’t pin down one strong sensation above another.

“I’m on a mission Kei you know that.” I raised my hand to his cheek trying to get his eyes to focus on me and not the memories he had that was causing him so much pain.

“Yes, I do but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. You know that even if you wanted to leave me, I would never let you go.” He stopped his movements with his hands. There was a fire in his eyes that could have melted the polar ice caps. The shawl slipped from my shoulders exposing my flushed skin to the night air. I would have shivered had it not been immediately chased away with his burning hot lips as they glided over my collar bones.  

Soft cashmere wrapped around my free arm from behind, locking it to my side as his grip around me tightened. Grabbing my raised hand by its wrist he gave me a stinging bite to the inside of it.

A crimson flower bloomed on the pale flesh and he dragged his tongue over it. Past the love bite and up the palm, wrapping it around several fingers before giving them little nibbles on their tips. All of this without once taking his eyes from mine. Those glass-like doll eyes, dark with lust.

I licked my lips before finding strength enough to pounce. I forcibly covered his lips with mine trying to suck out all his pain and confusion. A poison that had no place alongside the honeyed darkness we shared.

“Mm… Mc?” He hummed against me. I placed my unbound arm around his neck as I leant in to whisper my sweet nothings in his ear. He stiffened with the pressure of my body against his. For a second it seemed he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So don’t. Take me, mark me… hold me. Make me yours--.” I tried my best to coax him into moving but he stood still as a statue. I didn’t know if he was still struggling to organise his feelings or if he was simply teasing me.

“Someone said she was on a mission.” He sounded amused even as he chastised me for my failing work ethic.

“I am.” I walked my fingers up his check finding the edge of his bow tie and pulling it loose. The sight of his perfect image becoming undone at my hand thrilled me and I found myself urged on to start popping the buttons at his collar.

“You don’t sleep with targets when you are working.” He raised a hand to stop me going further. Ever the one to prefer to remain covered even at times like this. As much as I respect that I also found it extremely unfair that I was always the one to be stripped bare while he wasn’t.

“You aren’t the target. I already took what I wanted from THEM. Now I want something from you.” I was past the point of playing, the fire building inside me was his creation and I was damned if he was going to keep me waiting any longer.

“So greedy. You know? You’re so incredibly sexy when you are honest with your desires. My girl…” He chuckled in a deep voice as he finally seemed to cave to demand.

As our body temperatures rose in the wintery climate our hands roamed over each other eagerly seeking out the next sensitive point. Before he could bind my other arm to my side, I found his jacket pocket by chance. My fingers removing what was hidden inside.

“Mhm… ngh… Kei what is that?” He pulled back enough for me to see what I had in my hand. A small sprig of greenery with white berries.

“I thought I’d twist tradition a little.” He said conspiratorially. Holding my hand in his while raising it above us so the Mistletoe was over our heads.

“Oh?”

“A berry for every time we--.” His free hand slipped through a gap he created in my dress without me realising. Plunging low, attacking me at the apex of my legs over my underwear. The pressure of the heel of his hand rubbing as his fingers stroked along the fabric covering me was blissful torture. Releasing my hand he took the opportunity to loosen his belt as he raised the hem of my dress.

“Mmm Kei…?” I bucked my hips against his hand as the cold air hit my heat. It wasn’t enough to put out the fire. He continued rubbing me over my underwear even as he kissed me, pumping his hardened desire in his other hand a few times.

“Gah, shhh… keep your voice down. Unless you want us to be caught.”

I bit my lip pleading with him using my eyes to hurry. This was so risky and so unlike us that it felt overwhelmingly good. The thrill of location and the way he was possessively pursuing me was doing a number on how hard my heart was pounding. The perfect Prince was gone.

Pulling the fabric covering me to the side he pushed into me filling me up and moved his hands to support my hips whilst I wrapped my legs around him.

“Such a naughty little spy… my bad girl.” His words bled into my ear as he brought himself closer to me removing all light between us as he plunged deeper.

In the shadows of a garden attached to a historic house in England. During a party intended to celebrate a Holy night. Here I was finishing up a mission in a less than professional manner and I couldn’t care less.

As our bodies moved together in the shadow of the topiary, our muffled cries and moans were lost to the night. This wasn’t exactly how I saw our holiday going, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

I still had to hand over the jewels tucked inside my garter but right now all I could think of was the man in front of me. My wonderfully sinful, “bad” boy. My prince, my Kei.

---

#'tis the season for smut

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XXIV)

Chapter 24: Thanking You With Bellflowers

Here we go again for a brand new chapter!! I hope you like it! It's very cute, nothing to worry about in this one.

The next chapter is already written, so next update on Sunday!

Tell me what you think!

Word Count: 3519

"Y/N! SHUT DOWN THE WATER!"

"SHUT IT DOWN!"

You heard a squeal coming from Harry, and hurried to close the tap. You peered inside the backroom again, where Jasmine and Harry were struggling to repair the leaking sink. For now, they had only made the leak worse.

They were both drenched, and both getting grumpier by the minute, but they were also both too stubborn to admit their defeat.

So, they just got more irritated and wet instead of putting down their tools and calling for the help of a professional.

"This is getting ridiculous, guys," you attempted to put some sense into their thick skulls. "I am extremely grateful for the two of you helping me out with the renovation for my shop, but none of you seem to be able to repair that particular issue. We should just call a plumber."

Both your friends turned to you and shot you a glare.

"We are not calling anyone!" Jasmine protested. "We can do this."

"You're both drenched, you're gonna catch a cold."

"Shut up and hand me that wrench," Harry replied, ignoring your protests and making you roll your eyes.

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

Both of your friends looked up at you again from their spot on the wet ground, this time with an offended look on their faces.

"We can do this! Right, Jas?" Harry replied.

"Damn right, we can!"

It took them over an hour more to manage to repair the leak. You didn't tell them that a plumber would have probably been done in 20 minutes where they had spent almost three hours. You were too grateful for their help for that, and you were also struggling to avert your eyes elsewhere while Harry was walking into your garden and taking off his wet white T-shirt to get rid of some of the water impregnated in the cotton.

Indeed, you were too busy trying to look away from the butterfly tattooed on his abdomen…

"I'm starving, let's go find something to eat. I think we deserve it," Jasmine decided. "I'm gonna change into some dry clothes, and we can go."

"Harry, when is your appointment with Gucci?"

Your friend checked the time.

"In a little less than two hours, I can stay for lunch."

"What are you preparing for with Gucci?"

He shrugged, grabbing one of the towels you had fetched for your two friends.

"We'll start working on the style for the new album soon, but it's a bit early for that for now. I just want to buy some new stuff."

Jasmine heaved a loud sigh from the corner of the room she was hiding into while she changed.

"Ha… being rich and buying Gucci…"

"Do you want to come? I… could use some advices, actually."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.

"I reckon you know more about fashion than her, she won't be very useful," Jasmine teased you.

"Well, I won't deny it," you replied, crossing your arms before your chest. "Still, it could be fun."

"Nice! We'll all go together then. But first, lunch. I'm famished."

That was how, after eating some Indian food in the tiny restaurant up the street, you and Jasmine found yourself staring at Gucci suits and shirts and trousers. Silk and cotton and glitter, and a lot of expensive pieces of clothing…

Some clothes had been prepared for him in advance, and he went through them, picking up a few of them. He examined a green jacket, that he seemed to like.

"I like this one," he nodded.

"It's nice," you agreed.

"Too bold?"

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head.

"You? Too bold?"

He shrugged, looking a little shy all of sudden, blushing.

"I mean… too much is… too much…"

You laughed at him, picking up the jacket and placing it before him to judge what he would look like wearing it.

"It looks great on you," you agreed.

"You sure?"

"I'm absolutely certain."

He considered the piece of clothing again, putting it on and checking his reflection in a mirror, but nodded with a content smile on his lips.

"It looks great, indeed!"

Most of the afternoon was spent staring at pretty clothes and helping Harry choose some new outfits. You and Jasmine had some fun trying some clothes too, until your friend spotted a dress that took her breath away.

A dark, silky dress that fitted her so well, she felt like she had never in her life tried any clothes that fitted her before. It felt like a second skin, and both you and Harry were left speechless.

"Wow," he let out, his eyes growing round. "Jas, you look breathtaking!"

"You do," you nodded in agreement, the same astonished look on your face. "Like… you're always pretty but this is… wow…"

"Wow." Both you and Harry repeated in unison from your seats before the fitting room.

She had a huge grin on her face, and she seemed to be seeing stars all around the room.

"It's so pretty," she breathed, tracing the outlines of the fabric with her fingertips.

"You should take it," Harry nodded. "You should definitely take it."

Her smile faltered, and she let out a small laugh, clearly saddened although she tried to brush it off.

"There's no tag with the prize for a reason, Harry," she replied, taking one last look at herself in the mirror.

"I meant to…"

"I know what you meant, that's alright, though," she gave him a half-smile, before disappearing behind the curtain of the fitting room again.

Harry heaved a sigh next to you, but you nudged him to brush his disappointment away.

"It's alright Harry. It's still fun to try on some nice clothes."

"You still haven't tried on this suit you've been eyeing for half-an-hour, though," he replied, nodding towards the burgundy clothes that you had been admiring for a while.

You grew a little shy, shrugging.

"I won't be able to pay for it, anyway."

"I can."

"Harry…"

"Why are you always so uptight about that. I have a lot of money, I can buy you a nice suit. My bank account will not even notice."

You shifted in your seat, quite torn apart by your want for the nice clothes, and the fact that you couldn't possibly accept something that expensive without feeling guilty.

"Can you please do something for me?" he asked with pleading eyes. "Just for once, forget the price, and try this suit on. Don't buy it. But just for a moment, do something nice for yourself, and wear something you've always wanted to wear. Can you do this for me?"

You heaved a sigh, but nodded, giving up while Jasmine was reappearing with her casual clothes on.

You asked to try this burgundy suit, already adoring the clothes as your fingers ran across the soft fabric.

As you disappeared in the fitting room and out of earshot, Harry asked the saleswoman a little favour.

"Can you make sure to take her measurements and make the suit fit perfectly, please?" he asked in a secretive whisper.

The employee merely nodded in response, and went off to get all she would need to make the suit perfect for you. If you asked questions, he would say that he had asked just to make you feel even better about yourself. The truth wasn't that innocent though.

After a few minutes, you finally walked before your friends again.

Jasmine let out a gasp, pressing her palm against her mouth to refrain the shout that was sure to come out otherwise.

"Oh my God, you're so beautiful, Y/N!" she squealed excitedly, getting up to her feet to take a closer look at your outfit.

You shied away, nervously playing with your fingers in response.

"It is very pretty."

"The suit is just perfect for you! You're so gorgeous!"

"Thanks, Jas," you mumbled under your breath.

You looked at Harry, who had remained quiet and still sat motionless on his chair.

And if you had been able to read his thoughts, his reaction wouldn't have taken you aback then. Because he had none. His brain seemed to have been frozen, and all he could do was stare at you and memorize the sight before his eyes. There was not even a beginning of a thought crossing his mind, it was all just a blank canvas before which your image stood, unforgettable and almost ethereal.

He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, but he didn't even notice. He reckoned that he had never felt this smitten by anyone before.

And now, he had always found you astonishingly beautiful, but he couldn't deny the fact that your outfit just enhanced how gorgeous you were to him.

You looked like a goddess he wished he could spend his life worshipping…

"Harry? What do you think? Do you like it?"

His name spoken in your voice seemed to shake him out of his torpor, at least enough so for him to clear his throat and clumsily stand up to join Jasmine by your side. He was still staring at you with his mouth agape and his eyes a bit too wide.

You frowned a little, but found no other explanation for his dazzled expression.

Was he… gawking at you…?

He blushed fiercely as his eyes met yours again.

"You…" he let out in a shaky breath, his mouth dry and struggling to summon his voice again. "You look…"

His eyes travelled across your frame one more time, drinking you in, before finally letting out in a breath the only word he judged worthy to describe you as your gazes met for good.

"… Perfect."

He gave you a shy smile.

"You look… perfect," he repeated, his voice a little more confident.

"Thanks," you grinned.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was pretending she didn't exist and was wondering if Harry would do what was obvious that he longed for, which was crossing the distance between the two of you and snog you senseless in the middle of the Gucci shop.

But he didn't. Instead, he let you turn to the mirror again, taking the chance as you turned around to study the way your vest hugged your back perfectly.

"Well, even I have to admit that it looks good on me," you half-joked. "You were right, Harry. It was a nice dream to have."

You walked away to change back into your own clothes while Harry went off to pay for the clothes he had selected for himself.

"Will you also take the suit for your girlfriend, sir?"

And Harry almost corrected the saleswoman.

No, we're not together. Just friends.

But what was the point? The truth, he guessed. But then again, it would hurt so much to correct her. He reckoned that it was a rather innocent lie he would be telling himself for just a few seconds if he didn't say anything.

So, he let it slide, and for a moment, he bathed in the illusion that you were recognised as his girlfriend, instead of his friend.

"I will," he nodded, taking out his credit card and exchanging a knowing smile with the Gucci employee before him.

You would be mad at him for that, but he also knew that you would get over it. If he didn't spoil the woman he loved, even if you weren't his, then who could he spend his money for at all?

You were packing, putting your books in cardboard boxes. You were due to move to your new flat with Gareth the next week. He was helping you pack, and you were having quite a laugh, your boyfriend being silly next to you to make sure that you would keep on smiling.

It was a rather nice evening, actually. Warm like California was used to, and the sunset bathing the sky with pink and gold.

You were interrupted by your phone ringing, and picked up to hear Jasmine's voice.

"Y/N!" she shouted in the phone, and you had to bring the device a little further away from your ear. "I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT HARRY DID!"

"Well, hello to you too, Jas," you chuckled. "What did Harry do?"

"I'VE JUST RECEIVED THE DRESS!"

You frowned, putting down a book in the box before you, while Gareth threw you a questioning look.

"What dress? What are you talking about?"

"THE DRESS! The Gucci dress! The one from last week! You remember? The one that was so pretty! It's just been delivered to my flat! He also bought me a new drill! I was complaining about mine being old and not working properly when we tried to pierce your wall to add the shelves for your plants, but I didn't think that he would buy me one!"

"Harry… did that?"

"YES! He left a cute card with them too! I mean… a part of me doesn't want to accept cause the dress must have cost… way too much to even think about it, but… I've just put it on again and… IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL!"

You laughed, shaking your head. Now, actually, it was pure Harry to do something like this.

"Anyway, sorry… I'm so EXCITED!" Jasmine went on, and you could imagine her jumping up and down in her new dress, with the largest grin on her face. "I called you to warn you because… if he bought the dress for me, then I'm pretty sure that he has probably bought your suits too."

You froze, a book almost set in the box, but held by just your fingertips instead.

"What… do you… do you think so?"

"I mean, mine was delivered just a bit ago, yours will probably soon arrive as well."

"But I… I told him not to…"

"Well, I didn't ask for it either, and yet he did it!"

"I mean… he loves doing this kind of things."

Just as you were listening to your friend's answer, someone knocked on your front door.

Gareth moved towards the door, but you stopped him and went to open the door instead.

And sure enough, Jasmine was right. There was a delivery for you.

You got the package, tipped the delivery guy, and hurried back to the living room to open the box. Your heart was pounding in your chest, although you knew already what was enclosed in the large white box.

You put down your phone, placing your friend on speaker.

"So? Is it the suit?" she eagerly asked.

You lifted the lid, revealing the beautiful burgundy fabric you expected. Still, you couldn't refrain a gasp.

"Yeah… yeah, it's the suit…"

"What suit? Who sent you that? Did you buy it?" Gareth asked, walking across the room to stand beside you to take a better look at the inside of the package.

"Harry bought it for me."

At your words, Gareth froze, turning fully to you, his eyes travelling back and forth between you and your gift.

You let out a breathy chuckle, your nerves getting the best of you while you struggled not to cry.

"I can't believe he did this…"

You reached for the note he had left, placed neatly on top of the clothes.

 Don't even start telling me I shouldn't have, because I'm right about this.

All my love, always,

H xx

 You laughed at his note, before pressing it to your heart.

"Girl, this man is something else…" Jasmine said, and you could hear that she was shaking her head, before she gasped. "MY DRILL IS CHARGED I HAVE TO TRY IT! SEE YOU TOMORROW AT THE SHOP, BYE!"

And before you could reply, she had hung up, making you laugh.

"So… he buys you nice clothes now?" Gareth asked, struggling to hide the jealousy that oozed from his tone.

"I mean… he always buys nice things to everyone," you countered, a tender smile on your lips that Gareth didn't like at all. "He also bought me many scarves, and this," you added, your fingers coming up to brush against your necklace.

This necklace… how could Gareth forget about it? He had bought you one as well, but you never wore it. It was always Harry's peony that shone softly around your neck with the sun.

"I'll call him and thank him."

Gareth cleared his throat, summoning his most innocent tone.

"Isn't it a bit weird that he buys you clothes like this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't buy Gucci suits to my friends…"

"Well, maybe you should start to," you joked. "It's not weird. He just loves making gifts. He also bought Jasmine the dress she loved."

"I see. That's nice of him."

"Yeah… I'll call him now."

Before he could say anything else, you were pressing your phone against your ear, your fingers still tracing the edges of the folded vest.

"Hello, Y/N! How are you?" Harry's voice formed through the phone, warm and merry, and making you smile so easily.

"Hey, Harry! I'm… speechless… I've just received your package. I… I don't know what to say."

"Well, don't tell me that it was madness or anything of the kind, that's all I'm asking for."

"This is… so beautiful, Harry. Thank you."

"You deserve it. You only deserve the best. Besides, it suited you too well, I couldn't let you walk away from it. Would have been too much of a shame. Are you wearing it now?"

"No," you laughed. "I'm making my boxes for next week. Besides, I reckon that I should keep it for a special occasion. Like… when my shop opens."

"That would be amazing. Everyone will come to your shop, just to see you in that suit, not even any need for flowers then."

"Oh, shut up!" you chuckled, shaking your head, but Gareth didn't miss how your lips turned into a grin.

"I'm serious!"

"Anyways… thank you, Harry. For everything."

"You know… you've always made me feel like I could be myself. Like I… could wear whatever I wanted, and be whoever I wanted… You've made me feel better in my own skin. I thought… it was just a small thing compared to what you've done for me, but… I thought maybe it would help you feel a little bit more like your best self too, the same way you make me feel."

You weren't sure what to answer, and Harry was suddenly worried that he might have gotten too far with his confession.

But he was soon reassured.

"You make me feel like that too. I know I'm accepted when I'm with you."

A proud smile settled across his lips.

"That's all that matters to me."

"Are you in the studio still?"

"Yeah, we're finishing up a song."

"What's it called?"

"I won't tell you."

"Please!"

"Nope! That would be cheating!"

"Tell me something at least!"

He heaved a sigh, running his hand through his messy hair. He really never could resist you, could he?

"I wrote it a while back, when I was on the road. I'm finishing up with the instrumentation."

"What is it about?"

You.

It should have been his answer, but he couldn't admit that out loud. Especially when he knew that Gareth was probably in your apartment too, helping you pack up your things.

It's about you. I wrote it that night after our dinner in L.A, when you talked about Gareth and how you weren't sure about him. It's about how I wish you'd given me a chance. It's all I wish I had told you that evening, instead of waiting for your couple to become stronger. It's me begging you to let me adore you the way you deserve. Do you remember that walk we took under the stars that night? I put my coat over your shoulders because you were cold. Do you remember that?

"It's about… asking someone to let you love them. It's about… the beginning of being in love."

"What's it called?"

"So far, the title's Adore You."

"Awww! I love it already!"

"It's the cheesiness in you."

"You're even more of a romantic than I am!"

"Maybe so."

"Well, you should go back to writing your next hit, then! I'll leave you to it. I'll see you tomorrow at the shop?"

"Sure. Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Harry. Oh, and by the way… Jasmine loved her gifts too."

He chuckled, and you could imagine him blushing and balancing his weight from one foot to the other.

"I'm glad she did."

"Good luck with your song."

"Sleep tight."

He hung up before he could let out the words that he almost let slip more and more often these days. It was worrying, really, the way the words seemed to get closer to the tip of his tongue and to his treacherous lips every day. With every call, actually, it would seem. What if he let them slip out? Would you hate him then?

Love you…

"Harry! You're done, yet? Bring your arse back here!" Mitch's voice rang through the studio.

"I'm coming! Jesus! You're impatient today!" Harry laughed, walking down the corridor to record his song again.

Yet another song about you…

*******************

Taglist :  @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony​@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla @mariaenchanted​

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #series #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #writing

[fanwright]

Koibito (P.2) - Zuki Week 2020 - Four

Title: Koibito - Part 2

By: Fanwright

Zuki Week 2020 Prompt #4: Date Night

Summary: Just a simple date. A night out in one of the many small towns that dotted the coast on Kyoshi Island, close to Suki’s home, but far from the troubles of the world. Nothing is ever that simple when you date the young Fire Lord.

Rating: T

Author’s Note: Second part to the “Date Night” prompt, in which Zuko and Suki go “ride or die” for each other. I hope you guys enjoy it! 

Organizers: @madamebomb @whatusernamex3000

__________________________________________________________

He pushed the empty bowl aside, tossing the chopstick into it. Patting his belly lightly, Zuko sighed contently, letting his meal settle.

“I wasn't expecting that to taste so good,” He said, licking his lips. He could still taste the beef and broth, almost tempted to ask for another helping.

Suki merely chuckled, slurping up the last mouthful of noodles as she set down her bowl. “Yeah you tucked into that pretty quickly! I told you this place was worth it.”

“If we ever come back here, I wouldn’t mind staying to have another bowl with you,” Zuko nodded approvingly. He then chuckled, palm resting on his forehead. “Now you have me sounding like Uncle. He’d love this kind of comfort food.”

“I’ll hold you to it then, Zuko,” She smiled. 

“What’s this soup called again? Ramen?” He asked.

“Yup! That’s what we on the island call it at least. Its just a noodle soup, beef broth flavored with soy sauce and served with pig-chicken meat, dried seaweed, and scallions.” She plucked up a napkin and wiped her lips. “Easy to make, sure, but if you really know what you're doing you can make it into a delicacy.”

“Well, you picked the right place for a delicacy like this,” Zuko nodded slowly. “The chef really did a good job.”

On the other side of the long wooden counter from where they sat, savory steam from freshly cooked ramen wafting around him, the chef perked his head up at the the compliment. With unusual grace for a man as portly as himself, he turned on his heels and gave Zuko a wide, toothy grin. “Thank you kindly sir! Always a pleasure to hear customers enjoy my meals.”

Zuko straightened his posture and leaned back in his stool, surprised that the man could even hear him over the cacophony of loud, chatty customers and clanking dishes. “Um. Think nothing of it.” Was his response.

“There’s something else that Old Man Tatsu likes more than compliments,” Suki smiled wryly. From her sleeve, a handful of copper mon pieces chimed against the counter. Just as soon as they were given, they were just as quickly taken up by the plump chef. He gave a wide grin as well, his crooked teeth bared once again. “Ah, you know me so well,” He chortled.

“That should be enough to cover the both of us, old man” Suki nodded. 

“Of course it is,” The chef mused. He even bit the edge of one the coins Suki gave him, a crude way of checking whether it was legitimate or not. He seemed pleased as he stowed it away in his robe. He then turned his gaze specifically to Zuko, scrutinizing him. The young Fire Lord grimaced, making the chef chuckle.  “I don’t care where people are from. You could’ve come from the next province over or from the Fire Nation. As long as you’re copper is good, I’ll serve you a fine meal. Cheat me, and I’ll throw you to the musha of our domain.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes at the old man “Noted.”

“We get it, Tatsu. You have customers to tend to,” Suki reminded him.

“Ah, and money to take from them as well. Give a holler if you want more grub.” He waved them goodbye, waddling away to tend to his kitchen as the other younger cooks tried to weave around his imposingly round figure.

Zuko’s eyes lingered on the man, glaring at his back. “I think he was trying to intimidate me.”

“Old Man Tatsu likes to do that to new faces that come around here. Don’t take it too seriously,” Suki reached her hand over to pat Zuko’s fist. He had balled it tightly, knuckles turning white. “So relax, okay?”

Grunting, Zuko slowly loosened his fingers, holding onto Suki’s hand. “What did he mean by musha?”

“On the island, that’s what the Kyoshi Warriors are commonly called,” She said. “Each shugo, what you’d probably call a provincial governor in the Fire Nation, has control over a single domain and provides funds and supplies to outfit the musha of each domain. Each village might offer up a cadre of girls to be the protectors of a village or town, but its the shugo that has the final say on things.”

Suki took up a warm up of tea sitting beside her, pressing the rim against her lips. She took a slow sip. “My little village of Mikasa only got enough money from our shugo to raise a very small cadre. The Hatsuse Domain is poor. Towns like Haruna here in the Kirishima Domain can afford to raise a large cadre since their shugo is rich.”

Zuko listened attentively of course, but he felt embarrassed for not knowing about these things as much as he should have. Being the Fire Lord meant dedicating time to learning statecraft, economics, and diplomacy. So much was thrown his way that It was enough to give him a headache... and sometimes he just forgot things.

But it was in times like this, where he felt at ease with the girl that had so captured his heart, that he actually found himself listening. It helped that he found her voice so pleasant to hear. She could read something as dry as a treaty and he would listen to her talk, though he hoped things would never come to something as mundane as that.

“So, what does having a rich shugo mean for other Kyoshi Warriors?” He asked. “Does it really make a difference?”

When Suki set down her tea cup to answer him, the heavy clatter of boots along the cobbled road just outside the ramen house drew her attention. She wouldn't have given it much thought had they not been marching in unison. Zuko looked over his shoulder as well and saw how the mass of people on the street parted out of the way of a group of four ornately clad women, all armed to the teeth.

Suki’s shoulders sagged, frowning heavily as the group swaggered by. “Take a look for yourself.”

Zuko had always thought Suki and her warriors dressed rather ornately. And he had always assumed green was the standard color for any uniform of the warrior group as a whole. The young women that passed by put pay to those assumptions. They were as impressively dressed as they were imposingly armed. White painted faces and brightly painted lips, their hair crowned by intricately crafted golden hair pieces even more impressive than what he’d seen Suki wear while in uniform. And they weren't wearing green. All four sported vermilion colored robes, armored chest-plates as black as obsidian, each brandishing two swords tucked into crimson sashes inlaid with gold. They shouldered long and fearsome spears that towered above the crowds. They strutted as if they had owned the entire town.

As they marched away, the crowd receding behind them, Zuko couldn’t help but feel impressed by how they looked... and how much more intimidating they seemed.

“... they remind me of my palace guards,” Zuko muttered. “And I thought I was the only one wearing red on the island.”

“Peacocks...” Suki muttered venomously, sipping her tea.

Zuko quirked an eyebrow as he turned to face Suki. She had a glare that could melt through iron. “You don’t like them?”

She sighed heavily. “When I was little I thought the warriors of this domain were some of the finest on the island. Everyone did, and still do. Even dad was impressed with them.”

“Something changed though,” Zuko added.

“Yeah. When I became a warrior myself, I soon realized that all the groups within the domains had little rivalries with one another. Like schoolyard cliques. The cadres here in this domain, especially in Haruna, are...” She looked over her shoulders to see who was listening. When she thought no one was, she whispered. “... are nothing but privileged, overdressed thugs.”

Zuko chuckled, but Suki didn’t look so thrilled. “Kyoshi would weep to see what we’ve become.”

“Or beat some sense into everyone, if what Aang says is true about her,” Zuko said, squeezing Suki’s hand. “I hope you don’t think you’re like them. You’re no thug. You wear you’re uniform with pride. And you don’t have to prance around like a peacock to impress me.”

She smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks, Zuko. It means a lot to hear you say that. You’re being awfully sweet tonight, you know.”

“I have moments,” He smirked. “I just like seeing you smile.”

“Keep it up and we’ll see if we can’t find other ways to make each other smile,” She winked at him suggestively. His heart pounded against his chest, mind suddenly racing at the implications of what she might have been proposing. 

“I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Zuko smiled knowingly, to which Suki giggled. 

“Come on then you. Lets get some desert. There’s an ice cream vendor just down the street. I’ll buy,” Moving off the stool she took Zuko by the hand and beckoned him to follow.

“I’ll be sure to repay you,” He said, wrapping a firm arm around her waist as he pulled her in close, kissing her on the forehead. She squeaked excitedly, wrapping her own arm around him as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sure you will.”

They held each other close as they trotted down the road, gazing up at the stars that glittered overhead. Couples wearing their finest clothes, groups of friends laughing at each others antics, even throngs of drunken fishermen singing chanties out of tune all passed them by, everyone of them relishing in the sights and sounds of the night. It was incredibly different than what Zuko was used to. For one of the few times in his life, he didn’t feel like a prince or a Fire Lord or someone that an assassin would stick a dagger in to. Tonight, he felt like another face in the crowd. Just a boy on a date with the girl he loved. And that was just fine with him. 

He breathed softly, leaning his head against her. “This is nice.”

“Yeah. I’m really glad you came with me back home. I hope we can do this more. Just you and me,” She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry if it was an inconvenience. I know you had important things to do when we left.”

“Don’t be. I can worry about all that when I get back. I’m glad you talked me into coming here,” Zuko said. And then he smiled. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Suki squeezed his arm tighter, chuckling lightly as they walked on. “The ice cream shop is right over there. we can get any flavor you want.”

“Sounds good,” Zuko nodded.

As they weaved through the crowd toward their destination, Zuko felt a sudden chill run through him. He tensed up, wary of eyes glaring back at him. Suki noticed as well, since her hand suddenly squeezed his. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t really know. He peered through the crowd, eyes shifting from one face to the other. Suddenly, for a brief moment, right at the corner of his scarred eye, he found a group of four vermillion-clad Kyoshi warriors glaring back at him. They stood outside a food vendor’s shop, perusing the shopkeeper’s wares when Zuko had apparently caught their wary gaze. Two of them, dressed stylishly as identical twin warriors, waved their fans haughtily, their eyes like daggers pointed at his throat. Another pecked at a handful of nuts, eating slowly as her eyes followed Zuko through the crowd, a long spear leaning at her side. Their leader, wearing a golden headpiece adorned with the visage of the Unagi, rested her hand against the hilt of her sword. She had the air of someone who had sniffed at something extremely foul.

“... warriors,” Zuko muttered quietly. He quickly turned his gaze ahead of him. “They’re staring at me.”

Suki straightened her posture, but still held onto his arm. “Walk on. Don’t look at them.”

He squeezed her hand and kept his eyes forward. The ice cream shop was just head of them. He could smell the sweet aroma waft through the air, beckoning them closer. If they could only walk a little faster-

“You there! Stop!”

The high-pitched order cut through the crowd and rang sharply in Zuko’s ears. Some of the passersby looked confused, unsure if they were the ones that incurred the wrath of their musha. Suki merely tugged Zuko along, not bothering to stop. “Walk on.”

“I said stop!” Came the harsh voice again. Neither Suki nor Zuko did as the voice commanded them. And for his troubles something hard slammed into the back of his head. It surprised him enough to make him stop, his vision growing spotty as he hunched over, clenching his teeth in pain. Suki gasped, rubbing his neck comfortingly to try and nurse him.

“Are you okay?” She asked urgently.

“N-No.” Zuko uttered. “I think it was a rock. It felt sharp...”

When he ran a hand through his hair, a small bead of blood smeared the tip of his finger. Zuko growled, the pain adding fuel to his rage.

As she tried to help straighten Zuko’s posture, Suki quickly turned her gaze toward their assailant, fire in her eyes. Unsurprisingly one of the vermillion-clad twin warriors stared back at her, red painted lips curled into a vicious smirk. Another rock rested in her palm, while her twin fanned herself innocently, giggling at Zuko’s pain.

“Nice throw, sister~!” She chimed in, her voice deceptively sweet.

“Too bad the other turned around. Oh well~,” The other twin sighed dramatically, dropping the rock. “I would have thrown it at her too.”

Suki glared at them, teeth gritted tightly. The four warriors leisurely plied their way toward them. Others stepped out of their way, rushing children along or hastily taking their belongings with them. Each of them circled Zuko and Suki like pack of make-up wearing vultures, waiting for an excuse to pounce on them. The nut-eater chewed at her food slowly, using her spear as a cane as it clanked menacingly against the cobbled road. Something cracked in her mouth and she spat it out at Zuko’s feet, grimacing at him. The twins each unfurled their fans and covered their mouths coquettishly, skipping giddily around them. Their leader was the first to speak and jabbed a finger in Zuko’s direction.

“What is this?” She demanded.

Suki didn’t speak a word, shifting around Zuko to face the warrior. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers flexing with anticipation.

Grasping Suki’s shoulder, Zuko spoke up, barely containing his anger. “What’s this all about? Why are you-”

“Shut up!” The leader demanded. Again her gaze fell on Suki. “What is this doing here?”

He narrowed his eyes. She refused to even acknowledge him properly, to see him as human. His blood boiled, clenching his fists tightly.

“He is with me.” Suki stated firmly. “And he asked you a question.”

“So did I,” The leader was measured and calm, but her tone seethed with rage. “You dare to bring a foreigner, one from the Fire Nation no less, into the Kirishima Domain! Into our town! Sullying our streets with his presence!”

“The musha from Hatsuse Domain are a pack of damn fools,” The nut-eater muttered, gripping her spear tightly in her fist.

“Poor fools,” One of the twins chuckled. “Look at those rags she’s wearing.”

“They’re disgusting as always, sister,” The other chortled. “A rabble of back-country bumpkins without standards or morals.”

“And they’ll screw anything that moves it seems~ Look how ugly that... thing is. Its scar is hideous.”

“Can it even see out of its eye?”

“Its probably blind~” The twin held out her hand and gave Zuko a gesture that anyone would take as a grave insult. “Can you see this? I bet it doesn’t understand me.”

Zuko flared his nostrils, glaring daggers at the vermillion-colored Kyoshi Warriors. His fists were clenched tight, steam emanating from between his fingers. Suki tried reign him in, but even she had a limit to her patience.

“No one said a word about him not being allowed here,” Suki stated. “Everyone’s left him alone.”

The leader crossed her arms, unamused. “You think commoners without any training would dare raise a fuss with musha? Against a woman with a sword? You really are a damn fool, Hatsuse.”

“The good people of our town let us know when you arrived, whispered of some musha hanging off the arm of a foreigner,” The nut-eater muttered. “Had to see it to believe. Now you have to deal with us for offending our people.”

“What? You’re insane!” Suki protested.

“I ain’t the one crazy enough to cozy up to a damn Fire Nation foreigner, you whore,” The girl grimaced.

“Don’t call her that!!” Zuko snapped, his fists shaking with unbridled rage. “Don’t you dare insult her in front of me!! You’re all a disgrace to Kyoshi and the uniform you wear!!”

“Zuko...” Suki turned, surprised at his outburst.

The twin warriors looked incredibly amused, chuckling incessantly at his burst of anger. The nut-eater with the long spear merely shook her head and rolled her eyes, like she heard a bad joke. Their leader made her way forward, brandishing her obsidian colored fans. She unfurled them and her arms fell to her sides. “Insolent Fire Nation bastard! You dare to insult us, the great protectors of the Kirishima Domain! You’ll pay for that.”

Suki whirled around, swiping out her gold colored fans and striking an intimidating stance. She couldn’t hold back her own anger anymore. The moment the girl took out her fans and insulted Zuko was enough for her. It took Zuko by surprise. “Suki...”

Their leader’s eyes widened. “You’re protecting him!?”

“Yes. As I always have.” She stated. “I love him. And none of you are going to change that.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. He felt his spirits soar. His anger was supplanted by a renewed sense of purpose. To protect Suki. He covered her back, taking a wide stance.

“You’re a disgrace, Hatsuse. You do not deserve the privilege of being counted among the musha. You’ll suffer the consequences of your actions when we’re done with you.”

“Not as much as you’re going to suffer, Kirishima.”

The group leader bared her teeth, snarling as she took a more aggressive stance. The other three followed suit, fans and spear drawn. 

“I’ll give you another scar for your eye, foreigner,” One of the twins taunted. It was the one that threw the rock at his head. Zuko remained silent and steadfast, but his gaze settled on her first.

The girl’s twin giggled. “You should’ve just stayed away~ Now we’re going to hurt you for insulting us~!”

“Not going to happen,” Zuko warned. “Suki. Duck.”

With only seconds to react, Suki suddenly crouched down. With a deep breath, Zuko unleashed a great torrent of fire from his mouth. It swept around the gathered group of Kyoshi Warriors, all of them reeling from the sudden display of light and heat that seared their expensively ornate robes.

“He’s a firebender!” One of them screeched. It was the twin that pelted him with the rock. He zeroed in on her first.

She was taken off balance by the gust of fire, her stance wobbly. Easily, Zuko merely extended is arm, a massive ball of fire shooting from his fist as it seared the air. It hit the girl’s chest plate, but the sheer force of his attack threw her back into a wall. The wood cracked behind her and she crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain. Revenge never tasted so sweet. 

“Sister!” The other twin cried out, charging forward, the blades of her fan glinting. “You pig! I’ll kill you!”

“Get in line!” With practiced and efficient grace, Suki swept low and kicked out her legs to trip the oncoming warrior. She fell to the ground, her face scratching against the stone surface, smearing it with make up. She tried to get up, to unleash her fury and fight back, but Suki was ready to meet her. Closing her fan and clenching it in her fist, she let loose a vicious punch that connected with the girl’s cheek. She could hear the jaw crack. The girl plopped back down, unable to get up, whining painfully as her vision spun.

“You made that look easy,” Zuko stated.

“It was,” Suki smirked. 

The cold flash of steel soon drew Zuko’s attention. The other warrior with the spear lunged forward, a vicious war cry emanating from her throat. Zuko barely had enough time to side step and turn out of the way. He could feel the blade slice into the skin on his bicep, fabric ripping away. He winced, groaning in pain at the sting of the cut. His elbow shot forward and with the force of a stone it smashed into the girl’s nose. She was taken off balance, her feet quivering under her. Zuko took the opportunity to grasp the spear and push her back with it. She fell to the ground, clutching at her face as blood trickled between her fingers. 

“Idiots! I have to do everything myself!!” The leader rushed forward, charging toward Suki. 

Quickly, Suki dodged out of the way of a swipe, but the blade’s on the fan nicked her shoulder. It cut into the fabric, a small red stain sullying her blue robe. Again the vermillion-clad warrior lunged forward with a strike from another fan and Suki was pushed back, curling up defensively. 

“Come on!!” The girl cried out, her fans cutting recklessly through the night air. She left herself wide open and Suki took her chance. With the graceful sweep of her own fans, she was able to grapple her assailant’s arm. Holding her in place Suki’s elbow struck back, slamming into the girl’s nose. She cried out in pain and tried desperately to wriggle away, but Suki wouldn’t let her go. She swept her leg under the girl and flung her to the ground. Her armor and gold headpiece scratched against the surface with a resounding chime. And with one final blow, still pinning the leader in place, Suki brought her fist down hard. White make up smeared her first and blood trickled from the girl’s nose in a thick stream. She whimpered pathetically, laying defeated under Suki.

As Zuko flung the spear to the side of the street, he looked at their handy work with some amazement, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“A lot of bluster for how easy they went down.” He clutched at the cut on his arm. It was small and only pierced the flesh, but it stung incredibly bad. “They might need to train more.”

“Like I said. Peacocks.” Suki muttered. A finger pressed down on the cut on her shoulder. She winced painfully. “They might get the money, but the only fighting they saw during the war was then they were called to break up drunken fights.”

“Glad I have the actual fighters in my care,” Zuko smiled.

“I trained them well, of course,” She smirked.

Over the pained groaning of the girls laid out on the street, the blare of high pitched whistles and the march of boots echoed through the night air.

“Oh no... more are coming,” Zuko muttered. 

“Lets get out of here then. Four was enough, but I’m not willing to push my luck on the entire town’s cadre,” Suki tugged at his sleeve.

“Agreed. I’ll follow you.”

They hurried away back down the street as the whistling and marching got louder. Quickly, Suki led Zuko down a tiny alley way, tucking themselves away in the shadows. It was a tight fit and their bodies rubbed against each other uncomfortably. 

“Ow! Watch your knee, Zuko,” Suki yelped.

“Sorry. Here, lets shift each other-” He held her by the waist, his knee almost digging in between her legs. “... like this!”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down,” Her hand clamped over his lips. He could hear the footsteps against the road as well.

Long shadows were cast against the alley walls, passing them by completely. The sound of warriors barking orders to find them resounded through the street.  Soon the sounds died away and the breath that Zuko and Suki were each holding was slowly released. 

And then they laughed. Not loudly enough to be heard, but just enough to hear each other. 

“We really kicked up a hornet’s nest, huh?” She giggled, trying to cover her mouth and restrain her laughter.

“Yeah. Looks that’ll end our date for tonight,” Zuko chuckled. “That way we can at least clean these cuts.”

“Whenever you’re ready to go then,” She said.

“R-Right. Right...”

Even with the warriors gone, both of them stayed in place, Zuko’s hands still clasped to her hips. He was unwilling to move. The way she leaned into him, her warm, slender body pressed so closely to his chest, made his heart thump in his ears. He looked down at her, trying to steal a glance, only to find her eyes staring back at him. He pursed his lips awkwardly.

“Suki, I-”

“Yes? What is it?” Her eyes seemed to glitter in the soft dim light, unblinking. Had she been waiting for him to say something?

He blinked, swallowing hard. “... what you said earlier... did you mean it?”

“That I-”

“That you loved me,” Zuko stated. “Did you really mean that?”

She only paused to smile up at him, gently cupping his scarred cheek in her hand. “I did,” She nodded her head gently. “I love you Zuko. You’ve been really good to me, even sticking up for me. I hope I’ve been good to you.”

His heart thumped against his chest again, butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t know why, but his eyes stung a little. For a moment he didn’t know what to say, her words touching his very soul and ringing like a sweet chorus in his ears.

I love you.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. He pressed her up against the wall and her arms wrapped around his neck pulling him even closer. Her breath tickled his lips and he grasped tightly at her waist.

“I love you too, Suki,” He said. “So, so, much. I don’t deserve you. I just want to hold you so you never leave me.”

He had so much more he wanted to say to her. How she made him feel, how she always managed to make him smile, feel special, feel loved. But he could hardly utter a word. Her lips had found his, her arms embracing him, unwilling to let him go.

They remained there, basking in bliss, even as the crowds came back and the stalls reopened. The night went on, the stars twinkled overheard, and the sounds of laughter and merriment continued unabated. 

The date was ruined, but their love for each other only grew.

#Zuki #Zuko #Suki #Zuki Week 2020 #avatar: the last airbender #super late

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo square: Self-Sacrifice

Fandom: Marvel, Iron Man Characters: Tony Stark, James Rhodes Tags: MIT Era, College, Friendship, Protective Rhodey, Tony Needs A Hug, Alcoholism Words: 3.773

Summary: “Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”

What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love.

---

Tony is so vibrant, so used to hiding behind glittering masks, that it is impossible for the casual observer to notice when something is wrong with him. Rhodey is not that anymore. For a year now, they have been best friends. Still, the cracks in Tony’s composure show themselves only gradually.

The first thing Boston’s students learned about Tony Stark is that he is young and rich and smart enough to leave them all in the dust. The second is that he is the life of every party, unmatched in his ability to drink and please any crowd. Rhodey is disgusted by that right up until he is worried.

The trick, Rhodey eventually learns, is to keep Tony distracted, to turn the alcohol into nothing more than an afterthought – and to throw out the people who only want to use Tony. Which, admittedly, is a Sisyphean task at college.

Coincidentally, the first time Rhodey wonders whether Tony is not hiding more cracks than previously thought is during a party.

By the time Rhodey arrives, everybody is already drunk. He stands in the foyer, letting the pounding music wash over him, making his skin vibrate as if it has a life of its own, and wonders whether it would not be better to call it a night. Arriving late means to put in twice the effort to have fun.

He has no time to come to a decision, though, because that is when Tony finds him. His eyes are as wild as his hair, and his clothes are in disarray, buttoned up wrong and with lipstick stains adorning his collar.

“Platypus,” he calls, his lips fitting clumsily around the newest nickname in an embarrassingly long line of them. “I saved a bottle for you somewhere.”

A bottle could mean everything from bear to the most expensive whiskey the store around the corner has to offer. Sometimes, it does not seem that Tony discriminates between what he pours down his throat as long as he has a bottleneck to hold in his hand.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Rhodey shouts back over the music. “Maybe get a glass of water for you too.”

Suddenly, Tony is much too close, pressing himself against Rhodey’s chest in a clumsy attempt of an embrace. When he backs away, it is only far enough that he can look up better at Rhodey.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Rhodey.” Eyes growing brighter, he adds, “Let’s just not be ourselves tonight.”

With that, he grips Rhodey’s hand and pulls him off deeper into the house.

“Wait,” Rhodey says, “what do you mean by that?”

It is such a strange phrasing that something cold unfurls behind Rhodey’s sternum. He is not yet drunk so he cannot make sense of a drunk’s words. Perhaps the surroundings alone have him not sober enough either to decipher Tony.

He is pretty sure either the music or Tony’s ability to ignore everything he does not want to hear drown out his words. Surprisingly, Tony turns briefly back to him.

“What I said,” Tony replies cheekily. The way his eyes glisten and how wide they are, Rhodey thinks it might be not just alcohol running through his friend’s system. “Come on. This is our night.”

The night for what? Senseless revelry with a side dish of abandoning their selves?

“What are you drinking?” Rhodey questions, planting himself firmly in the foyer so that Tony tugs uselessly at his hand. “Did you take anything from anyone?”

It would not have been the first time – to experiment or to relieve stress, come on, Rhodey, you’re not that boring when it comes to building robots.

In front of him, Tony rolls his eyes, which somehow makes him lose balance. Rhodey steadies him without having to think about it.

“I’m not on drugs,” Tony says slowly, enunciating each word as if that is a ridiculous notion, as if there is no reason to worry about him. Ever. “I’m just not Tony Stark tonight. You should try it, Platypus. Lift those lips. Dance with me.”

Confused, Rhodey lets himself be pulled into half a twirl before he regains control of his senses and stops. He wants to say something, wants to dissect Tony’s statement, but Tony, sighing dramatically, lets go of him.

Too late to hold him back, Rhodey has to watch Tony disappear into the moving mass of drunk students filling the house. When he attempts to follow, the bodies form a wall before him, seemingly impossible to part. For the moment, Rhodey does not remembers how to navigate places like this.

He needs to find Tony, needs to talk to him about this. It might have been just a throw-away comment, but added to the more-than-usual unhinged behaviour, Rhodey feels like he should worry.

A drink does sound right now, though. Just one to get his thoughts flowing again. Tony will likely only talk to him when he comes to him smiling, and he is sure he will not be able to do that sober.

Shaking his head, Rhodey makes his way to the kitchen. The next morning, he barely remembers that they talked about anything that night.

 ---

Tony in a suit always looks like a completely different person. The clothes are immaculate and tailored to Tony’s exact size. Considering that Rhodey is used to Tony wearing over-sized sweaters with his hair sticking up wildly, sitting barefoot on the ground, working on whatever new project his crazy mind has come up with, seeing this slick and controlled version of him is like stumbling over a stranger in their dorm.

Even worse is the reluctance Rhodey feels at the prospect of coming in. Tony is his best friend, but he is also inhabiting two very different worlds and Rhodey only fits into one of them.

When Tony notices him, he looks up with a smile so very different from his usual blinding grins. Looking like this, Tony never shows much emotion.

“What’s going on?” Rhodey asks as he finally steps into the room. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

“Obie called,” Tony answers, his tone precise, polished. “They need me for a press conference.”

Those happen sometimes but rarely. Usually, Howard and Stane are happy to let Tony be as long as he does not cause too much bad press. Rhodey does not remember any of that happening lately, and yet Tony’s expression is grimmer than usual when he gets called away for these things.

“Don’t you have people for that?”

Rhodey has met the frazzled woman in charge of PR for Stark Industries once when she was briefing Tony on what to say and how to say it. Rhodey would not want to change places with her, especially not since she has to coach Tony Stark on things he has known for longer than she has had the job.

“It helps if I go out there and play the genius kid every once in a while,” Tony says in a flat voice. He is checking his tie’s knot in the mirror, calloused hands running over the smooth cloth. It is already perfect, which means that Tony is stalling.

“When do you need to leave?” Rhodey asks, stepping closer to keep Tony from ruining the knot again.

Looking up at him, Tony’s small smile turns wry. “Ten minutes ago.”

That is all the confirmation Rhodey needs. “What’s wrong?” he asks and pulls Tony towards the bed, pushing him down to sit on the mattress.

As much as Tony likes designing things, he does not seem to like Stark Industries very much. Perhaps that is just about his father, though.

Tony raises his hand as if to run it through his hair but remembers at the last moment that he should not mess it up. Instead, he rubs the bridge of his nose. Then he glares at his hand as if it is responsible for the nervous gesture.

“I’m just not myself out there,” Tony says with a shrug, somehow making this sound nonchalant. “Sometimes it’s hard to get back to that.”

Rhodey thinks he knows what Tony means. If a camera is trained on him, all of Tony’s smiles become wider but more artificial, never reaching his eyes. He gestures less but more sharply, does not let himself be caught in talking about something he actually likes.

“I guess being yourself is not an option then?” Rhodey asks, despite knowing the answer. Despite them being best friends, Rhodey is still getting blocked by Tony’s masks and deflections every now and then. He is not going to let strangers get a peek at himself.

Tony snorts without much amusement. “I doubt Obie meant for me to make things worse.”

That sits wrong with Rhodey, it always does when Tony talks about himself with disdain. He has not yet found an effective cure for that, however.

“You’re not a bad person, Tones,” Rhodey says, wishing he could make Tony believe how much he means that.

“You only think that because I’ve conditioned you to like me by brining you the good coffee instead of the grovel from downstairs,” Tony replies dryly. A little bit more life returns into his features, making Rhodey inwardly congratulate himself.

He still remains serious. “You can’t buy my good opinion of you with coffee.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Tony gets up, face smoothing over again. “One day you’ll wake up and wonder what you’ve been thinking.”

Rendered speechless, Rhodey cannot do anything but stare for a long moment, trying to find the kind of argument that not even Tony Stark can brush away and turn against himself.

“That’s nonsense,” bursts over Rhodey’s lips with none of the eloquence he has been grasping for. Being faced with this Tony, Rhodey feels utterly helpless. “I’m not in for the money or the coffee or anything else. Just for you.”

For a second, it looks like Tony’s expression is going to crumble, like they can have a real conversation about this. Then a car honks twice, causing Tony to be replaced by Stark, unreadable and sharp-edged enough to cut anyone getting too close.

“And who’s that?” Tony asks, flippant and careless. Turning towards the door, he smooths down his suit. It is obvious he does not intent to give Rhodey the time to answer. “Gotta go. See you tonight. Probably.”

“Definitely,” Rhodey corrects with determination. He is worries by this sudden turn in their conversation and by how easily Tony hides himself away. “We’re going to have a talk about this.”

Tony flashes him a grin, as bright as it is false. “Definitely.”

Then, without another word, he strides out of the door, leaving Rhodey behind with his thoughts.

The next time they see each other, Tony is already drunk. He lost his jacket somewhere but is still wearing his good shirt, wrinkled now and with unidentifiable stains on it. He is dancing with abandon in a stranger’s dorm room, seemingly noticing nothing of his surroundings.

The whole dorm appears to be present, riled up by a surprise party nobody knew they needed tonight. It could all be a coincidence that the night Rhodey wanted to talk about something serious, everybody is up and drunk, filling the air with chaos. When his eyes meet Tony’s, there is no mistaking the flicker of guilt on his face, though. Nor can it be called anything other than avoidance, the way Tony seems to slip through Rhodey’s fingers every time they come even remotely close to each other.

They do not talk that night, nor any of the following ones because Tony keeps himself busy with project and extra credits. He probably thinks he is being subtle about it. He is not, but Rhodey gets the message anyway. Tony does not want to talk and Rhodey will not push him into it.

Neither will he forget about it.

 ---

Their apartment is dark when Rhodey comes home. That in itself is not really surprising and Rhodey would not think anything about it if he had not gone by the lab on the way here after Tony has missed all of their classes this day. The latter is not really uncommon, but he is usually found working those days, never noticing how much time passes by while concentrating on his projects. Sometimes, Rhodey envies Tony’s ability to focus so completely on one thing, never coming up for air until it is done. Mostly, though, is means more work for him.

“Tony?” he calls as he pulls the door close behind him.

There is no answer, but that does not have to mean anything. Turning on the light, Rhodey walks into their apartment. In the kitchen, he finds an assortment of bottles on their counter, some half-empty, some tipped over. All of them, without exception, are expensive and contain alcohol.

Tony was home then. As much as the Stark Mansion can be described as home. Rhodey has never been there, has only seen pictures and listened to Tony’s stories about it, but that is enough for him to dislike it intensely. Mostly, he does not like the person it turns Tony into.

Hastening his steps, Rhodey walks down the hallway to Tony’s room. He knocks but does not wait for an answer. Tony and alcohol is not a good mixture. He can drain bottle after bottle and never show any signs of being drunk – but only if he has to perform. Afterwards, when they are home, Tony usually crashes and only Rhodey is there to catch him.

The room is dark too, but the light from the hallway is enough to illuminate Tony’s figure, sitting on the ground, back to the bed, clinging to a bottle, never looking up at the intrusion.

“Go away,” Tony says. His voice is hoarse, quiet. If it is supposed to be a demand, Tony does not have the energy to actually turn it into one.

Rhodey ignores it anyway. “I think you’ve had enough.” He steps into the room but does not go directly towards Tony.

He has learned the hard way that, sometimes, Tony might speak and interact with him without actually registering his presence, causing him to flinch at sudden movements or at simply realizing that Rhodey has come too close. That is a hard thing to know about his best friend, but where it might have put him off once, it only makes Rhodey’s protectiveness worse.

“Go,” Tony repeats sharper. “I’m not myself tonight.” He blinks up at Rhodey and manages to hold his cold expression for barely a breath before he crumbles. Dropping his gaze, he pulls the bottle closer to himself. “Or wait, maybe I am. Maybe this is all I am.”

For a long moment, Rhodey is at a loss. True enough, Tony does not look like himself. There is nothing of the sharp edges of Tony Stark in him, full of confidence and smirks and brilliance, and nothing of the softness of Tones, vibrating with slightly manic energy, heart full of kindness. There is a shapeless tiredness to him now, misery given form.

Going closer, Rhodey crouches. He keeps all of his movements slow. “Tony,” he says as firmly as he manages, “look at me.”

Tony shakes his head, focusing on the bottle with all the intent he seems able to muster. Without warning, Rhodey reaches out and pulls the bottle from Tony’s grip. They struggle for a minute, both locked to the cool glass. Then Rhodey takes his free hand to gently pry Tony’s fingers loose, Tony gives in with a sigh.

When he puts the bottle behind him, out of Tony’s reach, Rhodey has to fight to urge to take a swig himself. It looks like there is a difficult conversation ahead of them, and as much as Rhodey might want some liquid courage for it, one of them should have a clear a head for it.

“You should go, Rhodey,” Tony says before Rhodey had a chance to think of how to begin. “I’m not good for you. Howard said that. I ruin everything I touch. Don’t let me ruin you.”

Familiar anger uncurls in Rhodey’s chest. Every mention of Howard Stark tends to irritate him, but the combination of the conviction in Tony’s voice and the general situation has Rhodey skipping right past that into feeling murderous.

“You won’t ruin me,” Rhodey says slowly, needing Tony to understand that before he can ask any questions. “You’ve made my life so much brighter. That’s what you do with everything.”

Something tears itself from Tony’s throat that is probably supposed to be laughter. It comes out warbled, making the hairs in Rhodey’s neck stand up like the sound of nails on a blackboard would.

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony spats, sounding upset.

“I don’t,” Rhodey counters immediately. He feels very much out of depth. “I promised you that, remember? First semester? I told you I’d never be one of those people who’d lie to get into your good graces. We’re friends.”

If possible, Tony’s expression gets even sourer at the mention of friendship. “You deserve so much better.”

“Funny, because I think that should be my decision,” Rhodey replies, perhaps harsher than necessary, but it gets Tony to listen. His eyes are wide and dark when he trains them on Rhodey, but he returns the gaze unflinchingly. “And I want to keep my best friend, even if he sometimes drinks himself through his father’s liquor cabinet and has serious self-worth issues.”

Tony’s hand spasms, gripping tight around thing air. He opens his mouth as if to ask for his bottle back but thinks better of it after one glance at Rhodey’s expression. Instead, his shoulders slump further.  

“It’s not an issue if it’s true,” Tony mutters under his breath, grimacing at the sound of his own voice.

Rhodey scoffs. “That doesn’t even make sense.” Since there is no use to discussing that now – he has tried before, a dozen times – he gets to his feet, offering his hand to Tony. “Here, let me help you up, and then I’ll get you to bed.”

Likely trying to swat the hand away, Tony misses by several inches. “I don’t –”

“Shh, Tony, you’re drunk,” Rhodey cuts him off. Grabbing Tony’s hand himself, he pulls him up and deposits him on the mattress. “The alcohol makes you feel more miserable than you are. We’ll talk once you’ve sobered up.”

Rhodey crouches down again to pull Tony’s shoes off. When Tony expectedly tries to kick him, he dodges the weak attempt easily. Tony likes being cared for even less than being told he is wrong about something, especially himself.

“Sometimes I don’t want to be sober ever again,” Tony says quietly. “It’s easier like that.”

Judging on Tony’s tone and the way he stares up at the ceiling, Rhodey is almost certain he was not supposed to hear that. That does not stop him from coming up and sitting down next to Tony on the bed.

“It’s not,” he argues vehemently, wishing any of his words would actually register with Tony the way they are meant. “You’re Tony Stark. You don’t hide. If things are bad, you’ll make them better.”

That is what Rhodey has likes about Tony from the beginning, even when he was still just the rich, white kid treating MIT like his personal playground. No matter what problem is put before Tony, he finds a way to solve it, to make any broken thing work, and better than ever before.

Which is why Rhodey wants to find whoever messed up Tony’s self-confidence and ruin theirs. More than ever when Tony says, in an impossibly small voice, “I can’t.”

Toning down his temper, Rhodey argues, “Oh, you can. If you think you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me until you can.” Much gentler, he adds, “I’ll be there for you.”

Tony is silent for a long moment. His breathing is loud as if he has to consciously remind himself that his lungs need air. He stares down at his lap until he pulls up his feet, making himself small. With visible effort, he looks up.

“You’re my best friend, Rhodey.”

The seriousness of that remark breaks Rhodey’s heart a little because it is still lacking confidence, ends almost as a question.

“And you’re mine,” Rhodey replies firmly, leaving no doubt that he means it. “Don’t you forget that.”

“I don’t,” Tony answers quickly, then bites his lower lip. His eyes stray from Rhodey again, making him look embarrassed. “I mean, I’m myself with you. I never am anywhere else. So – thank you?”

This is not the first time Tony has said something like that. I’m not myself out there. Let’s not be ourselves for once. I’m not myself tonight. Rhodey has noticed it before, but never has it come with such an urgency, like time is running out.

“You don’t owe the world anything, Tones, and I happen to love who you are,” Rhodey says, looking at Tony until he looks back. Deciding that Tony does not look so spooked anymore that bodily contact will make things worse, Rhodey reaches out and outs his hand over Tony’s, which is gripping his knees. “We’ll work on that, promise?”

A small grin pulls at Tony’s lips. It is lopsided and does not quite reach his eyes, but Rhodey decides to count it as a good sign anyway.

“You shouldn’t let drunk people promise anything,” Tony says. He is obviously deflecting, but his lids are drooping and the tension is bleeding out of him, making him slump into Rhodey’s side.

“I’ll ask you again in the morning,” Rhodey offers, making it almost into a threat. “But let me warn you now, I won’t accept no as an answer.”

Giving up the fight to stay upright, Tony melts completely into Rhodey, letting his head fall against Rhodey’s shoulder.

“I love you, Rhodey,” he mutters, stumbling a bit over the words. Rhodey knows that is not because he does not mean them, but because he is unused to saying them.

“I know,” Rhodey says, smiling down at his best friend. “We just need to get you to love yourself a little too.”

What a world they live in, Rhodey thinks, that he has to teach Tony Stark about love. That is a task that could take his entire life, he is aware of that. There is no doubt in his mind, however, that it will be worth it. The things Tony creates when he is driven by guilt are magnificent. Rhodey can hardly imagine how much brighter the world will be once Tony starts shaping it with love.

#iron man bingo 3000 #mit era #tony stark #rhodey #friendship #self-sacrifice #angst #alcohol #howard's a+ parenting #fanfiction #marvel #my writing #ao3

[cosmicmoved]

" happy birthday to the sweetest, kindest pain in my ass! "

✨✨ ANSWER from TOMO ✨✨ / ( @castholy​ )

Birthdays are, in general, a little strange for Tomo. He likes them, for the most part, because, as always, they’re an excuse to throw a party. It’s just that most of that partying takes place late at night and early the next morning so he really spends very little of the day celebrating in any meaningful way. Not a problem, he’s a grown man and he can deal with that. Just like he can deal with the fact that people don’t really bother sending him gifts or money unless they’re terribly close to him. What do buy the rich kid with no impulse control? (Not that Min had been deterred by these sorts of concerns, having managed to surprise Tomo with a few items of expensive clothing and two Tamagotchi for his collection — both Tamagotchi SOME, the very new and Korea-specific release of an existing model from last year and in all four available colours —  that he’d managed to pick up during a trip to Seoul a couple of weeks prior.)

He’d visited his mother earlier in the day, a matter of habit and tradition. If nothing else, Tomo knew he’d never heard the end of it if he didn’t show face and he didn’t want the rest of the day ruined by screaming matches over the phone. She had been about as enthusiastic as ever. The last time she’d shown any real interest in his birthday, he must have still been a child. As a matter of fact, he’s fairly certain the last birthday she’d cared all that much about was his thirteenth, wherein she’d near enough overwhelmed him in an effort to distract him from the fact it had been his birthday without his father. Although his father had been pretty distant at the best of times, he’d always put effort into birthdays, even before the divorce. Sometimes Tomo cannot help but wonder if his mother had always been like this and he’d just never really noticed but he’s quite certain she’d never been this frustrated until he’d run headfirst into adulthood, as though she was resentful of the fact he was no longer naive and malleable. This time around, she’d sat him down at the island in the kitchen taken it upon herself to complain that, at his age, she’d already married and had a child and that Tomo messes around far too much, that he’s wasting his time. The last point is a little fair, he thinks, he doesn’t know how to argue with it but it’s a tiring argument to keep having. Things had gotten particularly cold after he lost his patience and (accurately, he’ll maintain) told her that, at his age, she was less than a year into a rushed shotgun marriage to some guy who’d knocked her up on her trip abroad and all she’d actually done was give birth to a kid she barely wanted. It was around that point that the visit had found its natural end and she’d decided Tomo had overstayed his welcome. She handed him his gift and led him to the door but he’d excused himself, asking to take a quick toilet break before he left, before promptly throwing up his breakfast. When she’d discovered what was going on, she accused him of being hungover and he agreed without putting up a fight, finding it easier than explaining that the guilt of what he’d said had made him nauseous. If he’d told the truth, she’d have accused him of looking for sympathy and trying to make her feel guilty. He still hasn’t opened the gift.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t quite know how to handle Aeris’ simple birthday wish and can’t come up with a better response than an awkward joke. All in all, he’s used to Min being the only one who’s really sincere about the whole thing. Co-workers and staff will wish him a good day if it comes up and he happens to be working that day, and friends will save themselves for the evening. He wonders if more of them are more invested in the party than the actual date of it. One of his Japanese costars from the film he’d worked on earlier that year had sent him a small gift and he’d almost cried, just because it had taken him by surprise. Min had always put in a good effort; this year, he’d texted Tomo a string of emoji-riddled birthday wishes the minute midnight had hit. The thought of his best friend anxiously watching the time to ensure he got it at exactly midnight when Tomo himself hadn’t been paying much attention made up for everything else.

In fact, when he hears the words come out of Aeris’ mouth, he feels his head swim for a moment. For the umpteenth that day. Have you ever wanted to strangle yourself? Because that’s precisely how he’s feeling. But the words settle pretty quickly and the feeling passes with them, and he’s quickly all smiles. Just give him a moment to find his bearing and Tomo will always find a way to glitter. Until she showed up, he’d been waiting a good half an hour. It’s his own fault, he’d come to their agreed meeting place far too early, having realised he didn’t know what else to do with himself after the visit to his mother’s house and he’d been sure that finding an appropriate distraction would have resulted in him being late. Tomo hadn’t asked her to come along with any consideration for it being his own birthday, he’d just needed an excuse to get out the house and he hates navigating busy places alone. No matter how much he hides himself behind heavy sunglasses and shading hats, he can’t get the paranoia of being seen out of his head. They’re fears that seem to dissipate so long as he’s got somebody with him. And the fact that Aeris is usually quite willing to put up with his mile-a-minute bullshit is a welcome detail as well. He’d been shifting his mother’s gift, still wrapped, from hand to hand when Aeris appeared, trying to work out when and if he should bother opening it. If it’s a decent gift, he’ll feel even worse about his outburst but, if it’s terrible, he’ll feel even more like his mother doesn’t give a shit. If it’s neither of those things, that’ll probably guarantee he’ll be hit with that weird numb feeling he gets when he thinks too hard about these things. None of the solutions are favourable.

“N’awwww, you think that about me?” And he’ll absolutely take it. After all, it’s better to be lovely and annoying than plain old boring! All it means is that he has his own Tomo Flavour and he’s more than satisfied with that. As time goes on, he’s starting to realise that birthdays don’t mean as much to him as he likes to pretend. It’s fun to exaggerate and act it up because he gets to drag people to his favourite club and book out his favourite private room, while people insist on buying him drinks. He gets to be the centre attention and, as much as he’d deny it at any given opportunity, he loves that. He hates it at the same time, it’s all far too much, but there’s a kind of rush in being pushed past your limit. Or maybe he’s just weird. These are the sorts of things he’d never be able to explain to anybody, not without them thinking there’s something wrong with him. But the things that stick with him the most on days like this are simple kindnesses. Attention really only keeps him satisfied for so long, like a caffeine boost for loneliness, and before long he’s a wreck all over again but sincere affection, that’s more like a much-needed night’s sleep. He jumps up from where he was sat and, unwrapped still in hand, he pulls her into a tight hug. Tomo has been told before – by Min, unsurprisingly – that he’s a little clingy but he’d insisted that he meant it in a nice way, that it was a reassuring sort of clinginess. It’s not clear to Tomo what he’d really meant but he often remembers those words when he worries he’s being too much and finds himself feeling a little better about it.“Is it wrong that I feel like I need to buy you lunch as a thank you for remembering?” Tomo laughs, “Cause I don’t remember mentioning it. Did you check Wiki or something?” It’s probably an insensitive joke, given that she likely remembered on her own, but Tomo’s so busy trying to grin his way through the awkwardness that making sure the words that come out of his mouth aren’t stupid has kind of fallen back to second priority. He pulls out of the hug and, bouncy as always, throws an arm around her shoulder, giving her room to shove her off whenever she feels like it. Tomo’s not the sort of person to take that personally, everybody knows this much.

“I’m sorry I’m dragging you to the beach in fuckin’ November”, he adds, “I’m kind of surprised you agreed. I can think of a whole bunch of people who’d have told me to go fuck myself but you— you respect that I’m a pain in the ass!” There’s a chance, he’s aware, that he’ll regret putting this before lunch given that, technically speaking, he’s running on an empty stomach right now but that’s such a depressing topic to breach on a birthday. He doesn’t want to make her feel bad. Tomo always got the feeling Aeris was someone who had enough troubles of her own so burdening him with own bullshit, most of which makes little sense a lot of the time, seems unfair. Selfish even. “But you’re kind of outdoorsy, right? And it’s not that cold today. Maybe you’ll find some artistic inspiration or something.” Tomo beams up at her as he says this. Then, he remembers the small, wrapped box still in his hand. “And maybe I can throw this in the ocean if I hate it.”

He gasps, very suddenly. “No, wait, that’s pollution!” Hands are clasped together in apology and Tomo starts laughing. “Pretend I didn’t say that part!”

#« 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (ᴛᴏᴍᴏ) » / 「 answered. 」 #drinking mention #emetophobia mention #death mention #THIS TOOK ME SO LONG THAT IT'S NOT EVEN TOMO'S BIRTHDAY ANYMORE #i'm so sorry this is like 1.7k words this has no business being as long as it #esp since i don't even start talking abt aeris until the second half #i'm sorry this is a lil rough in parts.....i tried to keep the tone mostly lighthearted and fun but tomo's so...up and down in that regard #i feel like anything i write for him is gonna be total whiplash #IT NEEDED TO START OFF ROUGH TO SHOW THE CONTRAST AND WHY HE'S V TOUCHED THAT AERIS CAME ALONG WITH HIM ON HIS STUPID AUTUMN BEACH ESCAPADE #tHIS IS SUCH A MESS BUT OH WELL HOPEFULLY IT'S AN OK READ ASDFGHGFDS the power of friendship #both in ppl agreeing to go to the cold beach & also in me writing this many words bc ur my friend (: #just thinking abt how he doesnt even wait to see if she got him a gift or smth...partly bc that's GODMODDY but also bc he's probs not even #thinking abt that at all ASDFGHGFDS #castholy

[diningpageantry]

To Boldly Go

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889619

Word Count: 3764

Summary: A Star Trek nerd meets a comic book shop employee, and the rest is history.

Carry On Countdown 2018 Day 12: In A Bookshop (look liberties here, so for the sake of this, let’s say a comics shop is a comic bookshop)

SIMON

He comes in every other Tuesday.

Most times, he just wanders around and looks over some figures and the occasional comic book, but there’s always a common theme; sci-fi. More specifically, Star Trek, with the occasional other undistinguishable, general sci-fi thrown in the middle. Once, once he picked up a box for a Legolas figure, to which he put down after a minute or two of inspection.

At first, I’d wondered what he was doing in here. Penn and I had a set list of theories, which seemed to get more inbelievable as they went on.

“He’s probably just a reseller, Si. Collects them to sell online, something like that,” she sighed as I picked at her container of General Tso’s after polishing off my own. “Plenty of posh arseholes do that; it’s quick money with minimal effort.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s boring. I’d like to think that he’s somehow connected to a cast member so he collects them for memorabilia.”

“Why would he collect it if the cast member could just get it for him?”

“There’s no room for logic in my fantasy, Penn.”

She just stared at me, eyes tired and absolutely defeated. “If it’s fantasy, then you’ve got to have something more creative?”

That’s a challenge I could actually face. “Fine,” I huff, “what if he’s the next villain to the series? Buyin’ them up to feed his gigantic ego? He looks like some knob who’d be the handsome villain in a film; he looks like a Bond villain, if they were younger.

Eventually, we settled on “Reseller”, which actually ended up being wrong, since I opened my mouth once and actually asked “So how much do you sell these for”, which, honestly, is the worst thing I’ve said to him.

Actually, it’s the only thing I’ve said to him besides “Hi”, “Is this all?”, his total, and “Have a good day”.

He bristled at it, staring at me with shocked eyes that turned bitter soon as his lip curled up. “I don’t resell these,” he spat, raking his eyes over me as he took the bag. He then turned and left without another word, not even relenting his usual nod of goodbye. Nothing.

I was a tad shocked to see him actually come back after that, but nevertheless, he did. Under absolutely mysterious circumstances, he didn’t stop coming. I wholeheartedly expected him to stop showing up, but he didn’t.

It’s quite regular visits too; middle of the day, wearing a particularly dramatic navy peacoat with the collar turned up to hide most of his face and blackened sunglasses. He’s trying to hard to hide himself that it draws more attention. Nearly feels like he’s some celebrity trying to not seem like he’s coming into a dinky little comics shop to pick up Star Trek collectibles, or that someone’s out to get him for stopping by. With his post accent, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s some ridiculously high level government official, or a socialite roaming around.

With the way he buys expensive shit, it would actually make sense.

Which, still, means I should keep my mouth shut and just let him go about his rich business, but my mouth's always open anyway. “What do you do for a living?” I peep up.

It’s the first time I’ve said anything besides the usual in at least three visits, so of course he’s startled by the initial comment, but it turns to his usual brooding stare. “What’s it to you?” he sneers, handing his card over. It sheens in the light, glittering a bit. I swallow down, trying to work a friendly response.

“I mean, you come in pretty regularly, and sometimes you buy a couple hundred pounds worth of shit. Seems like you’ve got a bit of money to be splurging, and I guess… I’m curious..?”

He stares wordlessly, eyebrows knit together and I’m absolutely sure I cocked it up now. That is, up until he opens his mouth an actually answers. “I’m a banker,” he says, shifting his weight. “I work uptown; usually deal with stocks and loans.”

My eyes stay down as he talks, bagging his figures carefully and working out his transaction. When I do raise them, though, he’s uncharacteristically soft with his head turned towards the window and gaze set on something out there. He’s silent, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. It makes me all soft inside, a type of soft that I don’t fully understand.

“That’s cool,” I say with as warm of a voice as I can muster, reaching across the counter to hand the bags off.

The scoff he lets off tells me that it probably isn’t. “Is it, though?” he mocks, cocking a brow to me and making my gut twist again. Makes me nauseous in such a weird way; like I want him to be nice to me, or at least some resemblance of niceties between us.

“Yeah,” I force on. If one of us is going to be nice, at least, I suppose it’ll be me. “I mean, it’s nice that you haven’t stopped caring about shit that makes you happy. Seems like when people get into that sort of work, they stop caring about what makes them happy.”

I really wish he had an expression beyond blank and pensive. Right now, it’s still stuck on the former. He just huffs and nods in agreement, pursing his lips as if he’s preparing to actually say something decent back before deciding against it. “I’d best be off.” And with that, he gives his typical head nod then leaves me like this. Like we weren’t bordering between a conversation; a bloody breakthrough with this.

I have no right to be disappointed because he’s not obligated to somewhat care, but shit, I am. I just want him to stay maybe a minute longer; maybe actually talk with me for once. If not a necessity, but a casually expected social interaction. I’m nice enough, dammit.

That’s it. That’s my mission; to make him actually talk to me, rather than just pop in and pop out. All my other regulars actually talk to me, but this git just tries to run off and avoid me. Well, not anymore. I won’t let him try to sneak away again; I’ll crack his fucking shell. I’m a nice person, therefore people should like me. Sounds fake to not like me, realistically.

So when he comes in again two weeks later, I’m more chipper than usual, a grin plastered across my face as he steps in. “Half past noon on the nose per usual, huh?” After two weeks of thinking, I’ve realized it’s probably his lunch break. The foot traffic doesn’t typically start up here until after schools let out in the afternoon. Hell, we don’t open on weekdays until about 11, except when students are on breaks. We stay open late for the groups that meet, though.

Somewhat like weeks ago, he gives me a startled look. It’s me going off script, and I don’t think he really likes that. “I… yes. You’re not incorrect.”

Wrinkling my nose a bit, I grin to him. “A new figure came in today; it’s handmade and modeled off the most recent film Spock. Didn’t even put it in the case yet, if you want to see that?”

With that, he perks up (although it doesn’t really show on his face) and nods, stepping up to the counter. I’ve got him now, I think.

I excuse myself to the back room and pull out an in-box statue. It’s no bigger than two feet, but the details are impeccable. Right up his alley.

As he scans over it, box resting on the glass counter, I take my first shot at conversation. “So, Star Trek?”

“Yes.”

“Why Star Trek?”

His head lift to me briefly, eyes catching mine for a moment before the slowly lower back down wordlessly. Great.

“You know,” I start again, licking my lips subtly as I lean slightly forward on the counter. “You don’t have to hide in here; those sunglasses aren’t fooling anybody, especially indoors. And it’s cool to collect shit.”

It’s silent between us for a minute and I can see that he’s studying me, trying to figure out whether or not to actually go through with anything before slowly lifting up his glasses. They perch on his hairline, stands of his hair sweeping back with it.

For the first time, I’m seeing them in actual color.

For the first time, I realize they’re grey.

It sort of knocks the wind from me. Hell, of course he was gorgeous before, but the subtle contrast of his eyes to his skin makes my knees a bit wobbly. It’s like he has the face for fucking Vogue or something, especially being all sharp like that.

And now I’m just staring at him, not talking, probably with a gaping jaw as he just doesn’t answer. I look like a rightful idiot.

It takes a minute for me to find my decency again. “See,” I say, probably a bit quieter than I’d like. “Nothing to hide.” A smile pushes to my cheeks, and I’m hoping that I’m not actually blushing because that’d be more than embarrassing.

A smirk plays at his lips as his chin tips up. “Hm.” And that’s it. That’s all he gives me.

At least it’s progress.

We grin at each other somewhat awkwardly before he lowers his chin again, inspecting the figure. A few strands fall back into his face, one right down the middle. It’s the one falling from his widow’s peak.

“How much?” he asks, lifting up once more and leveling his gaze at me and shit, I feel weak again.

I tell him. Weakly, but I do tell him. My hands plant on the countertop, supporting me up as I give him a little smile. “I think it’s worth the splurge. Can’t say I’ll keep it in the back, though; manager tells me we have to keep product rolling.”

He’s a bit displeased with that, shifting his shoulders as I can see his neck bob. “Fine.” His lips twitch as he speaks. “I’ll take it.”

I grin and nod, starting to pack it away into one of the bags as he pulls his wallet out. “You know,” I begin, flicking the paper bag open before sliding the figure’s box inside. “I’ve never actually seen the show or the movies.”

“Really?” He looks quizzical, as in genuinely, actually curious. The third ever emotion I’ve seen him display. “Never even went past it on the telly?”

I shrug, taking his card and sliding it through. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve seen adverts for it, but never really got onto that boat. I’ve always been more action heros. You know, big muscles, big fight scenes, in your face sort of shit. Was easy to idealize being that as a kid.”

He doesn’t respond to that, though. He scans over me, fully taking off his glasses now, taking the moment to pull them from his head, fold them, them tuck them into his breast pocket. “I have a collection of merchandise, and access to all shows and films. And the books, for that matter.”

I can’t help but say “Couldn’t guess”. In all seriousness, I probably shouldn’t have, but I did anyway.

He flinches at that, squinting and checking his watch. Maybe he is in a rush... “Look,” he starts, taking his card back, signing the paper with a flourish of the pen. “Do you want to see them?”

He’s stuffing his card back hastily, grabbing the bag with one hand and tucking the other away. I stare, a little dazed by the fact that he’s talking in somewhat full sentences to me. “I… uh… yes, yeah, sure.”

He turns over the receipt, scribbling something down. “When do you get out?”

“Um…” Suddenly, I have no schedule. Maybe I live here? Who knows. I forget everything when I look at him. “Six--seven. I get off at seven.”

“Right, well I’ll be by at seven, then. You can come by to my flat and I’ll introduce you to it.” As he shoves the receipt across the counter, he keeps a downcasted gaze. I just nod.

He nods back to me, then leaves, and that’s that.

That actually happened. As in, I didn’t dream it up, for once and I've actually got his number and name on the receipt to prove for it. Baz.

I don’t quite know what it means and as to why he invited me to his flat, but all I know is I’ve got a knot in my gut and I can’t stop smiling when he leaves.

Seven o’clock it is.

BAZ

I don’t know why I did that.

Fuck. Fuck. Why did I do that?

I go off and lose my composure, that’s what I do. I can’t hold it in for the cute shop employee.

Scratch that, it isn’t just me losing my composure. Losing my composure was a few weeks ago when I told him what I do for a living. This? This was insanity. I actually asked him to come to my flat. He barely knows me, I barely know him beyond his name (and now the fact that he likes Superheros), but here I am, inviting him to my flat. Either I’m bonkers or living in an alternate universe where that’s a genuinely okay thing to do, because that was not what I should be doing.

It’s even more unbelievable that he actually said yes. I thought for sure that he’d laugh at me and say something about a girlfriend or other, but instead he said yes.

Well, sort of. A nod is a yes in this situation. It’s not a no, so I suppose it’ll be appropriate for me to go through with what I said I’d do.

Actually, it might be a little inappropriate if I don’t, seeing as I said I would.

So, here I am. Doing that. Getting out of work and stressing in my car for an hour before I go to pick him up.

Trying to look cool, I park out front and step out, waiting leaning up against the car with crossed arms and a sideways glance. Sometimes, I wonder whether or not I actually come off as cool, or rather a stalking maniac. I’m not quite sure if it matters anymore, since he actually agreed to do this (whatever this is).

The shop’s door dings, drawing my eyes up to catch Simon’s. He’s all smiles, his nametag still pinned to his chest and hair swept away from his eyes. As he steps forward, he’s fiddling with his sleeves. “Hey--hi,” he says quickly, glancing down at my car before his eyes shoot back to me. It’s fucking adorable.

“Ready to go?” I let out, cocking a brow to him. I left off my glasses this time, actually letting him see me. Feels a bit cruel to not to, given that he willed them off me earlier.

He just nods, backpack slung over his shoulder. “Um, would you want to get dinner, first?” he blurts out, blinking before shaking his head. “Or… fuck, maybe something else. We don’t have to, I just thought…”

It’s utterly unfair. He goes from suave to a bumbling idiot within the course of a day.

“We can order in, if you want.” I swing open the car door for him, stepping aside and staying there holding it as he slides in. I don’t want to sound too desperate, but in all honesty? I sort of am. I hate to admit it, but this feels ridiculously unreal. I stop in to satisfy my weird crush, and somehow he doesn’t think I’m the scum of the Earth? Sounds unrealistic.

As I round the car, I can feel his eyes following my movements, catching mine as I’m lowering into my seat. “I’d like that--ordering in, that is.”

The car ride to my flat is relatively quiet. He doesn’t make a move to turn on the radio, but instead stares out the window with his hands drawn to his lap in silence. I wish I knew what was in his mind; I wish I could just turn to him and simply ask. Instead, I stay silent, hands gripping the wheel and eyes locked forward.

The short drive feels like a century long.

When we finally pull up, though, he’s got an odd look on his face, bordering from smirking and surprised. I can’t help but throw him back a raised brow.

“It’s just…” he starts, staring up at the rising levels of my flat. “It’s ridiculously posh. I didn’t doubt that you have money, but shit.”

I push away the smirk tugging at my lips. We step out, him bounding towards the door as I grab my case and lock up. In a fluid motion, I follow him up the stairs, unlock the door, and wave him inside. The first few steps are hesitant as he disappears into the small hallway, but after I second I hear him mumble something to himself. “Holy shit.”

My keys rattle as they hit the bowl, eyes following Snow as he steps around. “Better than my shit flat.” His hands grip the tattered, used straps of his backpack as he glances back to me. “Where the hell do you keep all the collectibles.”

Immediately, I freeze. How do I word this without coming off as a creep? “Come upstairs,” I say, jerking my head in a nod towards the staircase.

It’s starting to dawn on me that this tit almost definitely does not have any sense of self preservation, nor does he stop to think about trust. Never have I seen somebody so eagerly run up a stranger’s stairs at a single motion, but yet, here he is. Doing exactly that.

I follow him wordlessly, stepping ahead at the top of the flight and opening my office door for him. Inside, there’s a bookshelf, stacked full of figures, a few in-box, a few set up for display, and various memorabilia. He gawks at it, blinking and turning towards me after a second. “So you’re no joke?”

“Did you think I would be?” My back hits the end of the door, leaning casually as it sways a tad. Snow seems just slightly taken aback, sweeping hair from his forehead and tugging it in his fist.

“Not particularly, no. I just… hadn’t fully imagined this. It’s absolutely wicked.”

My lip twitches to the side, and this time, I let it.

What I don’t let, though, is myself to answer. I just stare, a smile on my face as Snow’s flushes and turns away. Silently, he scans over what I’ve got, stepping around to get the full effect. It takes minutes, leaving me plenty of time to admire him before he catches me in the act.

With a blush and a turn of the head, he clears his throat and tugs at his sleeve. “I’d love it if you’d show me the first episode…”

Oh, right. I nod my head back downstairs, taking the lead and setting up my Netflix, flicking over my list and landing on Star Trek, the original series. After hitting it on, I pause it and drag out my mobile. “What should I order.”

He drops his bag by his feet, shrugging and sitting back. (More like sprawling).

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I’m just… not picky.”

I stare at him for a minute, trying to control my deep hatred for those like him who don’t care to answer before exhaling and dialing for pizza.

His hand reaches across and pokes the play button on the remote the moment I’ve hung up, glancing up at me with wide eyes and an innocent grin before turning back towards the telly.

At first, he’s completely clueless.

“Wait, that isn’t Kirk, is it?”

“No it isn’t. Shut up.”

“No, but wait, is Kirk not in the first season or something?”

“No, he is. Just watch, it’s important.”

“But-”

He stops with a toss of my pointed glare, to which he responds by rolling his eyes defiantly before sitting back with crossed arms.

I get up halfway through, greeting the delivery man and collecting the pizza before joining Snow again.

He stays mostly silent through the episode, occupied mostly by food. When I open my mouth to ask if he wants to watch the next, though, he just hits the automatic play button for the episode.

I don’t even try to trick myself into hiding my smile.

“There’s Kirk!” He exclaims, grinning and seeming awfully proud of himself. “Knew he’d be in.”

Without really thinking about it, I let out a, “You sort of look like him.” Which, in hindsight, doesn’t sound like a brilliant idea.

He turns his head to me, though, and blinks. “What, ridiculously handsome?” He half jokes, face becoming a sort of half-smile as he wipes his lips with a paper napkin.

Fucking hell, if looks could kill, he’d be wanted.

“I said sort of.” Not quite an intelligent retaliation, but a solid one nonetheless.

Despite that, he grins and presses on. “Do you think I’m handsome, Baz?”

I’m deathly silent. Shit.

His hand spans across the deep grey seats of my couch, first resting on the remote and hitting pause. When I think I might be clear, he drops the remote and rests his hand on my arm. I wish I could pull it away, or just pull him closer.

“Do you?”

“I can’t lie and say no.” I’m sounding a bit harsher than I’d expect, but he’s got a look in his eyes that’s driving me mad, and I can’t help but wonder what his lips taste like.

Cut short in thought, my mind goes all static-y the second his mouth presses to mine. At first, it’s brief, our lips brushing for a split second before he retracts and eyes me up curiously.

I’m flushed up like a madman, staring at him with glassy eyes and a slightly hanging jaw for a moment’s time, thinking of how one would properly react. But, eventually, all that flies out the window when I crash back into him, hands racing into his hair and yanking him into a kiss. He doesn’t refuse in the slightest, lips upturned into a funny smile as he snogs me back, resting his hands onto my hips.

I’ve got my answer, then. He tastes just like he looks; like something I never want to let go of.

#coc 2018 #carry on #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #ficlet #mine #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #baz pitch #baz #simon #okay okay i know i took a liberty of bookshop as a comic bookshop #but hear me out!!!! #it kinda works ok just kinda

[tokidokifish]

∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ i wrote something about curious and aekas shortly before they joined their current adventuring party so here it is if ya wanna read it.

They didn't have a tent, or anything like that - too much money, too much bother, too much of a hassle if they needed to pick up quickly - so Curious had set up a cramped but at least relatively clean nook between two buildings. It was dark enough to create a properly mysterious candlelit atmosphere (and dark enough that it concealed how patched and threadbare their exotic fabrics were, how costume her jewelry was), cramped enough that the incense wouldn't just get whisked away by the wind (nevermind that she didn't actually have any incense to burn, one of the first spells she ever learned let her simulate it easily enough), and private enough that she could throw a little Thaumaturgy in to put on a good show, safely tucked away from the eyes of any prying guards (they were usually easy enough to bribe away, but she'd rather just avoid it all together). It was a good spot, and she had put off buying a new book to treat Aekas to dinner for finding it.

The sailor she was currently doing a reading for was firmly in the show's grip, too. He was practically still a kid, maybe even younger than Aekas, with a face full of freckles and sincerity. The old sea dogs were fun to entertain, mostly aware it was all just smoke and mirrors but along for the ride anyhow, but there was something refreshing about having someone so hung up on the performance. It made her want to give the best show possible.

She flicked a glance over her guest, looking for one last thing to give him. She had promised him adventure and danger and possible riches, because why else would someone so young and fresh-faced have taken to the sea? But now her eyes fixed on a tattoo, half-hidden beneath a rolled up sleeve, but bare enough that she could make out the shape of a rose and scrollwork that read "Abigail".

She repressed a smirk, twisting her fingers into the shapes of a spell and humming out the incantation to change the scent of incense to smell of roses instead. The sailor took a deep breath, eyes widening, and she flicked a finger through her cards until she found the one she wanted, surreptitiously flicking it to be on top.

"And for your final card," she said, holding the deck out to him, and the sailor drew his last card - the Lovers. She smiled at him, taking the card to set it beside the other two. "I daresay that doesn't take much explanation, hmm? You have one who waits for you, longs for you, remains faithful in the face of the waves that separate you. Make sure you afford them the same courtesy, mm? And you'll have many happy years together." She winked at him, and he almost fell over himself nodding, eyes shining.

"Of course! I would never - I'm going to write her right this instant," he said, and much to her surprise, pushed an extra silver into her hands before ducking out of the nook. Curious flipped the coin and caught it, smiling. Sweet kid. She hoped what she told him was true.

She was in the middle of calling in her next customer when she heard the commotion outside, attention immediately caught by her brother's raised voice.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so clumsy -"

Which wasn't exactly concerning, at least until she heard the very angry reply.

"You think I didn't feel your hand in my pocket, you little thief? Who the fuck do you think you're fooling?!"

Fuck.

Curious looked at the woman half finished ducking into her nook, and climbed to her feet, stepping towards the street. On the way, though, she made sure to "accidentally" knock a candle over and onto a pot of supposed oil nestled in a bundle of silks. There was an immediate explosion of smoke and a flare of fire much larger than it would have been without a little magical assistance, and she yelped theatrically in "surprise".

"Oh, no, let me just -" She snatched at a thick piece of supposed velvet and threw it over the fire, quickly stamping it out, even as she peeked out of the nook. Her eyes catch briefly on what she can only assume is the angry man, nearly purple with rage and searching for something, but it seemed like her distraction worked, because her brother was nowhere to be seen.

She breathed out a sigh, looking to the woman about to duck in. "You'll have to excuse me, but I think that's enough excitement for one day, hmm? I'd be happy to give you a reading for free tomorrow."

The woman, to Curious's infinite relief, was understanding and left without complaint. As soon as she was alone, the tiefling started packing, tearing down her decorations and shoving them onto the rug she used for readings, hoping to get home to regroup with her brother before -

"Hey, Curious."

- a guard showed up.

After taking a moment to cringe, she schooled her features and turned around to face one of Waterdeep's finest. She relaxed, just a little, because it was Toulouse - assigned to the Dock Ward because they were born and raised there, and therefore slightly more understanding of the sort of things one had to do to survive in Waterdeep's slums. But she only relaxed a little, because even a guard born in the Dock Ward was still a guard.

"Sounds like there was a bit of bother 'round here," Toulouse noted, arching a brow. "A robbery and then a fire?"

"A small fire," Curious replied. "Knocked over a candle."

The guard glanced at her packed supplies. "Pretty convenient timing, right after the robbery."

"I was in a hurry to see what was going on."

"I bet you were, considering it involved a tiefling that sounds an awful lot like your brother."

She arched her brows, affecting a look of surprise. "It did? I had no idea. I haven't seen Aekas since this morning, and I certainly didn't see him then." And she thanked whatever god would be cool with being thanked for something like that, because it wasn't even a lie.

Toulouse eyed her. "And if I brought a cleric over -"

"I'd say the exact same thing. But that seems like an awful lot of trouble for a robbery in the Dock Ward."

Toulouse muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "you're telling me", and heaved a sigh. "Just... maybe try to keep your head down for a while, okay, Curious? You and your brother both."

"We always do," she replied. The guard didn't even dignify that with a response before they left.

Curious finished shoving her things away and scurried home. She wasn't extraordinarily concerned that Aekas wasn't there, since it was the first place the guards would have gone, so she just dumped her supplies inside the door and headed to the back alley they had designated for emergencies. If her brother wasn't there, then she would get worried.

But he was, letting his pet snake coil around his fingers while he waited, and his expression was sheepish when she got close.

"Sorry," he said, and she sighed, less because she was actually upset than out of relief that he hadn't been caught, or hurt, or something... worse.

"It happens," she said, boosting herself up to sit beside him and leaning a head against his shoulder. It had happened before, and it would probably happen again. "I'm just glad we got away."

"Thanks to you," he noted, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders for a squeeze.

"I thought about conjuring an explosion, but I thought that would get us a little too much attention," she said, with a grin, glancing up at him again. He grinned back, starting to respond, but then he stopped, playful expression dropping off his face. She stilled. "... Aekas?"

"There's -" he started, and then yanked Curious out of her seat as something whipped past her cheek. She gasped as she realized it was an arrow, and followed its path to find a man in dark leather dropping into the alley.

"What the fuck?" She scrabbled her dagger from where she kept it hidden in her belt, but the man didn't even hesitate, charging toward her. He had a sword of his own, and she threw herself backward to dodge it, her weapon clattering away as she hit the ground hard.

"Get away from her!" Aekas. She wanted to tell him to run, to leave while this stranger was busy with her, but her fall had knocked the wind out of her. She could only watch as her brother, armed with a knife of his own, tried to attack their assailant from behind. The man, whoever it was, dodged easily, bringing the hilt of his sword up to strike Aekas hard in the face. He stumbled back, dazed, and the man looked back at Curious, still on the ground in front of him.

He stepped closer, blade glittering in what little light found its way into their cramped alley - and then he howled, grabbing at his arm. Curious was confused, and then she saw Noodle, wrapped around his wrist and sinking its fangs into his hand. The man flung his wrist out, dislodging the snake and sending it sailing towards a wall, and Aekas shouted in alarm. Curious shouted, too, but she shouted a word, and reached out her hand, magically catching the snake before it could impact the side of the alley. She shoved Noodle towards Aekas, who caught it automatically.

"Run!" she gasped, and they did. She didn't know if Noodle was venomous or how long the man would be incapacitated even if the snake was, but there was nothing else to be done. They were clearly outclassed.

They didn't stop running until they had gotten back to the apartment, and the door was safely locked behind them.

"That wasn't just a mugger," Aekas said, his pale eyes large and worried in the gloom of their apartment. "Curious, I think that was -"

"An assassin?" she breathed, and he nodded. "But who would hire an assassin to come after us? The worst we've done is pick some pockets!"

"I - was going to tell you," he said, looking stricken. "Before." And then he fished out a purse she had never seen before, and opened it to show her what was inside. Her eyes went wide at the sheer amount of coin within. There was enough money to keep them in relative comfort for months.

"S-so... so we got a lot of money. Picking pockets. B-but anyone who carries around this much money on them, they - they've got to have more than enough, right?" She stared up at her brother, eyes wide. "And to hire an assassin, that's just... that's just more money! And it's been hours at most, how..."

She pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes tight. It didn't make sense, but it also didn't matter. That money would have been enough to keep them in comfort, but it was also enough to get them out of town.

"We need to leave," she said. "We'll - we'll go to Neverwinter, hole up there for a while, until things die down. And then we can come back."

"We have always wanted to travel," he joked, weakly, and she gave a smile that was just as weak in return.

#curious #aekas #the tiefling twins #dnd #write write write #long post

[thisgravitas]

ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ʟɪᴇs

𝘖́𝘳𝘭𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘶𝘱... 𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥!

Satya's voice whines in my ear as I twist and turn in the mirror, examining the way the shimmering black dress hangs off of my curves. The light from the massive chandelier hanging on the high ceiling of my bedroom makes each hand sewn sparkle glitter. Smiling, satisfied with the dress that had probably cost Daddy thousands, I toss a bolt of flaxen hair over my shoulder and turn towards my best friend with my hands on my hips.

𝘈𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺.

𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺! 𝘞𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦? 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘖.

Rolling my eyes, I follow a head of silky black hair down the stairs, through the expansive living area, past rooms that are quiet and empty. A kitchen. A parlor. A library. An office. All rooms that I hardly ever used unless I had friends or a guy over. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom or in the cozy living space with it's comfy couches and plush blankets and huge mounted flat screen.

Out the front door, down the glass elevator, through the lobby while waving to the doorman and out into the street. The second we step through the revolving front door, the sound of the city hits like a brick wall. Horns honking and people yelling, engines revving, a siren in the distance. Every single time I stepped outside, the sounds that assault my ears sound so cliche I almost want to laugh.

My best friend and I climb into a cab and Satya gives the driver the address for some club in Staten Island.

Crossing over into Brooklyn, the scenery changes a little, but it's still my city.

𝘖𝘩𝘩𝘩𝘩, 𝘖 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘹𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦!

Satya squeals and squeezes my arm with one hand while pointing to a faded, half torn poster of a dark haired man standing with boxing gloves in front of the ring. The name 𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 on the bottom in big block letters.

Rolls my eyes and hides a laugh when I see the cabbie chuckling to himself at the girlish nonsense going on in his back seat. I am sure he had seen plenty of party girls like us. Just another one of the crowd. Just another blonde rich bitch.

Satya had a thing for athletic men. She was a privileged little thing just like me but she got down and dirty for the working class.

Which worked out well when we finally arrived at the hole-in-the-wall club in SI – getting in with no trouble at all, just my last name and a pretty white smile – and Satya had already sunk her claws into a man who was working on the Brooklyn Point condo site doing… construction things.. I don't ask the ins and outs because I don't necessarily care.

I throw my fifth glance her way while sipping down a second martini when my phone buzzes in my clutch. I ignore it, letting it go to voicemail because I know who it is. Cian, the large brutish man that worked for my father was trying to find me.

I had stopped sharing my location with him because I just wanted one night of normal fun with my best friend without seeing Cian glaring at everyone from the corner of whatever room we are in. Cian was hired to keep me out of trouble, and out of danger, as the two often went hand in hand. Occasionally I would get asked about the scary man glowering my way, more often than not by men who had approached me and sat too close, and I would have to make up some lie about a protective friend, even though my protector was obviously 20 years older than my 25.

Usually this scared any potential male prospects away, so it was a pleasant change when a handsome stranger easily slid into the barstool next to me and offered to buy me a drink. Ignoring the fact that I had more money than he had probably ever seen in his life in my bank account right now, I say yes and grin when he orders me a third martini.

Conversation flows easily, especially after the third martini, and before I know it, I am following my new friend Martin out the club's back entrance into the alley, while his firm hand presses against the small of my back. Fluttering my lashes up at him when he turns and presses both hands to the brick wall behind my back, leaning in as if to kiss me. Against the wall? How romantic. Romantic until he asks my name.

𝘖́𝘳𝘭𝘢 𝘖'𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘭

I tell him and I watch his face twist into a grotesque mask of rage. A slap stings on my cheek and my surroundings spin. I taste the tang of blood in my mouth, one of my hands flying out to brace against the wall as I stagger, trying not to fall.

Martin grabs a fistful of my hair before I can recover and wrenches my head backwards so that I am forced to look at him as he screams at me despite his face being inches from mine.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘩 𝘖'𝘋𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦!? 𝘐𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦!? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳! 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴!

His voice cracks a little, and he’s winding up for a punch this time, his fist closed, when a hand catches his fist, enclosing the entire thing in a single palm. Martin’s arm is twisted. A crack sounds out through the alley and the hand fisted in my hair releases it’s grip.

My new companion and now assaulter falls to his knees, crying out in pain, and behind him stands Cian, angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

My eyes slam shut, but not before I watch my protector slam his steel toed boot into the middle of Martin’s back, another fresh scream of pain ringing out to mix and mingle with the sounds of the city I loved so much.

Gritting my teeth, still using the wall to hold my balance until the dull thuds, cracks, pain-filled groans, and grunts are finished. Opening an eye to see Cian holding out his hand to me. I check to make sure my attacker is still breathing as I step over his huddled body, not because I am worried for him, but for the selfish reason of not wanting to have been present for a murder.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴... 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Comes the weak response from the pathetic mass of human lying on the dirty pavement. My guardian spats his way, and guides me towards a waiting black car.

I can only imagine the trouble I am going to be in… but I truly believe the trouble I would have been in if Cian had not arrived when he did, would be worse than anything that Daddy can throw at me.

My mind wanders on the silent car ride home. Hoping that Satya is okay and having fun with her construction crew man is merely a distraction from the topic my mind wants to dwell on. What did Martin mean? What happened to his brother? And what does it have to do with Daddy?

Nothing. No. I won’t let my mind go there because there is nothing to find there. Martin was just a drunk, confused, man who found an opportunity to abuse a woman. Right?

But one thing circles round and round my head as I hold my fingers to my swelling cheek.

How did he know my father’s name?

and

What did he mean by

𝙃𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙪𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜...

[onlyonecanbeking]

Lovely Lies (Part 1)

The lavish lights of flickering candles illuminated the grand ballroom in hues of orange and yellow. Like gentle beams of sunshine, it scattered upon the ground, dodging around the expensive shoes of passing patrons, all in delightful conversation and each to their own partners across the expansive space. The music charmed and warmed the chest of any close enough to hear it, the food delectable and individuals each stunning in their own unique fashion. It was an entire villa of joy in the form of wealth and murmuring voices.

For someone like you, however, it was an absolute nightmare.

Masquerade balls were not some common gathering for you, an outspoken and reserved individual with a select group of friends and small reputation to your name. You had no fanciful need to dress yourself in glittering gown and fly with strange men across slippery marble floors, but here you were, nonetheless. It was by the urging of your closest friend that you had been dragged from the dark shadows of your bedroom and gussied up in order to make appearance to the public. And quite public it was indeed.

Passing people always grabbed your attention, dressed in lavished outfits that you could only assume to be in the multitudes of thousands in worth. Floral lace light blue applique gowns, brilliant cream fanning dresses with cuts at the thigh, raven black tuxedos and bright golden cuffs, all coming in blurs together with smiles on their freshly powdered faces and laughs as elegant as their bodies. You felt a little silly having appeared in something that had cost only a few hundred.

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the eye of friend in question, who cast you an eager grin, the charming wrinkle of her cheeks rising from the evidence of her joy. She was made for places like this. Everything about her radiated royalty and regality, even the most simple of dresses made her stand out like a beam of color in a sea of nothing but black. You found yourself stepping closer to her instinctively, dragging your gaze away in order to look out across the crowd. “Isn’t it fantastic?” you heard her ask, voice warm and delighted. You hardly wished to spoil her excitement, and gave a gentle smile.

“It’s certainly grand,” you replied, much to the obvious glee of your friend. She clapped her hands together, somehow managing to make just the simplest of movements appear like a masterpiece.

“Wonderful, wonderful. The two should be here any minute. It’s just about 8:30.”

Her response again pulled you back into thought, to days prior when the plan for a night out had been underway. Your friend was most certainly a social bird, she somehow managed to grab the names and faces of just about anyone from the city, creating friendships from nothing and causing multitudes of broken hearts in her wake. She had spoken freely of two men new to town, both seemingly professional and well-kept enough to invite on a masquerade date.

“He’s a doctor in training,” she had said with a wiggle of her brows, which of course only gave you another reason to roll your eyes. Her smile was teasing, but her eyes were bright with hope. “He’s planning on moving into the Scholar’s Hospital down the street. I hear they make quite the amount of money there.”

You were plucking the feathers from inside of your jacket absently, your scoff rising on your lips. “Yes, that’s exactly what I need. A doctor to sweep me off my feet and check my rectal temperature every tuesday.”

The laugh from her had been light-hearted, but she was not so easily dissuaded. She wound herself around the kitchen counter in order to come closer to the couch. “Can you imagine how magical that would be? To meet a handsome stranger in a gown and jewels, to let him sweep you across the dance floor…”

“Gross,” you had interrupted her in a soft laugh, only to receive a slap from her palm against your shoulder.

“Come on, this is serious,” her tone had become more scolding, desperation there in her gaze. “You’re always claiming you hate how little attention you get from the guys at college. This is one of the most prime opportunities you’re going to get. He’s handsome, intelligent, he’s got a good job heading his way, what more do you want? Do you want me to offer him on a silver platter?”

You sighed, dumb grin dropping from your lips as you had adjusted yourself in order to face her more fully, resting your head against your hand. “But a masquerade ball? I have nothing to wear. Why don’t you just invite the one you had your eyes on and you two could hit it off?”

“I really really really don’t want to go alone,” she pouted then, bulbing out her bottom lip with a glitter to her gaze. “It would be so much more fun if you would come along with me. An adorable double date. And god, I could buy you a dress no problem. I’ve already been thinking of millions of outfits to squeeze you into.”

Although you were cautious and sceptical, her constant whining finally broke you down enough to give in, and accept the invitation. You hadn’t the slightest who you were waiting for, here beneath the candlelight, but based on the vibrations of the familiar woman at your side, you could only assume they were something special.

“There.” The sudden movement of your friends arm blinked you back into reality, and you followed the point of her finger in order to zone in towards the figure weaving himself through the crowd. Rich brown hair in curls that fanned across his head looked even richer beneath the tones of golden coming from above. Pinned in a thick black suit, black vest, and white bowtie, he was picturesque of the typical masquerade patron. A black feathered mask lay itself over his eyes, lips set free to see the nature of his smile. He was certainly handsome, but his soft green gaze was not set upon you.

Your friend was grinning, a tint of pink evident beneath the cream of the mask set against her cheeks. But beneath that smile, you could see her eyes searching as well, seeming to be expecting something else. You remained there in silence to watch how it played out, of course a little concerned by there only being one body coming closer.

“Adam,” your friend greeted with an extension of her hand, bringing it out to him in order to shake. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Adam in question took her hand delicately in the broadness of his own, guiding it to his lips in a swift kiss of greeting. “A pleasure,” he replied, before finally his green eyes locked down upon you. “This is your friend you spoke of?”

“Yes!” She turned herself to you to display you like a delicate treasure, gleaming with pride and nodding head triumphantly. However, it stalled in another moment, the creases from her smiles turning again to smooth skin as realization seemed to strike her at the same time that it did you. “But. Uh.. Where is James?”

Adam’s smile finally fell some, turning to a straightened look of guilt. Rolling his shoulders back, the sigh that lilted from him already solidified your fate, and you could feel expected disappointment burning hot in your gut.

“He’s a no show. Got way too drunk to attend, I’m afraid. I can’t imagine he’s not tangling himself with some strange woman somewhere.” His voice had dropped some, each word passing under his breath, glancing again to you with an apologetic grimace. “I am quite sorry.”

“Oh, honey,” your friend turned to give you a pout. You knew that her sympathy meant well, but the pity party only made you feel worse. “I’m so sorry. Did you want to just stay around with us?”

You shook your head sullenly. “No, I don’t want to be the awkward third party. I’ll mill around for a while and probably head out a little later.”

Your friend’s lips set together in a line, but she only nodded her head. Arguing about it would do no good, so she let it be for now, much to your relief. You were in no mood to hang around two flirting singles, anyhow.

“Alright. Well, try and find someone to chat with, at least for a little while, alright? We’ll be around, should you change your mind.” she murmured to you, before glancing back towards Adam, her smile returning as if nothing had gone wrong at all. And thus in a twist of their bodies, the couple moved themselves in with the crowd, meshing with the colors and disappearing from view in only moments. Left to stand alone there in the noise of it all, you were the only one to hear the thundering of your heartbeat from the feeling of betrayal.

There was hardly reason to stand there in the open without much to do. So, after a pause or two to collect yourself, you moved away from the open scenery and disappeared to the shadows of the corner, where leather chairs and coffee tables sat in rows for comfort and relaxing. You managed to snatch a particularly empty patch, swiping your hands down your dress to make sure it didn’t crease before taking a seat. You nestled into the cushions with a languid sigh, finally letting your self-pity wash over you in waves of coldness.

Here you were, displayed in such a nice gown, golden lace fanning down soft blue silk and satin, and no one had come to appreciate it. The soft gold mask across your eyes, in butterfly shape and dotted in blue jewels, was swiftly removed from your cheeks in another sigh, setting it down against the table in front of you to reveal the lengths you had gone to to gussy up your face with makeup. Alone then, you simply watched, observing those in passing, and to the distance, those dancing in brilliant flashes of diamond and the smooth glide of bodies together.

This stunk. It really did. Perhaps it was better to just- “I couldn’t help but notice you come sit in your solitude.”

A deep, smooth purr caused your head to lift up, startled by the sudden figure there that loomed beside your chair. Immediately the crimson gaze that lay down upon you locked you in your seat, finding yourself drowning in the color of it while still taking deep and easy breaths. The very aura of this… person, so you could guess, was intoxicating but crackling with danger.

(to be continued)

#darkiplier #darkiplier x reader #masquerade fanfiction #darkiplier fanficiton #fanfiction #reader pov

[wootensmith]

Elgar’las

He led her to the center of the room, opened the bedroll he’d left there. “I want to tell you a star story,” he said and drew her down to the blankets. He lay back, his arms cushioning his head. She followed and he mourned the absence of her elbow brushing his.   “There are no stars, Solas,” she said. “The roof is whole.”

“Patience, Vhenan,” he said, sending veilfire rippling up into the distant dome. “Before the Veil, spirits mingled with our people freely. Some chose to take on our forms and remain among us. And we have spoken of how our own people forsook this world in uthenera, seeking out the deepest parts of the Fade. The spirits were many, as many as our own people and more, for there are as many as we have shades of emotion and compulsions. But there were a few who did not visit this existence as often as others. Spirits of Wisdom were always a rare and marvelous thing, even at the height of Elvhenan, while spirits of anger were drawn to us often. But there was one who retreated completely when the Evanuris proclaimed themselves gods and began taking slaves. I only ever heard legends of it.” The veilfire touched the first point of his painting, the outstretched hand of the figure, it blazed forth and he watched the Inquisitor slip into the memory. His own, of the terrible blast at the Conclave. He’d been descending into the valley when the sky rent, emerald and shrieking. The snow rumbling around him, though he was still miles above the temple. The danger of avalanche seemed remote and small compared with the terror the ragged breach caused. She was shaking as she returned to him. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her. “They said it lingered in places like this, in the hovels of slaves planning rebellion. In birthing rooms and down among the dwarves, in the Proving arena. But it never was convinced to manifest again. And gradually, it grew more distant, slipping farther and farther into the Fade as life in this world grew more cruel.” Another light shone out, a shoulder.  This time, Cassandra as he had first met her. Disheveled and sooty from the flames. She’d been trying to drag a wounded mage from the end of the bridge and awkwardly slashing at a rage demon with her sword arm. “Leave him,” barked a nearby soldier, aiming his bow at the demon. “It’s them that caused it, mark my words.” “Not this one,” snarled Cassandra. “He was outside the blast or he’d already be dead. Just like the rest. Like—” she broke off with an anguished yell and stabbed at the demon. Solas stepped in to finish it with a spell. She turned the blade on him. “Who are you? How did you escape?” “Apologies,” said Solas calmly,  “I was— late to the Conclave. It is only luck that saved me.” “Are you Dalish?” she asked. “No.” “An apostate then,” cried the soldier. Solas didn’t wait to hear Cassandra’s response but knelt next to the mage. “I only came to offer aid,” he said, casting a healing spell on the unconscious mage. “That green light is a tear in the Veil. In a few hours, spirits will be attracted to it and you will be overrun,” he murmured, low enough that the soldier would not heal. Cassandra crouched beside him. “You know how to stop it?” she asked. He noted she had not sheathed the sword. “I am uncertain. But given the opportunity to study it, I may be able to offer some solution, yes.” “It was likely a mage that caused this. Why should I trust you?” He picked up the staff he had laid beside him. Handed it to her. “Because I’m here. And I’m not running at the sight of a Seeker.” Cassandra nodded, but her hand closed over the staff. The memory faded.

“Wisdom told me it met the spirit once. But that to find this spirit and Wisdom together was something rare indeed. One often drove away the other. It said the spirit had complained that seeing the world too clearly had made it lose itself, warped it from its purpose. Wisdom advised it to retreat, that its view was too small. If it saw all the world at once, it would regain its purpose. So the spirit flew to the stars, to get a clearer vision.” The other shoulder lit up. A memory of Varric, pacing the stone floor of the Chantry as Cassandra and Cullen argued. He elbowed Solas. “You think it’s as bad as these two are making it out to be?” “I think it is likely to be worse, Master Tethras.” “Shit. We should go. Get these people out of here. Village full of kids and farmers and chantry sisters. They aren’t going to be able to fight demons. We should be loading them on carts right now—” “I agree.” Varric stopped pacing. “Well then, don’t you think you should tell them that?” he asked. Solas laughed, but it was sour and short. “They are as likely to listen to you as me, and you are Cassandra’s prisoner, are you not?” “If you won’t do it, I will, prisoner or not. Seeker!” Cassandra turned with a scowl. “This does not concern you, Varric.” “The sky is about to rain demons, Seeker. I’d say that concerns us all. You have people who can’t fight here. Lots of them. You need to evacuate—” “We don’t have time for that,” said Cullen, “all of our men need to be prepared to hold back the demons—” “Hold them back from what?” asked Varric, “What are you defending, if not the people? The buildings? The chantry church? They can be rebuilt. Make time, Cullen. These people are what’s important.” Cullen rubbed his neck and glanced at Cassandra, who sighed. “Very well,” said Cassandra, “You and Solas take a squad and round up some wagons. Three hours, and then I need you at the front to relieve others.” Varric nodded. “Three hours, Varric! Or when this is done I’ll hunt you down—” “Relax, Seeker. Where would I go? The story is all here.” The Inquisitor smiled as the memory released her.

“There was a prophecy, though, whispered among the slaves for generations,” said Solas, “That the spirit would someday return. When all seemed lost, it would descend from the stars to aid the People.” Another flash of veilfire, the center of the figure’s chest. The Inquisitor flinched at the explosion that echoed in the memory. He’d been fighting in the crater, side by side with Varric, a small squad of soldiers around them, when the ruins were rocked again with the explosion of green light and a figure tumbled down the rubble and came to rest in the ash.   “Andraste’s ass, what was that?” asked Varric. Solas stabbed the end of his staff into a terror demon with a grunt. One of the soldiers ran up to the lump in the dust. “It’s a woman!” he cried.  “She’s alive!” The others ran to help. Solas crouched beside Varric, turning Lavellan over. He frowned when he could find no obvious injury. “What’s wrong with her?” asked one of the soldiers. Solas shook his head. Varric lifted her hand and gently wiped the soot from her palm. “I’d say it probably has something to do with this,” he said, spreading her fingers to show Solas the emerald brand in the center.

The Inquisitor rubbed her cheek, as if the soot and the vallaslin were still there. As if they were in Haven and the char still stank upon her skin instead of here, in the quiet empty of June’s temple. “We used to invoke the spirit before raids to free slaves. Before battles with the Forgotten Ones. In the panicked moments before I raised the Veil. But it never answered. It was not time.” A light at the painting’s hip burned brightly. This time Sera. He’d caught her splashing around in Winter Palace’s large fountain after the ball. “What are you doing?” he asked. She plunged her face into the water for an instant. Something glittered in her hand when she rose again. “Rich nobs been tossing them in all night. Already found dozens,” she spluttered, holding the coin up for him to see. “Sera, if you need money—” “Psh. Not for me. Got what I need. But you see how pinched those kitchen servants are? What’s left of em. Imagine making food all day and never eating near enough. Josephine took me round back and gave me a scolding beforehand or I’d snatch them right from their big, ugly purses. But she never said anything about the fountain. So. Baker down in low quarter opens in an hour. Got that long to find em all and buy up the day’s bread. Or a month’s. Not much, but maybe it’ll put a little padding on their bones.” She squeezed her hair and it dribbled. “You going to help or just stand there? Didn’t piss in the fountain or anything.” She laughed. “Yet.” Solas stepped into the water and called a small light to search for the glint of gold.

“As time went on, people spoke of the spirit less and less. It’s legend was forgotten. Only Wisdom and I remained to look for it in the Fade. We searched everywhere. All the ancient dreams of the People we could find. But we were unlucky.”  A star at the knee, this time. And Vivienne’s voice with it. “You must take her to the Circle. She cannot possibly learn to control this here—” “Please madame, the Circles are all in shambles. Who would take her that I can trust?” Solas stepped into the library doorway, watching the noblewoman frantically trying to smother the magic flame clinging to the child’s hand with her handkerchief. Vivienne sighed. “What on earth can I do, my dear? I cannot train her for a Harrowing here, and even if I found an appropriate facility to do so, my time is not my own. If the Inquisitor needs me—” “You could start. Please. I have no one else to turn to. I don’t trust the mages from Redcliffe— for all I know they are already abominations. I heard what they did in the Circle there. And that Tevinter magister is—” “A decent man,” interrupted Vivienne. She frowned. “But not adept at fire magic.” She knelt to face the child. “Marie, listen to me.” The girl looked up at her, still plainly panicking. “You have helped your mother in the kitchens, haven’t you?” The girl nodded. “Good. I want you to think of the fire like the dough on your mother’s hands after she kneads it. What does she do with the mess on her hands, Marie? Show me.” The girl was hesitant but stared at her hands, still aflame for a moment. She slowly closed her fingers over one wrist and drew them down, gathering the flame. And then the other side. Held out the ball of flame to show Vivienne. “Good girl. Now—” Vivienne held out her own hand and snapped it closed. The girl repeated the action and the flame went out. “There. Neat and tidy. Just like that,” said Vivienne with a smile. “Very well, Marie. Every day I’m in Skyhold, come to me after your morning chores.” The girl nodded. “Thank you,” sighed the mother. “Not a word to the Seeker or Commander Cullen, understand? If the lessons last long enough, I will tell them myself and we’ll prepare a Harrowing. But I’m confident we’ll set the Circles to rights before then.” The memory faded. “I would have helped her,” said the Inquisitor. “As would I. But they chose Vivienne, and she did well by them.” He lit the next star, a foot. “Boots for Dorian and Bull,” he laughed softly. The cold of the Emprise gnawed at his fingers, pinched every angle. He stood by his horse, waiting for Dorian, the echo of the lyrium still thumping in his head. His center still ached at the thought of leaving the Inquisitor behind. Dorian’s voice slid over the snow. “— have to make sure they have furs, Bull. Those houses aren’t fit for anyone to—” “Relax, Dorian. We won’t leave them to freeze. The boss has already got workmen on the way.” “I should stay— keep the fires lit. I can do that much at least.” They appeared over the small rise. Bull’s hand was on Dorian’s shoulder, guiding him firmly toward Solas. “I have a flint and steel.” “But I need to—” “No, Kadan. You need to go back to Skyhold. We don’t need you lighting fires. We need you figuring out what this shit is. I can’t do that. And the Inquisitor needs to be here. But we can smash the stuff until the end of time, unless we know how to stop it from regrowing, the templars will just keep making it. You and Solas and Viv, you have to figure it out. And you can’t do it here. You can barely even walk straight. Go home. I’ll keep the others safe. And the villagers. But not forever. I may be the Antaam, but you’re the cavalry.” “Remind her to keep her barriers up,” sighed Dorian. “I will.” “And don’t let the villagers eat anything heavy for a few days. It’ll hurt them, I’ve seen it bef—” “I know.” “And no dragons.” Bull grinned. “Can’t promise that.” Dorian shook his head. “Be warned, if you are foolish enough to die, I’ll come back and raise you to use as a coatrack, Amatus.” He stood on his toes and pressed a kiss to Iron Bull’s lips. “Thought you didn’t want anyone to—” murmured Bull. “I’ve ceased caring,” snapped Dorian. Solas turned away to hide a smile when Bull winked at him over Dorian’s shoulder. The Inquisitor wiped her tears as the memory ended.

“I’ve stopped looking for the spirit, Vhenan. Long ago. Before you were born. How could Elgar’las, a spirit of hope, return to the hard, cold place this world has become? Even my plans to dismantle the Veil did not make me think it would return. The prophecy would not occur in my lifetime, I knew. I could only dream it would come after, that something would draw it back centuries after me.” Another star, the opposite knee.  This one Blackwall trudging through the snow behind a train of wagons. There was a tired child clinging to his back, wrapped in furs. Solas kept pace with them and passed Blackwall a skin of warmed wine. “Should I take a turn with her?” asked Solas. “No. We need you with the wounded. Not the first little one I’ve carried, she won’t break me.” Blackwall grinned through his beard. “Though— would you—” he stopped and spun partway. “In my pack. Smaller pocket. There’s a— a poppet.” “You want a charm?” “No!” Blackwall’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not like that. It’s a toy, Solas. For the girl.” “Ah.” Solas reached into the pack and fished around while the child peered eagerly over Blackwall’s neck at the mention of a toy. He felt the rough wooden figure and pulled it free. He held it up for the child who laughed. “He’s so pretty!” she cried.  “It’s Master Dennet, isn’t it?” Blackwall twisted his head to look up at her. “Not much to see in the stables for models.” “Will you make a horse for him?” “Aye, if it pleases you.” The girl hugged Blackwall’s neck and he chuckled, turning back to the snowy trail.

“That was after Haven?” asked the Inquisitor. “It was, though I doubt it was the last time he carried a child. Or made them a toy. I am grateful for the chance to see Blackwall again, though I wish for the world’s sake, they’d all remain far from here. I’d far rather he died in his bed than down in the Deep Roads.” “That’s not the fate he wanted,” she said, watching him. “I know.” Solas turned back to the ceiling. Flicked his fingers once more, and a point at the opposite hip lit up. “Just as I had in Haven, I despaired of anything ever altering. Of any path beside the dark one I was on every revealing itself to me. But then—”

Cole stood beside him in the Inquisitor’s quarters, staring at a full washing basin. “Stir,” the boy commanded. Solas sighed but slowly stirred the center of the water and the slow pulse of a wave traveled from his finger to the edge of the bowl. Cole reached into his pocket, pulling out an odd assortment of items. He picked a pebble from among them and dropped it into the basin. “You see?” He pointed at the subtle rings the rock had made, crashing into his own, reshaping the waves. “Some ripples change all the others. Forever. She’s changed you. Why not everything?”

The Inquisitor smiled but shook her head. “I am no spirit, Solas. I don’t have that clarity of purpose.” “No. I would not love you half as well if you were.” The veilfire points expanded, reached for one another, completing the constellation. “But what the Inquisition did, what you’ve done— if anything can draw Elgar’las back to this world, it must be that. Whatever the outcome of this plan, there is no greater gift than the return of hope.” She pointed. “But it isn’t finished.” He tried to follow her gaze, but could see nothing wrong with the painting. “It is. The constellation is complete. I finished it some time before you arrived.” She stood up. “No. It’s not done. How did you get up there?” He followed her as she searched the dome for scaffolding. “I don’t—” She turned back to him and pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Just show me how to get up there.” “Very well. But the paints are no longer—” “I don’t need them.” He shook his head, confused, but wrapped his arms around her. A swift slip through the Fade and they stood upon the wide ledge below the painting. She turned to face the enormous mural. He felt the slip of her wards, the silence that took the place of her magic’s hum. “I haven’t stabilized it in hours—” he warned her. “I won’t break. Not for this task.” She shut her eyes. A spark of sea-green glittered in her palm. And then twisting flame, curling around itself. She opened her eyes. Looked up at the mural and then to Solas. “I can’t reach it.” She poured the flame into his hand. “Keep us together, Vhenan. There, in the heart.” She pointed above them. He looked down at the veilfire. “Don’t—” she warned him, but he looked anyway.

It was a memory of himself. One that he didn’t recognize. Disorienting, seeing himself pallid and frail, eaten up by the red glow of tainted lyrium. “Solas,” cried the Inquisitor’s voice. “You’re unwell.” Words he’d never said spilled from him, easier than he’d have expected. “I am dying, but no matter. If you can undo this, they can all be saved. If there is any hope, any way to save them, my life is yours.” The memory stuttered and he was falling toward an enormous rift. His own voice echoing against his ear. “Ar lath ma.” And another, of the orb lying beside the Inquisitor’s knee. “Take it, or lose everything,” she cried and then closed her eyes as the boulder above her teetered. A yank and rough stone and then vision again. His own face and a wave of relief and love swept him. “You weren’t supposed to choose me…” the memory faded. Solas reached up to the figure’s chest and placed it beside the memory of the Inquisitor tumbling from the Breach. “There. Now it is complete. All of us, together,” said the Inquisitor. “Just one of a thousand good dreams.” He held her face, tipped it up toward him. “You were the best dream,” he said.

#solas #lavellan #solas and lavellan #dragon age inquisition

[eldritchsurveys]

878.

5k Survey VI

251. Do you blow your nose in public? >> I don’t usually blow my nose, I just use a tissue to wipe if my nose starts running. I’ve found that blowing my nose constantly like I see other people doing doesn’t help me any; I just end up more congested for longer, which leads to me blowing my nose more often, and so on. So I stopped. I hate the noise, anyway. 252. Do you want to follow in your parent’s footsteps? >> No. 253. What is the coolest web site you know of? >> o_0 254. Which cartoon would you most like to see turned into a movie? >> I have no thoughts about this. 255. Of the following, which word best describes you: enthusiastic, fair minded, generous, helpful >> Fair-minded.

256. Can you eat with chopsticks? >> I can. 257. Could you tell real money from counterfeit? >> I don’t know, I’ve never been in the situation where I would have had to. 258. What do you think about school uniforms? >> I think there are benefits and downsides to it like almost anything. 259. What ancient civilization would you most like to visit? >> I don’t want to visit any ancient civilisations. 260. What would make a great new Crayola color? >> I don’t know. 261. If an art project is created with the intent of getting rich and famous, does that cast doubt over its significance as a work of art? >> In my understanding of art, anything can be art as long as someone beholds it as such. Obviously there will still be standards depending on who’s judging the thing as “art”, but like I said -- it depends. From my point of view as an observer, I don’t think the intent to earn money invalidates the product’s artistic nature. 262. If you became president, whom would you invite to sing at your inauguration? >> --- 263. Who is the greatest philosopher of your country? >> The “greatest”? What does that even mean, how is that quantified? There are a lot of philosophers that were born here, I suppose. Wikipedia might have some answers for you. 264. If all the nations in the world are in debt, where did all the money go? >> It was spent. 265. Is it as easy to make you happy now as it was when you were a child? >> I don’t know how easy it was to make me happy when I was a child, so I can’t compare. 266. Who knows more…you, or your parents? >> More about what? 267. What instrument would you like to be famous for playing? >> I don’t want to be famous for playing an instrument. Or for anything. 268. Children fill its lungs completely with air. Adults breathe in a more shallow way, not filling their lungs completely. Why the change? >> I’m not Google. 269. Would you have sex with a stranger for one million dollars? >> I wouldn’t have sex with anyone for money. I can’t do that. 270. Are you completely in control of your body? >> Mostly my body controls itself, I think. It’s a bit of an autonomous system, innit? Are you completely in control of your mind? >> Of course not. “I” am not even really a thing. 271. Which is more romantic: an expensive, glittering bouquet OR flowers that were hand picked as they grew beside the parkway? >> Don’t fucking pick flowers from the wild just to make some foolish gesture. If someone did that on my behalf I’d be pretty turned off. 272. Do you know yourself well enough to understand why you feel the way you do? >> Sometimes, sometimes not. And there’s always the chance that the story I tell myself for why I react to things the way I do is wrong, or exaggerated. We’re all just guessing, some guesses more educated and likely than others. 273. Which do you do more often: let movies, songs and books put your feelings into words for you or put your feelings into words by yourself? >> Hm. 274. Do you believe celebrities when they are endorsing a product? >> No. Like, I know how advertising works... 275. What kind of movies do you wish were made more often? >> I don’t have an opinion about this. 276. Does fashion matter to you? >> Sure, I think the fashion industry and how clothing is made and haute couture are all incredibly interesting subjects. Fashion also matters to me because I wear clothing just like everyone else, and I like to learn about the stuff I use on a daily basis. Learning about fast fashion, for instance, greatly informed how I buy and use clothing, and what kind of clothing I buy. 277. Should politicians be held to the same legal standards as everyone else? >> Of course. Why would that even be in question? I’d even argue they should be held to more stringent standards, considering they’re responsible for the lives and livelihoods of whole groups of people. 278. What do you get in trouble for the most? >> --- 279. Should parents spank their kids? >> I wouldn’t, and I don’t appreciate that other people do. I’m not interested in arguing about it, but I definitely don’t want to associate with you if you think that’s something worth arguing for. 280. What is your worst daily habit? >> Skin-picking (on my lips, specifically). 281. If you had your choice which one TV show would you have canceled? >> Why would I do that? 282. Do you like the taste of sweet or salt? >> I prefer salty foods to sweet foods. 283. Are you very precise about what words you use to describe your feelings and thoughts? >> I try to be as precise as possible, but I don’t always succeed when it comes to the spoken word. It’s a lot easier when I have time to sort my thoughts out and then write them out in a coherent fashion, while also being able to look at what I’ve written and analyse its specificity. 284. What do you feel the most guilty about? >> Nothing. 285. Do you meditate? >> Not usually. I do it spontaneously on occasion, but not like some sort of routine. 286. Can dreams be visions, or do you feel they are always random images? >> I think they can be either of these things, depending on the dreamer and the dream in question. 287. Do you try to write/say what you are feeling in a true and simple way? >> I do try. I do not often succeed. 288. The thief _______ that everyone steals. What verb would you fill in the blank with? >> The word that fills in the saying is “believes”, if I recall correctly. 289. What’s the most incredible experience you ever had? >> *shrug* 290. Are you ever afraid to write/say/think how you feel? >> I am sometimes anxious about how it will be received, especially if it isn’t exactly positive. But if it must be said, it must be said, and it will be said one way or the other (and I can only hope I say it tactfully, lmao). 291. Do you write/say/think it anyway or become intimidated and try to avoid it? >> It eventually comes out, one way or the other, like I said. And sometimes the way it comes out is “very badly”. 292. What is one thing you can’t do? >> I can’t do that weird shape with my tongue. 293. Do you like movies starring Charleton Heston (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charleton_Heston)? >> The only movie I recall that stars Charlton Heston is The Ten Commandments and that movie can fuck off. 294. Are you gentle? >> No. 295. When do you feel the most raw and vulnerable? >> A lot of times. 296. Are you trying to find yourself? >> No?? That phrase makes no sense to me, lmao. 297. Where are you looking? >> --- 298. Are you sometimes afraid of being honest because you are afraid of hurting people’s feelings? >> I’m just tired of getting backlash for expressing myself, so I’m pretty defensive about that. 299. What would make you a stronger person? >> I don’t know, not being post-traumatic and constantly under siege because my brain hates me? 300. What book would you like to read sometime soon? >> There are like 150 books on my to-read list.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

[stellatex]

Nine Questions I Need Teresa Giudice to Answer: Updated

Originally published February 15, 2016 I actually gave up Bravo for Lent, but I've already floundered on day one by continuing to watch, think about, and write about this bullshit. Sunk costs and all that.

So, here is my updated scorecard on the nine questions I needed Teresa to answer if she expected the viewing public to continue watching and supporting her.

1. You said in your statement to the judge during sentencing that you “fully take responsibility” for your actions. You said, “It’s time for me to wake up… I will make this right no matter what it takes.” Why, immediately afterward, in your interview on Watch What Happens Live, did you backtrack and try to deflect blame to your husband while insisting things were just put before you to sign?

In my opinion, she's doing this because she's being coached, either by her lawyer or a new PR team, or both, probably because they mistakenly believe that painting Teresa as some kind of innocent bedazzled Madonna will allow her to keep the Bravo Sunday gravy train chugging along. It's also possible that Teresa's advisors, friends, and various hangers-on, whoever they may be, are telling her how faaaaabulous she is--that's it's obvious she's the wronged party, and that she's so very strong and inspiring, etc., etc.--because they know who butters their bread, and, if history is any guide, Teresa has a habit of cutting out anyone who questions her lies and self deception (as we've seen both on the show and in the news reports about how she fired her publicist, her lawyers, and her co-writer). It's obvious that there are still a few small-time Jersey famewhores buzzing around Teresa in the mistaken belief that she is a queen bee. Typical celebrity yes-men and con-men. We've seen this over and over with celebrities, and it never turns out well, though a lot of people may make a lot of money in the short-term, and get some of that reflected spotlight that they so obviously crave. Regardless, like I said in my original post, if Teresa thinks she can just skate out of federal prison as a sinewy, chilled-out felon and continue to stonewall and deny and refuse to acknowledge any criminal culpability whatsoever, she has severely misjudged the nature of her dubious fame. But more on that in a moment.

Regardless, all of the interviewers asked her a fairly direct version of the question above; shockingly, Andy Cohen pushed it the hardest, asking point-blank, "What did you do? Can you tell us what you did?" And still she played dumb, owning up to merely "signing some papers." Girlfriend, we can all read the indictment. If you're so innocent, why didn't you take your case to trial? You admitted in the process of accepting a plea deal that you were guilty. Accepting a plea deal necessitates that you not only agree to pleading guilty, but that you are fully cognizant of what you are pleading to and that you understand the consequences. We all know what you did, Teresa.

2. You claim to be “business savvy,” telling your husband on an episode of RHONJ, “Like, you know, that’s what I do now. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m thinking business.” You’ve touted your online businesses, your Fabellini drink line, your Milania hair care line, your success as a “New York Time [sic] best-selling author.” So how is it that you are also simultaneously claiming to be a clueless housewife who knows nothing of her own finances, including the assets from said businesses that you tried to hide during both your fraudulent bankruptcy and your sentencing?

See above. This is bullshit.

3. If you are blaming your husband Joe for your ten-plus-years of financial fraud and the year you spent unjustly incarcerated in a federal prison, why are you still with him?

"Because I know he would never do anything to hurt me. He didn't mean to."

Uh, okay. That is also bullshit. Just transparently, obviously, self evidently, undeniably, total bullshit.

4. What would you say to the creditors, banks, and, most importantly, small business owners of New Jersey whom you and your husband fleeced to the tune of millions of dollars? Do you feel any obligation to repay these debts?

Still waiting on someone, anyone, to ask her this obvious follow-up question.

Furthermore, Teresa: I don't want to hear anything else about how this is all Joe's fault, or your brother Joe Gorga's fault, or your sister-in-law Melissa's fault, or your cousin Kathy's fault, or your accountants' fault, or your bankers' fault, or your attorneys' fault. It's not. It's 100% your fault. You're the one who committed the crimes. You're the one who went on national television flaunting thousands of dollars of cash purchases despite the fact that neither you nor your uneducated, clueless husband could possibly ever earn that much money legitimately. And, most importantly, you're the one who cravenly filed for bankruptcy to the tune of $13+ million dollars when you could no longer prop up your charade of nouveau riche consumerism for America's most satanic cable network. You're the one who stole from banks and fleeced businesses. You're a thief, a liar, and, now, a felon.

5. Explain this.

Everybody asked her about this, but instead of answering, she just blamed Joe, who leased it for her (another obvious lie; how did the bankrupt, apparently unemployed felon, who currently has a lien on his house to the tune of half a million dollars, get a lease?). She even blamed Lexus for putting a big red bow on top--which she claims they did because they knew it would be good publicity for Lexus! Uh, okay. I'm sure Lexus wants their brand to be associated with tacky low-life Jersey felons. Sure. Yep. Nobody asked her, "Why not a cheaper car, though?"

6. Why are you and your husband suing your bankruptcy attorney? Furthermore, do you not realize that, in doing so, you will be giving up your attorney-client privilege and opening yourselves up to a new investigation of your finances during the discovery process?

Nobody has asked her this. I am sure she's just say she can't talk about it. But I wonder if these questions have even occurred to her tiny, pisello brain.

7. What are you going to do when Joe is deported?

She demurs on this one, too, probably because--as Vicki Hyman points out--she doesn't want to jeopardize the incredibly small chance Joe has of not being deported per federal guidelines by admitting that she would move to Italy with him.

8. You talk constantly about your love, love, love for your four beautiful dorters. Why did you put them in this position?

I don't think anyone has really asked her this recently, but she is still selling the story that none of the dorters but Gia know what's going on. Which is obviously ridiculous.

And remember how she previously whined on-camera about how haaaaard all of this financial mess (i.e. her multiple felonies) has been on her four beautiful dorters, who don't even have a college fund!

So, you were busy stealing $13+ million dollars, and earning tens of thousands per episode appearing on Bravo, and earning more selling tabloid stories and writing multiple "New York Time bestseller [sic]" books, and buying all those designer clothes and bags and luxury cars, and creating that hideous redone home, and yet you didn't put any of the money aside for your kids? Honey, that's not on anyone but you. And you've made it abundantly clear from your actions that you do not give a single shit about the well-being of your girls. So shut the fuck up with the martyred mother pity party. America ain't buying it.

9. Why should viewers overlook your felonious criminal past and continue to support you by watching RHONJ or buying your books or products?

??????

This is the question.

I, for one, am not.It was clear from five minutes into Teresa's comeback tour that she hasn't changed one whit.

As a fan of the show from the first notes of the opening credits of the first episode, I was shocked when Teresa was sentenced. I had followed the news all day, waiting... waiting... waiting... for the verdicts to come down. And, much like her famewhore family members who allowed their reaction to be filmed (or recreated...) for RHONJ, I was utterly gobsmacked. This zany, silly, thoroughly unserious woman, whom we had all watched for years, was in fact "going away" to prison--and for a not-insignificant amount of time. In that moment, everything changed. This was really real. And I couldn't help thinking about the shock Teresa herself must've felt. She was clearly still in shock when she and Joe sat down for a WWHL special with Andy less than 24 hours after their sentencing.

But it was also kind of cathartic. It was obvious to everyone that the Giudices were Up To Something--from the first episode with the wads of cash and carefree spending. Having followed the case closely and read the indictments, I was not surprised--not really. Even as someone who had a love/hate relationship with the Bravo character called "Tre," it was an awful thing to witness--but it seemed just. And there was a sliver of hope there... that maybe Teresa would, finally, be forced to her own personal reckoning. Maybe, just maybe, all that time away from her children and the onyx manse and the cameras might give Teresa's limited mind the space it needed to feel a small glimmer of shame. That maybe the dawning light of that shame would lead to some actual introspection. She even used the vanity vehicle of "Teresa Checks In" (which I maintain should've been called "Teresa Goes Away") to brag about how much praying she was doing in there. I think many of us more savvy viewers were really hoping she was experiencing genuine remorse.

But nope.

The truly staggering thing to me about all of this is that even eleven months in federal prison wasn't enough to lead to any moral progress at all for this self-obsessed, brain-dead, glitter-bombed Portrait of Dorian Gray.

She will never change.

She is irredeemable.

Her story is over.

There is nothing new to see here. Watching the continuing cautionary tale that is Teresa Giudice is not only a waste of time and potentially personally morally corrosive, but--even worse--it's boring.

And the cherry top? Her blithe, casual endorsement of the candidacy of Donald Trump. I wasn't expecting that--though I probably should've--and it is so much more perfect than either of them could ever realize.

Both of them think they're famous; but, in reality, they're only infamous.

#RHONJ

[akurephenix]

My Manuscript: Race-Bent, Gender-Bent YA the Great Gatsby

Lavish parties, soaking-wet pools, sun-bathed mansions, teenagers finding love for the first time, this looks like it’s going to be an incredible year at Sayer Academy in New York...

When most people think of expensive boarding prep schools on the East-Coast, they think Ivy League, academia, perfectly manicured lawns, and the rich smell of trust funds. They don’t think of danger, risk, lies, near-overdoses, and debauchery. They especially don’t think of a student turning up dead. Natalie Cheng knows better, Natalie Cheng knows the magnificently alluring Jasmine “Jazz” Gatling and charming, seemingly loyal, Dean Hawthorne, and their twisting love story. And their secrets.

It is a combination of the following: 

The Great Gatsby + Gossip Girl+ Gone Girl + teenagers + boarding school + Chinese-American lead main girl character + African-American lead main girl character + two girls on a mission for the truth + One of them hiding the truth + Characters of Color + Modern + LGBTQ + The New American Dream + the disillusionment of love + female friendship + female romances + cultural influences + jealous romances + students with secrets + the wealthy and the elite

Here is the visual teaser for GREEN LIGHTS:

Would be great for: 

Fans of the Great Gatsby, Gone Girl, 13 Reasons Why, classic literature retelling, books with diversity, fans who like character complexity, the struggle for morality, and no traditional “protagonists”. 

Like 13 Reasons Why, my novel tackles real-life teen issues with open, honest depictions that doesn’t treat the audience like they don’t go through the same things. It depicts first loves, first mistakes, and true warnings for the New American Dream: getting money, being internet famous, buying mansions, fidget spinners, overexposure, unrealistic image tweaking, and #goals for things that may not be what they seem, or shouldn’t be hailed. It treats the YA audience as intelligent because the YA audience is intelligent and worthy of something true and honest and real. Teens have sex, teens are exposed to drinking, teens are sometimes even exposed to drugs, and for adults to think it doesn’t exist just isn’t factual and won’t be preparing at all. 

It also represents LGBTQ characters/romances POSITIVELY, which is so needed right now.

Like the Great Gatsby, above all, GREEN LIGHTS is a love story. It is a novel named after the original Gatsby’s striving for his green light, Daisy Buchanan, who would complete his transition from poor and nameless and “unimportant” to someone worthy of Great in the title of his name. His green light is also East Egg, where the old money sits haughtily, almost as if sneering from across the bay, keeping his green light from him. 

In my novel, Jazz (Jay) is not in love with Dean Hawthorne (Daisy) because of what he represents, but because of who he is. She sees his flaws, and challenges his transgressions, while accepting them, just not blindly. It is not a cookie-cutter, card-board romance, but a love that is fully-fleshed out, real and emotional. 

Like Gone Girl, it has an edge to it. There will be blood, and something truly wicked this way comes. There are deathly secrets and insurmountable pain, and Natalie Cheng is at the heart of it. She is a first-generation Chinese-American, who is a character that, unlike the trend of Asian Invisibility in Hollywood and mainstream YA, and even unlike the traditional observant Nick Carraway, her actions matter. Her thoughts matter. She is bridging the familiar and unfamiliar as a seventeen year old girl without the trust funds of her peers, but with the smarts and moral compass they sometimes lack, without being a Mary Sue. Natalie makes mistakes, but learns from them. As she falls in love, she’ll soon learn that all that glitters may not be gold, but it doesn’t mean that the glitter can’t shine through the darkness.

About me:

I am an African-American writer, who goes to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, future class of 2018. I would love to enter my novel in the 2017 #PitchWars and work with you!

Also: BEST FRIEND WANTED! A friend not just for the competition, but for the writing world as well :) I’ve always wanted a fellow writer/author BFF. 

Why pick me:

I will work hard for you. I will take your suggestions (so you definitely aren’t wasting your time!), because I’m always determined to make my story the best it can be. I am responsive (so we can keep-up communication) and super respectful. This has been my dream since forever to be published, so I honestly wouldn’t be able to thank you enough. I’ll probably fan-girl over you, A LOT. 

I’m malleable as well, so whatever your critique-style is, I’m game. As harsh as you can give it to me and more. Of course you can also have mercy, if you want ;)

I want us to tear my book apart to rebuild it to the ABSOLUTE BEST that it can be. I don’t give up either, so we’ll be in it together ;)

 I can also be found on Twitter

Thank you so much, and I hope the odds are in my favor! I can’t wait to work with you!

#pitchwars #Pitchwarsmentee #pitchwar #ya books #diversity #lgbtq #pitchwars mentee #ownvoices