#trying to impress someone perchance?

[historicalfictionenthusiast]

Five bros, chillin in a hot tub…

#why is ice posing like that tho #trying to impress someone perchance? #two bros chillin in a hot tub #lgbtq #vines #top gun #icemav #icemav truther #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #homoerotic

[orowyrm]

Your darvo and clem vision is so right and your Brain is so huge and may I perchance trouble you for some headcanons on one or the other or both of em

YOU SENT THIS AT THE BEST POSSIBLE TIME i was just typing up some long ass rambly summary of what i think theyve both got going on since i havent really elaborated in detail on here i dnt think but i drafted it cuz i wasnt sure anyone cared. hang on this is gonna be a long one buckle up

- darvo’s time in the corpus was tumultuous and nerve wracking. he had started off genuinely trying, he really had! but nothing he ever accomplished seemed to be good enough for his father and he started to get bitter and frustrated, so he started screwing things up on purpose.

- as a callback to the first appearance of the concept art that eventually became his design being that of a system boss, his actual “””real””” name was arn etina, and he was originally a proxy engineer before his dad decided to be a cunt and force him into politics because he needed someone to inherit the chairman position.

- another nod to his design being used for the old boss portrait, he actually did some work on the ambulas project wayyy back before glast’s animo system was even considered to have any combat applications, when the proxies were instead piloted remotely by actual engineers. he was one of em, and he worked his ass off - but he didn’t think weaponry was the best use of the technology. he thought ambulas had more potential in search-and-rescue, resource acquisition, and other stuff that involved environments too dangerous to send corpus crews into. while the remotely-piloted ambulas models were definitely impressive, they were outclassed by leaps and bounds by the tenno, who made very short work of any they encountered. thus, the project was technically considered a ‘failure’ and was scrapped against his wishes, despite him being adamant that he could prove it useful if he just had more time. he never got over this. to this day he’s just as furious about what’s become of ambulas as glast is, honestly, though he doesn't let on because his previous identity is a very close-kept secret for several reasons.

- shortly after alad’s first exile from the board, darv was scooted into the freshly-vacated ‘grineer-corpus relations’ position - partially in the hopes that a ‘proper board seat’ would help get him back into line, and partially as retaliation for his perceived “failures” on the ambulas project, and life in general. historically, grineer-corpus relations has been where you end up when you’re on the shit list, as it’s regarded to be an unpleasant job (mostly due to the fact that you’re often in close contact with grineer. yeah. corpus moment)

- despite hating anything and everything politics on principle, he actually doesn’t mind this all that much, and starts to really enjoy it when he realizes that he can use this position to screw with the board’s war profiteering bullshit. on paper, his job is to negotiate and de-escalate potential conflict — most who have held the position just use it to try and instigate in order to serve their own interests. he actually puts in the effort and does his job properly, part out of spite and part because he genuinely doesn’t see the point of wasting time money resources and lives fighting over nothing, and this pisses a LOT of people off.

- there's really no way to sugarcoat it - frohd is an abusive manipulative piece of shit. he takes out all of his frustrations on people who can't fight back - mostly his subordinates, but ESPECIALLY his son. im sparing the detail because i know it can be a trigger for a lot of people (myself included) but he really beats the hell out of the poor guy, and it only gets worse as time goes on and he starts pushing back and trying to stand up for himself. there are a few incidents that leave permanent injuries/scars that he tries his best to cover up to this day

- as if that's not enough, frohd is getting really fed up with this whole groneer-corpus relations position backfiring and making him look bad, so he puts his foot down and starts actively vetoing almost everything darv tries to accomplish in an attempt to intimidate him into backing down. there’s a lot of tension. his negotiations are sabotaged on more than one occasion, sometimes resulting in casualties. to add insult to injury, an attempt is made on his life during some sort of event or something i don’t really remember. he gets shot and the bullet barely grazes his skull. he’s mostly alright but shaken up BAD. he’s convinced that his father put out a hit on him.

- eventually snaps and decides to make a run for it, sneaking out of the medbay wing he was in and stealing the first ship he could get his hands on and just gunning it, not even in any particular direction, just trying to get as far away as possible. the ship is shot down in grineer airspace and he crashes. though no body is ever recovered, it's assumed he couldn't possibly have survived and thus arn etina is legally dead from this point onwards.

clem on the other hand starts off as just... kind of a nobody. runt of his batch, only barely managed to scrape by without being culled and really only made it at all because his superiors in the barracks he was stationed to happened to have a bit of a soft spot for the new guys and wanted to give him a chance. while he's more than capable, he's mostly nonverbal which makes it a bit hard to communicate with him , as well as a bit unpredictable - he's suspected to be defective because he keeps going off and doing his own thing because it 'makes more sense'. but rather than being put down they manage to have him redirected off to an unarmed base somewhere on uhh. god, it's been so long i forget where on the star chart i had him stationed. whatever. irrelevant. point is, this place pretty much existed solely to acclimate freshly de-tubed grineer and get them trained up with as many of the basics as possible before shipping them off to their actual stations. he likes it there! it's bittersweet, because almost everyone he meets isn't there for very long before leaving and they never come back, but because the structure is designated non-combat, they're not subject to as strict regulations and he and the rest of the "security detail" he's been assigned to can kinda just chill in between routine patrols and occasionally checking on things that fall out of orbit in the general facility.

at one point, there's some looming conflict with a corpus settlement on a nearby moon who insist theyre too close for comfort and risk retaliation if they dont relocate their base - but clem's superiors aren't too worried. they've dealt with the corpus before - this has been an ongoing problem ever since they set up a mining operation on that moon, but the corpus negotiator this time around is a decent guy and seems to think this is just as ridiculous as they do, so they're sure he'll take their side again and help get this resolved. except, they get to the meeting point and he's not there. they're informed that the previous head of grineer-corpus relations has "resigned, effective immediately" and that as a result, any offers he's made them are no longer valid and they're essentially at square one. there's a lot of bullshit back-and-forth, but everyone on the grineer side of things is PISSED that the corpus negotiator seemingly flaked out on them for no reason, while the corpus are now refusing to budge where they're at. they don't even have a proper interpreter, and they're getting nowhere.

TLDR negotiations fail and their base is now under threat of attack. despite being non-combat and having almost no weapons, they're ordered to fight back rather than retreat, despite insistence that the tube-fresh in the base won't stand a chance, half of them barely know how to handle a gun, and most of the armed security are there because they've got injuries or cloning defects that make them ineligible for combat deployment anyway - this, of course, includes clem. he's determined to stick around to fight anyway, but one of the higher-ups, one of the guys who managed to put in a good word for him and get him off the kill list, he pulls him aside and tells him to get the fuck out and take as many of the new guys as he can with him. he's a little confused, as that would be directly disobeying the queens' orders for him to stay put, but he trusts this guy and does as he's told.

clem and the handful of new recruits he manage to squirrel out of harm's way are the only survivors. not long after they get out, corpus craft swoop in and basically bomb the place out. he tries to go back in for his brothers, but by the time he makes it in, there's nothing left but rubble and bodies.

the grineer cut their losses. the handful of survivors are gathered up and shipped off to various other barracks in that corner of the system - an attack like this can't possibly go unpunished, and they need all the boots on the ground they can get. clem is shuffled around to another security detail elsewhere, though it's made fairly clear that this is his last chance to 'make himself useful', and if he goes against orders even once he's going right back into the vats with the other rejects. by this point, he honestly doesn't even care. he's disillusioned with the empire and to be frank, the only thing that motivates him to keep moving at all is thinking about the fact that the only reason that everything came crashing down around him was that one corpus bastard who backed out of negotiations at the last second. that's the only reason he's bothering to fight - he doesnt care about the queens anymore, he can't bring himself to become attached to anyone else at this new barracks, not after what just happened -- he just wants to give the corpus hell.

this is where we start to get into around the part that one little bit of writing starts off -- hes bitter and jaded and out for blood, and when they get word that a corpus ship's come down not too far out and they're sending a detail out to secure the wreck, he jumps on it-- but when he does finally find himself face-to-face with the pilot, for whatever reason, he can't fucking pull the trigger. there's something inside him that refuses to hate the poor bastard, stumbling around practically bleeding out and all but begging to be put out of his misery before he's recaptured. so, against his better judgement, he helps him. grabs him and runs, tries to wrap him up as best he can with whatever he can find. doesn't even know why he's doing this, but it just feels like the right thing to do. there's no going back now, anyway - no way in hell he's not getting executed if he shows his face again. they're in this together now, whether they like it or not.

it takes them a while to get their bearings and come up with a way to get off planet - they'd both heard that defectors would retreat to the tenno relays, the only real neutral zones out there, but they've both seen their fair share of tenno and aren't entirely thrilled to be at their mercy if they can help it. it's sort of a begrudging allyship at first - though its helped by the fact that theyve got a lot in common. at some point, theyre going over their sob stories, and neither of them really make the connection as to how closely connected they really are - clem never had a chance to meet that old negotiator, and thus would never recognize him as the man right in front of him. darv was barely conscious with a nasty head injury when their meeting was meant to happen, and someone else was assigned to the job to cover for him. he was pissed, of course, when he finally came to and found out what a mess they'd made of it while he was out of commission, but when the attempts on his life didn't stop he decided he had to choose his battles and eventually dropped it altogether, as it wasn't a hill he was ready to die on just yet.

when they do finally get the hell out of there, there's a moment where they're both sort of expected to part ways, yknow, go off to their respective factions' syndicates and settle in, but darv cannot fucking STAND the perrin sequence, he really cant. not only does he think theyre boring killjoys, but he's reached a point where being around that much corpus tech genuinely makes him anxious as fuck, it's too close to home and he doesn't like it one bit. clem fits right in with the steel meridian, they welcome him with open arms and he really does feel as close to home as he could get, but there's just something missing and he can't put a finger on it. he keeps wondering about that corpus weirdo, what he ended up doing and if he's still around or moved to a different relay. eventually, neither of them can take it much longer and both try to seek eachother out, and they're basically inseparable from that point on.

honestly, i personally feel like darv would be a lot more inclined to align with the meridian of any syndicate - i think it would be funny if he was just There. no corpus allowed, but we'll make an exception for this guy because clem really likes him and we just can't say no to clem. i guess he's alright. yeah okay he's technically an agent, but -- no yeah he covered up some of his old corpus tattoos with the insignia, pretty cool huh? yeah i dunno where clem found this guy but hes a weird one. hes funny though like obviously hes kind of stupid i mean hes corpus but we like him anyway. i guess he and glast have beef, i dunno why but he's not allowed on perrin property anymore so cressa just decided to let him chill here because it makes them really fucking mad and she loves it. i guess he's a decent shot too but like that's not too impressive, it's more relevant to us that he still can't fucking handle grineer alcohol after who knows how many years hanging around here and he always coughs and splutters like a little bitch every time and its fucking hilarious. oh hes a wanted criminal??? siiiiick. anyway were gonna go set shit on fire to see what explodes -- yeah of course hes gonna be there. what did he do before defecting? i dunno man he used to be an engineer or whatever i think, he doesnt talk about it much, but he can hotwire a dargyn in about thirty seconds and he helped us build a claymore roomba the other day for a prank so he's cool in my book bro

i havent eaten all day so i need to stop typing now but i hope you understand my vision. its so important to me and i care them so much thankyou change da world my final message goodbye

#warframe #darvo #clem #SORRY ABOUT ME. THIS IS A LOT.

[laceandsilkhandkerchiefs]

Face, stature and day for Kit, perchance, please?

Thanks so much for the ask! I do love talking about my 18th century boy (what can I say, I have a bit of a type). And since these questions are mostly about his appearance, I'm also going to include the reference image I use for him at the bottom of this. It's not 100% perfect, but it's a pretty good idea of what he looks like in case anyone struggles to visualize with just words.

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Kit's face is relatively angular, especially his nose and cheekbones. His hair is a medium brown color- it has lighter shades in the spring and summer months but gets quite dark in the winter. He's a bit too serious and focused to smile often when he's teaching, but in quieter moments (and especially when he's around Eleanor 👀) he has a very gentle and easy smile. His eyes are also probably one of the first things someone would notice about him- they aren't particularly remarkable in color (brown) but they're very sharp and attentive to whatever is going on around Kit or whoever is speaking to him.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Kit is above average height, but not ridiculously tall. He's about 5 feet, 10 inches or so. He's slim but gives the impression of a bit of muscularity at the same time (don't ask me how that works XD), and while he isn't particularly athletic he also doesn't embarrass himself if he ever needs to ride a horse. He's fastidious about appearing neat and tidy in his appearance, so while his clothing certainly isn't flashy it is tailored to him and shows off his figure well.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

As I mentioned before, his clothing isn't flashy at all. He wears almost the same thing every day- a plain white shirt, a waistcoat (usually brown or gray), brown or gray breeches, and a brown coat. He has a nicer suit for special occasions, but even that is still very simple as he can't afford the kind of clothing a "gentleman" would wear. His hair is quite long, even by 18th century standards, but he keeps it tied back neatly and he doesn't usually powder it (as an aside, hair pomade and powder makes him sneeze). His clothing is mostly due to his lack of money, but even if he had more he'd probably still air on the side of function over fancy most days.

Thanks again! I'm still open to answering these if anyone wants to ask anything else. (And the reference image for Kit is under the cut because this got long XD.)

#asked and answered #snz ocs #kit #my writing #thedevillionaire

[quirofiliac]

anonymous asked: What would you consider to be one of the most challenging aspects when it comes to writing your muse?

anonymous ​／ unprompted ／ always accepting.

hewwo anon!! i’m trying to remember what i said previously because i think i’ve talked about this before via an ooc post or something of the like! it’d be kind of sort of a bummer of me (and for u, mwah.) if i just repeated the same thing :~)

i also apologize because i might get a little wordy andor unfairly critical of Certain Things i noticed. we’ll just say it’s because i’m old and bitter ADKFKMGKMF

if i can recall correctly....... i can’t seem to remember, ironically, talking about The Hand Thing™️ which is, in another world, honestly quite impressive LMAO but tbh, it’s under that whole pretense of, like, writing a serial killer with his own, individual modus operandi and the like. i struggle, sometimes, with the outside perception people have in regards to him-- they understand and recognize that he kills, at least partially, for sake of claiming a person’s (usually a woman’s because, yeehaw weird complexes about women let’s gooOOOO!!!) hands but, also, completely sideline the potential that he’s, subconsciously maybe, using the hands as an excuse to kill?

i guess what i’m trying to say is that, yeah kira’s a murderer that also likes hands but he’s also... not... just that? yeah, basically that.

because it’s this whole thing, again, of boiling a character down to their bare essentials and yet, somehow, still managing to even miss that? somehow?? it’s weird because, obviously, kira’s not the only character this happens to. genuinely, it happens to just about every single fictional character you see under the sun, which is... y’know. annoying. FKGKMFGKFJGN because it, honestly, makes whoever is writing that character out of a genuine love (no matter how you define “love” as.) andor intrigue for that particular muse’s experience all the more harrowing and unenjoyable.

for me, i’ve noticed that whenever this sort of thing happens, a lot of the times the person it’s happening to feels like... almost caged in? like they have no choice but to lean into this exaggerated idea about their muse in order to actually receive any sort of feedback. and then it goes into this whole other thing of, “well, i feel like i’ve lost sight of why i actually wanted to write this character and--” blahblahblah. it’s just kind of uncomfortable to see someone get bombarded by That One Thing™️ their character is known for when, by perchance, they want to explore other aspects too-- at least, in my experience, anyway.

i don’t mind writing out kira’s cheirophilia, genuinely! it’s part of why i write the guy (because i love writing genuine freaks and weirdos and creeps and all of that smooth jazz.) but it’s also not the only reason i wanna write him. i love character types like kira because they’re always so fascinating, in my opinion, because it’s this mixture of black comedy (his attempts at living a normal life even though, dude, you’re a serial killer.) and sheer, utter horror (he worms himself into society almost perfectly and can claim victims so easily, so effortlessly.) that really gets me good. if i were to be frank, that is sincerely one of my favorite aesthetics, so i’d like to be able to explore that admiration through writing and the like!

there’d be no point, imho, for me to write him if all i wanted to do was write him lusting over people’s hands nonstop with zero substance otherwise. the idea of that lowkey bores me and, in a way, also burns me out. it also doesn’t help that a handful of people have tried using his cheirophilia as a means of forceshipping with me like, uhhh..... hello? hi, yes, i’m the writer aka a person with sentience and boundaries and feelings that totally doesn’t feel weirded out that you’re only using my muse for land development a ship. like, damn dude, at least take me out to dinner first or something like,, gosh LMAODKMGMKFKM

so, maybe, this also applies itself in the sense that i want to be able to incorporate his cheirophilia while also not just making that his sole character trait? i want to explore his anxiety, his upbringing, his opinions (no matter how invalid some of them are. </3), his dynamics with others, and... well, his overall duality in regards to society as a whole. i like the idea of a guy that seems to be a downright snooze fest (and maybe, also, a goddamned nightmare because of it.) to interact with that, as you dig deeper and deeper, it’s gradually revealed that, oh boy, uh... haha!

he has this weird fascination with hands, and it’s mostly women’s hands, too. a little weird but, hey. don’t knock it til you try it or whatever. as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone then it’s okay-- oh, wait, it actually does hurt people? oh, and you’re also saying that he hurts people because of it? oh. ... oh, wow. huh! well, that’s some rather unfortunate information!

and then you just keep going and going, falling down this rabbit hole of “oh my good god, he’s a freak and not in the good way” which is just so... ngl, to me it’s genuinely fucking hilarious yet, also, incredibly unsettling. it’s that whole “hiding in plain sight” trope that, honestly, can be so cliché yet... when done well? mwah. chef’s fuckin’ kiss right there.

that kind of stuff is fun for me to write. i love writing and i love role-playing-- it’s just an awesome way, hand to god, to bond with people who share the same passion. i love being able to explore those sorts of things (and more.) with people that are also curious about the exploration. i adore the journey and i loooove seeing what other people can come up with. it doesn’t help that i’m naturally a nosy person but, man, y’all can come up with such good shit. deadass. i adore it AKKMFFMKKMDKMD bc ugh 😩 ur minds...................

but, it’s also just kind of like... ough when i’m interacting with someone and i happen to bring up that character’s Very Specific Quirk and im just kinda grimacing to myself because i do not want it to be taken at such face value. keep in mind, this has heavy determinant in vibes and, obviously, intent from the other side and i’ve come to terms with the fact that i’ll just drop those threads like a hot potato if i’m noticing anything that seems generally... y’know, off andor uncomfortable. also i’m genuinely begging people to stop trying to have kira thirst over hands that belong to minors. it’s weird. i hate it. don’t do that. thank yew.

so uhhhhhh, i’m gonna have to say that, yeah, it’s more-so trying to establish that i’m not trying to erase One Of The Core Characteristics of kira but, also, i don’t want that to be all that he’s known for! and, at that point, all i can kinda hope for is that i’m not doing that. because i’d lowkey hate to live enough to become the villain (derogatory.) and so on, so forth... blahblahblah another nolanverse quote here because i love aging myself and making everyone around me realize that i’m nearing my 30s at light fuckin speed LMFAO

BUT-- thank u for the question!! i appreciate these sorts of questions (and asks in general!) because they always get Ye Olde Creative Juices flowin’ <3 i hope u find a... HMMMM... handful of fifty dollar bills on the ground on ur next walk around the neighborhood!! thank u again mwah 💖💖💖

#anonymous #thank u again anon!! <3 i love u and hope u have a Very Good Day. #＊ 💥 返事：answered. #＊ 💥 摘発：out of character.

[carolinemillerbooks]

New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/perchance-to-dream-14/

Perchance To Dream 14

A poet I know sent me her latest verse.  The subject was homelessness.  I replied to her with a compliment and a link to one of my blogs on the topic. Days later, she sent me four lines that I thought were lovely. About to send her a second compliment, I paused.  A distant memory flickered. The lines were familiar.  Had I remarked on them before?  Moments later, I recognized the words were mine. The poet had honored me with a quote from my blog. Happily, my recollection prevented me from committing the hubris of praising my work. Information is crucial if we are to make wise decisions.  Recognizing that old essay of mine kept me from appearing prideful.  Yet, the pitfalls of human error are everywhere. For a writer, they are as plentiful as lint. Who to trust for marketing advice is an example. The consensus among my peers is to avoid book promoters altogether.  Still, a harried author is tempted to seek help.  Certainly, ads from marketers make lavish promises.  But can they deliver? Through word-of-mouth, I’ve garnered a few names of legitimate companies. So far, all the recommendations have come with a disclaimer. “I’ve never used the service, myself.” That being the case, how do I separate the wheat from the chaff? Baffled, I turned to someone who exposes scams of a literary nature. I was interested in an agency that glittered with promise.  Her response arrived within a few days. I share them below in the hope they will benefit others.       I haven’t gotten any complaints about this service. But I’m skeptical of its claims (as I am of most non-personalized marketing services). Most of its promotions are dependent on its following, and without data about that–not just numbers, but whether these are actual subscribers or emails harvested from the internet–you have no way to know what kind of audience it has and whether any of its promos might be effective. For instance, its Facebook group has 14.7K members, which sounds impressive, but if you look at the posts, it’s mostly authors promoting their own books in posts with low to zero engagement. Social media advertising is a crap shoot, even for people with large followings of their own. If you do decide to give this a try, start small with a low-cost service and see what happens. It advertises a Twitter ad service and claims over 700,000 followers, but I can’t find that it has a Twitter account. There’s a #[name deleted] hashtag, but that’s not the same thing. Given her response, I tried sleuthing on m;y own. The company was new, yet I was able to google comments from customers who’d used the service. Results were mixed. The number of thumbs up or down was equal– not enough information for me to risk parting with cash. I decided to scratch them from my list.      Will I try another service?  Knowing that scammers abound, I’ve decided to self-market. Currently, I’m producing a timeline for book promotion tasks.  So far the work seems doable.  Already, I’ve garnered a podcast interview for next September, and a spotlight date in October with an established blogger. Two glowing endorsements have arrived from people who received advanced copies of the book. One of them left kind remarks on my website, as well.   That comment sparked an interest.  Soon after, I received an inquiry on where to buy the book. I hated to disappoint the reader as the memoir won’t be in print until November 2023. I’d piqued her curiosity too early.  Doubtlessly, that is a marketing error. Even so, it’s comforting to think my first customer is waiting in the wings.

#a timeline for bookmarketing #advice on book market from an expert #are book promoters worth the price? #book marketing #Geting Lost to Find Home #marketing scammers #timing book promotions

[sweetestlamb]

Scent of A Woman

Summary: The Alpha/Omega kanthony story that nobody asked for.

Author's note: Bridgerton broke me and this couple owns me, honestly I tried really hard to sound Bridgerton-y but towards the end I got lazy and tired lol so please ignore my horrible attempts at trying to sound like the show. I just got this idea after all the references to Kate smelling amazing and I couldn't let it go.

To say it's overwhelming to be surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces and their barely concealed whispers would be a mere understatement of grand proportions. Kate can feel their judgmental eyes on her skin, she tightens her grip on her sister's arm tugging her along on their prolonged stroll around the promenade.

Her steps are short and measured, not too rapid whilst not too languid- a stride she taught Edwina with thick novels balanced on her small head a mere three and ten, knowing such behaviors would be expected from her sister. She knew in her heart that they were much more than their orientation but, it was still preferred that Omegas were docile and gentile in mannerisms. And Edwina had all the showing of an Omega.

When Edwina finally presented as an Omega she and Mary were unprovoked as it was expected from the way her sister would obediently follow and listen, she would make an Alpha exceptionally happy one day. Kate herself was a beta, or so it was assumed when she neither went into a heat or a rut when she became of age. The doctors Mary contacted cited the deep grief of losing her father as a factor into her body's refusal to act but when the next year came and passed it was accepted that Kate was nothing special, just another beta added to the ton.

Ergo, this trip was solely for Bon. Her sweet and gorgeous little sister, who was finally a woman and as such needed to be wed before her next heat. She would need an alpha to suit the heat that would surge through her blood, omegas were dependent on their alphas and Kate would not give her precious sister to anyone undeserving of her devotion. Once an Omega was bonded, they could not love another it was a gift and a curse, moreso the latter in her eyes. But such was Edwina's fate thus she would work hard this season to find her sister the best match. Someone who would love her and care for her, someone kind and gentle who she could trust with her sister.

"Ah finally a lot worth meeting! Come Sharmas I shall make introductions to the Bridgertons. They are a family brimming with Alphas perchance you will find your match there Miss Edwina." Lady Danbury stage whispered standing on the other side of her sister, grasping Edwina and redirecting them the clicks of her walking stick loud in the idyllic scenery.

Kate allowed herself to be tugged along as well, glancing off to the side sending a silent prayer that this family would be courteous and not look at them like something vile they had mistakenly stepped in. The Cowpers had left a rancid taste in her mouth just moments ago and she feared her temper could not survive another mishap.

"Lady Bridgerton! It is splendid to see you, I see the entire family is attending this stroll. Good day to you all, please make the acquaintance of the Sharma family I am sponsoring them this season!"

She curtsies, the movement instinctive at this point. Edwina does the same beside her and she can hear Mary introducing herself from her position behind them, the path had not been wide enough to accommodate them all.

Mary introduces her and Edwina as well and her sister is a portrait of a perfect omega, deferring her gaze to the ground just as Kate as schooled her and releasing just enough of scent as to be polite, the air is suddenly filled with sweet vanilla and warmed sugar and she sees the two males in attendance straighten in the wake of the aromatic release. Only one seems to remain unaffected, except an arch of his brow. Everything about him practically screams Alpha she's near certain, so his reaction must be based on his control. She's almost impressed most others of his orientation would be peacocking and asserting themselves in light of a sweet and available Omega being in their presence.

"Oh! Lady Danbury we are pleased to make their acquaintance, we look forward to seeing you all. You must join us for tea!"

The woman, Lady Bridgerton is lovely; smiling at them in a fashion that exudes honesty. Her heart aches for the woman as her eye catches the wrinkled mark on her neck, the sign of an Omega's greatest lost- the death of their true mate. They are said to be exceeding rare and had she not witnessed it between her appa and Mary she wouldn't have believed it to be anything more than fairytales recited to impressionable young maidens.

Yet, here is another Omega who was involved in a true mate match.

She looks calmly at the remaining members of the family, trusting Mary and Lady Danbury to carry the rest of the conversation as they've been doing expertly. She glances at the large bunch- two small children who appear very close in age, a young lady squirming in her dress who sends her an exasperated look she has to stifle her commiserating chuckle, then finally she raises her gaze to the Alphas. Their resemblance is uncanny, all tall and broad. The first one she glances at stares back looking amusedly before shooting her a playful wink, the edge of her lip lifts lightly before her gaze continues on, the next brother has a jovial grin on his handsome face tilting an imaginary hat in her direction. This time she almost bursts out with laughter, but she barely contains her mirth.

Then finally as if pulled by an invisible magnet her gaze is tugged to the sole brother who remained steadfast after Edwina's subtle reveal. To her utmost shock his eyes are already on her, penetrating deep into her skin with his gaze so sharp she finds herself looking away first- a rarity for her. As she is a Beta such propriety as avoiding an Alpha's gaze is not pertinent for her to follow but there's something about him that makes it difficult for her to maintain eye contact.

"Wouldn't it Kate?" Edwina chirps beside her beatific wide grin on her face.

She's at a complete loss. She had been idlely following the conversation until him, once their gazes met her head was filled with buzzing too loudly for words to penetrate her ears. She can feel all eyes on her, and each second her nerves feel more and more heightened until she snaps.

"Yes, of course!"

All of the older ladies look satisfied now clustering together and leaving them to their devices. She capitalizes on this small moment of reprieve whispering loud enough for only her sister's ears.

"What did I just agree to?"

Edwina looks back at the with wide eyes, before responding at the same volume.

"Kate were you not listening? The Bridgertons kindly invited us to a small soiree tonight, it's our first invitation of the season and by such an affluent family. I also think all three brothers are Alphas, what good luck! Maybe one of them will be my match no?"

She swallows hard. Nodding in supplication once again allowing herself to be guided. Making sure to keep her eyes locked to the ground this time, there's no true reason she just finds the pathway to be most interesting. That is all.

Anthony is not looking for an Omega. He only needs a viscountess, preferably a Beta or another Alpha. Although female Alphas are few and far in between, Lady Danbury being one of the only ones that he knows. The main reason is because Omegas are too.... dependent, clingy even and simpering. He watched his mother's world fade to darkeness the day his father died, saw the light leave her eyes in perfect harmony with his father's last breath. He did not need anything of the sort. Alphas could only bond with Omegas, so he avoided them like the plague. He never wanted to leave behind half a person like his father had, an agreeable marriage was enough for him. This was his personal motto since the role of viscount was prematurely thrusted on his shoulders, he would never fall in love.

He knows what his mother is attempting to scheme, saw the glow in her skin as the Sharma sisters were introduced. Edwina was the image of a satisfactory Omega, all bowed head and sweet scent meant to lure and attract her future mate. The scent was pleasant but it did not stir anything within him, she was beautiful but so young he was almost reminded of Daphne and that was enough for him not to go along with any of his mother's plotting.

He already had a checklist of suitable matches for himself. Omegas were not on that list.

But it's difficult to keep his eyes off the Sharma sister. Eyes stalking her every movement as soon as she enters the room. She was quite a vision in deep green, the bodice of her dress tight enough to press her decolletage distractedly high in the air. Her dark hair coiled into a perfect coiffure up-do that leaves her neck bare, no mating mark in his line of sight. He almost sighs in relief, he had already assumed that she was not an Omega, she seemed nothing like her demure sister- he recalls those beguiling huge brown orbs directly gazing into his own eyes.

An Omega could never dare to act quite so bold.

Immediately at their arrival, suitors surround them from all angles but to his astonishment Miss Edwina is the only sister they set their sights on, her dance card filled to the brim in mere seconds- he observes as she bows are head in a perfect show of coyness and humility. An Omega must never show too much hubris. Miss Kate seems nonplussed by the interest shown in her sister, watching over the proceedings as if this is commonplace to her. Her face a blank slate as she glares at each man who requests her sister's hand, it doesn't go unnoticed how Miss Edwina subtlety looks to her sister before accepting or declining a dance.

He's reminded of his own relationship with his siblings, although Colin and Benedict are both Alphas as well he's the elder Alpha and a dominant, with a pointed look and a tilt of the head he can get either one to obey his commands. Not that he takes advantage of this privilege, he only wants the best for each member of his family and would sacrifice anything to make it so.

For some odd reason he finds himself drawing closer to the ever popular Sharma sisters, their mother residing beside them but not close enough to deter suitors.

He bows his head in greeting and all three ladies curtsy in reply, Miss Edwina bowing the lowest whilst Kate is already ascending from her fairly short descent. Once again her eyes are not locked on the floor as is polite with an Alpha of his status, but he finds that her refusal to balk to social norms does not offend him rather he's intrigued by this enigma of a woman.

"Lord Bridgerton, you honor us so with your presence, please thank Lady Bridgerton again for her invitation this party is quite exquisite." Even Lady Mary looks past him, never making direct contact with his eyes.

"I shall carry the message once I am in her company. She will be overjoyed to know you are all in attendance." His gaze never leaves that of Kate, he watches in amusement as Lady Mary attempts to conspicuously get her to lower her gaze; tugging gently at the waist of her dress. Kate releases a huff of air finally looking down but he can almost feel the defiance wafting off her very being.

"Miss Sharma, could I interest you in a dance?"

Kate speaks first. Eyes still lowered but nothing demure about her even now.

"My sister's dance card is all but filled my Lord. She was but taking a minute pause before her next par-"

He interrupts her, reaching out to finger the card hanging from her own wrist. Nary a name on there yet and with a grand flourish he reaches into his breast pocket to retrieve his quill pen, he can feel when her eyes drift back up and watch as he scribes his own name onto her card: Anthony Bridgerton.

"Shall we Miss Sharma?" He presents his hand, bowing slightly at the waist while looking into those impossibly large eyes, he's certain he has never laid eyes on orbs quite so bewitching. She's lovely there's no way around that.

She seems to be at a loss for words, gaping at his name on her card and he has to shake the mental image of her mouth open for far more nefarious purposes. Such imaginings are unbecoming of a gentleman.

"She would love to!"

This time, Miss Edwina is the one to answer for her sister none too gently shoving her into him. Kate all but stumbles into his arms, he steadies her with an gentle grip high on her waist- she's quite tall for a lady only inches separating them in height. It would make certain things fairly simple to accomplish.

Readjusting his hands on her body, he offers the crook of his elbow leading them both onto the dance floor much to the bewilderment of everyone in attendance, it is not common for him join in on the festivities so he knows that his willingness tonight will not go unnoticed.

"You are hardly the first to try to curry my favor to get closer to my sister. This game becomes old fast, it would do you better to court my sister directly. Treat her well and I will have no reason to intervene in your courtship."

The words are spoken almost if she's reciting poetry from a book.

"I am offended you would compare me to those unimaginative cads. Every action that I take is intentional, if I desired to dance with your sister I could easily take the place of any man here." He returns her hard stare, their bodies spinning in perfect synchrony despite the fire between their gazes.

She scoffs loudly. He's grateful for Eloise in that moment, because of her he's witnessed such unladylike behavior before and this does not hinder his poise.

"My Lord may I speak candidly?"

He nods bemusedly and eager to hear her thoughts.

"You think far too highly of yourself."

This time he cannot contain his humor, chuckling lightly at the slight and then further at the unfiltered shock on her face.

"Perhaps our meeting was predestined then, I who think too highly of myself and you who does not think highly enough of herself. We are a pair indeed, there is much we can teach each other."

Before she can argue against his statement, the music comes to a stop and he releases her despite his body growing accustom to having her near after only one dance. He brings her gloved hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the silk and lace. She's oddly still in his arms and it piques his attention enough for him to raise his eyes, he almost thinks it a trick at first blinking to see if that will undo the sight. But her cheeks are still flushed, her deep bronze skin slightly pinked in a most distracting manner.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, drawn out so long that voices begin to murmur around them as they are the only two remaining on the dance floor. But still they are suspended in time, gazing long and hard at each other. Then she licks her lips in a move that denotes nerves and he finds himself mirroring the motion, and suddenly his senses are awash in an intoxicating odor of....lilies. Before he can fully inhale the sweet floral aroma, she snatches her hand away scurrying from him like a wild animal that's been cornered.

He watches her escape with a predatory stare. Bringing his hand to his nostril to savor her scent, one whiff is enough to make his head spin.

Lilies.

Her body jostles as she presses her shins deeper into the thick muscles of her horse's hind, the wind whipping through her hair as she skillfully steers her horse-Nimbus, through the foliage of thicket of trees. The sounds of his gallops are still not enough to drown out the clops of her own heartbeat, and she almost screams in frustration.

Sleep eluding her all night until she could remain in her chambers no longer and took to the stables, opting instead for an early morning ride. The sun is barely peeking over the horizon and she knows that she must return soon before anyone notices her absence, Mary will surely scold her for leaving unchaperoned but she needed a moment to clear her head, empty her mind of him.

Lord Bridgerton.

Their dance had thrown her off kilter to say the least.

She had not been lying when she stated that several men before him had feigned interest in her in a ruse to get closer to her sister. And she had been certain that was what he was planning, he was an Alpha and all Alphas desired an Omega to control and protect. She knew that her sister would make any man who was lucky enough to receive her favor very happy, personally she despised how Omegas were regarded in the world but there wasn't much she could do about it. Except find a mate who would cherish her sister and not use her orientation as a weapon against her.

She didn't know enough about Lord Bridgerton to know if he was such a man but true to his word his attention remained on her the entirety of their dance. His eyes never strayed to Edwina and she pondered his true intentions, a man like him had no business with a woman like her.

It wasn't like he had arrogantly declared, she did not think lowly of herself. She merely understood her role. She was not a diamond like her sister and she had no need to be, she was her sister's keeper and had been since they were both young. That was her role, she had no time for courtships or fanciful thoughts, her head needed to be tightly screwed on at all times.

But, he was causing her to swivel. If only a bit.

The way he looked at her made her skin burn, she recalled her the way her cheeks ached just last night as he kissed her hand and gazed up at her.

He was handsome, she wasn't foolish enough to deny that. For a woman of her stature it wasn't often that a man could make her feel delicate in their hold, and it wasn't only due to his height but the weight of his body- those barely hidden muscles and his aura. Unlike most alphas she had encountered he did not wear his scent like a cloak, rather he seemed confident in his standing enough to suppress his Alpha scent. But everything about him signaled Alpha nonetheless, it was in his walk, the way he held his shoulders and in the bass of his voice.

He muddled her thoughts and she could not afford any distractions this season, her focus needed to be finding someone suitable for her sister. Not Anthony Bridgerton.

Lord Bridgerton.

Panting she tugs at Nimbus' reins halting his gallop into a light trot before stopping him at together. Her long braid has been completely undone by the vigor of her ride and the unforgiving force of the wind. Swinging her leg over she easily dismounts, running a hand through her thick unruly curls hissing as her fingers become tangled in the mess.

"I did not expect to come upon a damsel in distress."

She closes her eyes praying this is another one of her unwelcome dreams, he had plagued her mind all night.

"Attempting to wish me away? I am afraid I am not so easily ridden of."

She turns to him with a sneer and is greeted by a lazy grin.

"I am no damsel nor am I in distress. You can be on your way Lord, I am quite fine."

Ignoring her he also dismounts his much larger horse, taking long strides until they are face to face.

"Are you unchaperoned?" He glances around, looking and finding no other.

"I required alone time to clear my mind. Furthermore, I am perfectly safe. I can care for myself."

If she were Edwina this would be astronomically dangerous, but she is not an Omega nor coveted by any so her safety is almost guaranteed.

But to say such a thing out loud would only affirm his erroneous claims about her self esteem- or lack there of. She is merely realistic and grounded in her beliefs.

"I have no doubts of your resourcefulness but as a gentleman I shan't leave you unchaperoned. Allow me to escort you home."

She nearly huffs in annoyance, he was the one she had been attempting to escape to begin with having him escort her would only heighten her problems.

"That is unnecessary. I will take my leave now, I am certain a viscount must have more important matters to attend to. Please attend to them."

Remembering her manners she curtsies before spinning around and all but running to her horse.

"Wait."

It's but a whisper, carried by the morning wind whipping around them.

But she finds herself unable to move, foot caught midair and no matter how she fights her limps will not obey. Terror races through her blood as he draws closer, until she feels a strong grip on her wrist and she's unceremoniously spun back around.

Lord Bridgerton to his credit seems just as perplexed as she is, his jaw clenching as he stares into her eyes.

"Miss Sharma, you look like you've seen a ghost. What ails you so?"

He looks righteously affronted tugging her closer until her head is barely touching his neck. Then sandalwood and the scent of clean linen surround her in a symphony of aromas and without her permission her nostrils inhale deeply, until the scent permeates her lungs and it is all she can smell. Her once thundering heartbeats start to calm and all the anxiety and tension previously held in her body fades away as if vapors exiting her body.

"Breathe, there. Nothing will harm you, I shan't allow it."

She doesn't know what is occurring. This feels oddly familiar. Like she's witnessed this very scene before.

It takes all of her willpower but she drags herself away from the firm hold that he has on her. His eyes are glazed over, looking at her but not seeing her at the same time. He's following his instincts she can tell, her distress activated something in him.

"Goodbye Lord Bridgerton."

She races away before he can stop her. Never before feeling so startled in her life.

Then it comes back to her, all in a sudden.

Her father cradling Mary in his arms, his calming Alpha scent soothing her shaking body. She had only peeked in to see them because of a nightmare of her own, shocked to find her appa comforting the woman she had grown to love as a mother. She had left silently, crawling under her sheets futilely trying to ignore the crash of thunder and slosh of rain against her window pane.

She races back to the Danbury house, mind more jumbled than it was when she first left.

He knows of his natural ability to soothe distressed Omegas, is still haunted by the tremors that wrecked his mother's emaciated body as she mourned the loss of her true mate, his father. He was the only one old enough to comfort her, Colin and Benedict not yet presented. For as long as he can remember the instinct never surfaced unless a member of his family needed him, until her.

It was nothing like comforting his mother, the urge to defend was almost visceral he could have upended countries for her if it was what she required.

It makes no sense, his body's reaction to Kate's apparent unease. She is no Omega, and betas are unable to transmit distress waves yet he could palpably feel her crying to him it was weak no more than a murmur but his body heard it regardless. And reacted, sending his own waves in return and then he felt her melting into him, in a way that shouldn't be possible for a beta.

It's clear that she's avoiding him and instead of taking offense, it applauds her good sense. This was the best course of action, lest they have any more illogical circumstances. He cannot deny that she intrigues him but he has no time to explore someone who has the power to unhinge all his well laid plans. Spontaneity is out of the question, his viscountess must be without surprises.

So as dutifully planned before the arrival of one Kate Sharma he attends his interviews, screening all the eligible women in the ton who could be his viscountess. Excluding the lot that are Omegas much to the chagrin of his mother.

"Does my orientation disgust you so son?"

Guilt, always with the guilt first. Only his impeccable manners deter him from rolling his eyes.

"I have my preference mother. I have always been upfront about that. I do not want a mate just an amicable partnership."

She sighs dispassionately, staring at him with a gaze flooded with sadness.

"Your father never saw our love as a weakness, nor I. Our love made him stronger."

The mention of his father nudges an old festering wound and he lashes out.

"And look how advantageous that was for you! You contemplated death after he passed, I will never allow myself to be like that. Never."

He hates making his mother cry more than anything in the universe, it's a dagger to his chest each time.

He brings his bad disposition with him to the interviews, snapping at the women before they can finish their sentences. Although he's invited all betas and Alphas- the few in the ton, they are all too frightened to meet his gaze and it vexes him to his bones.

"Look at me!"

"I'm sorry my Lord!"

Lady... something or another pleads still unable to bring her gaze from the ground and in the end he leaves canceling the rest of the interviews for the day. Exhausted and embarrassed at his unseemly behavior, he is not an Alpha who treats women like such. He's ashamed of himself. Truly.

He's walking aimlessly when he feels that pull, his skin tingling. There's an Omega in trouble in the vicinity, it's not something he does often feeling too much like a damn bloodhound but he starts to sniff the air until he's caught the scent and he follows the trail until he sees a familiar head of dark curls.

There's a large Alpha towering over the lady, much too close and the glint in his eyes shows that he's aware that his proximity is improper but he simply does not care. Without a second thought he stomps over, roughly shouldering himself in between them much to the audible relief of Miss Edwina.

"Lord Mooney." He blocks Edwina from the unscrupulous gaze, staring at the other Alpha with a hard humorless smile.

"Bridgerton. I was merely making myself acquainted with the newest Omega in town. I meant no harm if she belongs to you. There was no mark."

There are those who view Omegas as property or mere ends to a means, he's been in the company of them and not done enough to silence them but now standing there with Miss Edwina cowering behind him, he realizes the err of his ways. No one should be treated as such regardless of their orientation.

"She belongs to no one. She is not an object to own, you would do well to keep such antiquated repulsive comments to yourself. Good day."

The man sputters at him but that's of no concern, instead he offers his arm to Miss Edwina who stares cautiously before grabbing his arm. Together they walk away, aware of the bevy of eyes tracking their every movement.

"Are you unharmed?"

She nods softly, "Yes my Lord. I was only unnerved at his brazenness. Thank you for your assistance. And your kind words."

If only she knew the horrid things that he too thought about Omegas she would surely retract her gratitude but he stays mum on the matter.

"Edwina! I told you to wait for mama!"

Suddenly Kate is upon them looking genuinely scared for her sister's well being and then stumped at his presence. Then in a move almost too fast to catch she glances at their intertwined arms and he has an overwhelming urge to tug his arm away but doing so would be rude beyond measure. So he stays.

"I become distracted by a dress in the window of the modiste store, I apologize for making you worry Didi."

Kate can't seem to stop looking at their arms and finally Miss Edwina unhands him, realizing what her sister just be imagining.

"Oh! Lord Bridgerton was just helping me escape the attentions of a most offensive gentleman."

Miss Kate looks unconvinced but nevertheless she bows in his direction her voice devoid of any emotion, "Thank you for helping my sister Lord Bridgerton. I am most grateful for your superior kindness."

He gets the odd feeling that he's being mocked, her words overly grand and he feels a smile forming on his lips at her gall.

"You are most welcome Miss Kate. If you are truly thankful then allow me to escort you both as you await the return of your mama. It would calm my heart to know you are both safe."

Two can play this game he decides. Offering both arms to the sisters and Edwina eagerly holds on again looking expectantly at her sister. He smirks at the grimace on her face before she follows suit.

"You both look lovely today. I am the luckiest man in England to be allowed such an honor."

Miss Edwina giggles at his compliment but Kate only glowers at him, her full lips pressed in a thin line.

"Where to madams?"

"The jeweler. Mama is picking up an order."

With a destination in mind he guides them both, subconsciously leaning towards Kate and internally preening at her ungloved hand on his forearm.

"Lord Bridgerton, may I be bold to ask a question? I have heard rumors and I am most curious."

He can feel Kate's eyes over his shoulder, most likely trying to dissuade Miss Edwina but for once she does not obey her sister. Color him impressed.

"You may." He waits patiently as she finds the words, her face twists into different expressions before settling.

"Is it true that you despise Omegas?"

"Edwina!" Kate reprimands immediately, halting them all with a sudden stop in her shock.

"He said I may ask!"

"But you know better than to inquire about such personal matters!"

It's as if he's watching Gregory and Hyacinth picking at each other. In a much used move he stops their bickering with a firm wave of his hand, Miss Edwina looking down immediately but Kate just stares at him coldly affronted by his treatment of them.

"Miss Kate it's quite fine. I don't mind answering."

In a childish move Edwina pouts her lips triumphantly at her sister who looks ready to scold her again.

"I do not despise Omegas. I merely do not want to bond with or marry one. I have a preference for betas or even female Alphas, that is all. But worry not my way of thinking is not common, you will find that most Alphas are searching for their perfect Omega."

Edwina stares at him calmly before responding, "I was not worried my Lord just curious."

Then without any preamble she adds too innocently, "Kate is a beta. Some even think her an Alpha because of her disposition. She's the bravest person I know."

Kate sputters at the praise and then stammers at the very obvious implications of her sister's words.

"I doubt Lord Bridgerton cares about my orientation Edwina, there is no need to share such information."

I care.

That is what he thinks and even considers uttering aloud but they are interrupted by Lady Mary, who is being followed by his mother and Eloise in tow. He pretends not to see as his mother gazes at the sisters hands on his forearms. He was a gentleman, that was all.

"Anthony."

She's still upset with him. That is the only time she calls him by his given name.

"I did not expect to see you. Are your interviews all completed?"

He doesn't glare at his own mother that would be disrespect of the highest level but he does stare, hard. Begging her with his eyes to stop her inquisition.

Her lip twitches as she ignores his plea.

So vengeful. As are all the women in his family.

"Did you find your perfect not Omega viscountess? Should I start planning for the wedding?"

He almost groans at the loss when Kate lowers her hand and steps away from him, moving closer to her mother in lieu. At a sharp glance Edwina reluctantly does the same, stepping to the other side of her mama.

"I heard about your preference Lord Bridgerton. I was most surprised your mother and I had much deliberated whether you would be a good pair for Edwina. But it seems that will not be the case."

Kate shrinks further behind her mother's body despite her superior build. He yearns to reach out and touch her, tell her that he had never considered Edwina in that light.

"Mama!" The Omega squeals in embarrassment grabbing her cheeks in a coy move.

"Miss Edwina is lovely I am sure she will not have a lack of suitors around her waiting to fulfill all her needs."

"You are too kind."

Then there is a pregnant pause where no one speaks. Kate avoids his gaze looking seemingly everywhere but him. It is most frustrating.

"Lady Mary, I was planning to enjoy a picnic in the park with my children. Would you and your daughters want to accompany us?"

"Oh! That would be just lovely Lady Bridgerton, we would be honored!"

Lady Mary leaves no room for argument even as Kate leans over with a hand on her forehead, she gives her a stern look and in a moment they are all walking to the promenade.

"Anthony, were you joining us? I thought you would be much too busy for such frivolous activities today."

He will surely have to apologize to his mother. This attitude will not dissolve until he does so he is certain. He wonders if this where he inherited his stubbornness from.

"Nothing is more important than my family, you wound me mother."

She dismissively hums at him, pulling Eloise who throws a confused look over her shoulder.

There are far too many difficult women in his life.

The maids are still setting up the picnic when they arrive, a large checkered blanket spread over the grass and an abundance of food- warm breads, fresh jams, an assortment of cheeses, curied meats and lemonade. A small affair only by Bridgerton standards.

All the ladies daintly fold their dresses under them before sitting, except Kate who is the only one still standing.

"Didi, sit here with me!"

Impulsively he strides over taking the seat next to the one Edwina is indicating. Kate's lip pucker line she's sucked on a lemon but with all eyes on her and no plausible excuse she begrudgingly comes over, sliding down onto the thick blanket. Moving away quickly when their shoulders accidentally meet.

His younger siblings are the first to break the silence, eagerly filling their plates with a bit of everything. He reaches out for a warm croissant himself, but instead he collides with Kate who had the same idea.

"Sorry my Lord."

She does not sound sorry one bit.

He hums picking up the pastry before bringing it to her mouth, she stares at him as if he has lost his mind. Perhaps he has.

"Anthony I am certain Miss Sharma can feed herself." This brings everyone's eyes to them and Kate suddenly rises, brushing dirt off her dress.

"I think I will stand by the water right there. I am not hungry. "

He starts to open his mouth but she anticipates his reply.

"I need no chaperone I shall be right there. You shall all be able to see me."

Then without waiting from approval from her mother Kate stomps away, everyone continues to eat undisturbed by her departure.

All except him.

Again there is that mind numbing scent of lilies that derail his rational thoughts.

In actuality she is starving. But her closeness to Lord Bridgerton was causing her skin to feel unusually warm and she felt like she would surely evaporate in his presence if she remained.

She can't explain her body's reaction to him. Cannot begin to rationalize the way her heart thumps when he is near.

Exhausted from her worrying she leans her head back, letting the sun's rays wash over her.

Of course he was going on interviews with the intention of marriage. She was the only one who felt whatever this was, and she was working to feel it no more. Distance and time was necessary and it would be less difficult if their mamas would stop pushing their families together. They were quickly becoming friends and while she was ecstatic that Mary now had a companion, she selfishly wished that they would sever their relationship and stop forcing her to face him.

Would she be expected to attend his wedding? She shuddered at the mere thought, the only silver lining being that he would not be wedding Edwina.

"Here. Eat."

She jumps at the almost emotionless voice of one Eloise Bridgerton.

"I am not-"

"You don't have to lie to me. I know when one is merely trying to escape an uncomfortable situation. I have been there several times. Just eat it."

"Well.....thank you."

She accepts a scone smothered with strawberry jam and a cool glass of lemonade.

"Is this because of my brother? Does he make you uncomfortable Lady Sharma?"

She almost chokes on the scone, desperately drinking the beverage to clear her throat. Eloise looks at her with knowing eyes as if her near death is confirmation of her inquiry.

"Well if it is any consolation, I believe you make him uncomfortable as well. He has not stopped glancing at you since you left. It was his idea to bring you refreshments."

It's not thoughtful. Anyone would do the same. It doesn't mean anything and she shouldn't interpret it as anything either.

"I look forward to seeing more of you Miss Sharma. I have yet to meet a woman who can make my brother act in such an unusual manner."

She doesn't look over at him but still she can feel his eyes on her. Can smell his overbearing scent even this far away, it is almost beckoning her to return. She has to shake her head to clear the cobwebs settled there.

The faster she finds Edwina a mate and returns to India the better for everyone.

His mother has taken quite the strong liking to the Sharma family and he cannot fault her for her decision. They are indeed a lovely bunch despite the eldest's perpetuity for glaring at him and thinking the worst of all his intentions at any given moment. He recognized the walls she had erected around herself all too well, he too was a constructor after all.

So he's not the least bit surprised when his mother informs him that the Sharmas shall be joining them for dinner. This has become such a common occurrence, it is more frequent when the Sharmas do not join them for meals. And this leads him to join them for meals more often as well, ignoring the suspicious looks that his mother shoots in his direction.

He's the master of the house, he need not answer to anyone.

"Are you always this much of a sore loser?" Kate rolls her eyes at him in a most unladylike fashion, her hair is hanging loose today and she looks so pretty he almost ignores her jibe at him.

Almost.

"I am no sore loser. I did not lose. You cheated, there is a difference."

Colin had taught them all a card game he has learned during his travels, a game of wit and manipulation and to his annoyance Kate had been a natural. She had has Colin coined a masterful "poker face".

"I did not cheat. I am simply better than you. You cannot blame if you fell for my trap."

She had cheated. Surely she shouldn't be that attractive and good at everything- now it was horse back riding, shooting, betting and this poker game. His ego couldn't handle a woman like Kate Sharma.

"Kate, we are guests in the Bridgerton household and you are being a sore winner. Focus on your meal bragging is unbecoming for a lady."

Kate appeared wholly chastised but he hides a grin as she whispers under her breath.

"Sore winner? Winners should be allowed to boast and why am I the only one being spoken to like a child?"

He grins widely as she glares at him, happily eating his dinner. Meat and vegetables tonight, a modest meal. But Lady Mary had shown the cook her family recipe for curry and the meat was coated in the thick flavorful sauce. The blending of the two families is reflected in the mix of English and Indian cuisine on the dinner table. 

Conversation is flowing easily as it usually does with both families in attendance, they are strangers no more forced together by their overzealous mamas. Now there is true affection shared by them all.

He watches fondly as Eloise gabs loudly about Omega rights as Kate emphatically nods along, just as passionate about the topic. The two seem to agree on several matters and it is near impossible for anyone else to interject into their conversation once they have commenced. 

Gregory and Hyacinth are not so subtlety feeding sneaking pieces of meat to the furry demon Newton under the table, he pretends not to notice for tonight. His mother will surely scold them if notified and he would hate to sully the good atmosphere being shared by all at the table. He only sends them a reproachful glare when they appear to be overfeeding the mutt, Gregory stills his sister’s hand pausing her hand before consuming the food on his plate and motioning for her to do the same. 

His inner Alpha preens at all his treasured people being in one location and being able to simultaneously enjoy their company. He swallows the purr that builds in his chest, it would not be decent at the dinner table after all. 

“Please excuse me, Eloise.” 

His ears perk up and his gaze instinctively follow Kate as she leaves presumably to freshen up in the loo. 

Benedict draws him into a discussion with Miss Edwina as he contemplates the importance of arts and leisure and he absently listens astonishingly aware of Kate’s absence, everything feels imbalanced  and it becomes increasingly difficult for him to maintain focus so a few moments when she still as not reappeared he excuses himself from the table as well citing the need to sign important documents. Nobody questions his departure. 

The scent of lilies leads to his study and he follows it, curious as to what caused her to detour from the wash room. 

The study door is slightly ajar and with the toe of his boot he presses it open further, finding the back of one Kate Sharma. 

Intently looking at a portrait that he still struggles to gaze upon.  

“Edmund Bridgerton. My father.” 

She does not startle as if she could sense that he was already present. It is the same for him, he always knows when Kate is near. 

“Your parents were an Alpha Omega pair. True mates I hear.” 

Their love was legendary and something to aspire for when he was a boy, before his father unceremoniously collapsed in his arms and irrevocably altered their lives for eternity. 

“Yes. They were soul mates.” 

He could see it in the way that they laughed together, his father would gather his mother in his large arms and gently hold her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. 

Then he died and took all that love to the grave with him. 

“Do you ever wish--” 

“No. I never want to give my heart to another or have them offer me theirs. I want to live a predictable life with a woman that I find agreeable who will be a suitable viscountess. Love has no place in my marriage,” 

“Is this the reason you avoid all Omegas? Are you nervous that there is a possibility that you could come to love them? 

Could he ever love an Omega? 

His mind is filled with doubt. He thinks about all the facets that have drawn him to Kate, an Omega could never offer him a challenge. 

“I find them....tedious. I want a partner, not a child to care for.” 

He can feel Kate’s ire sucking all the air from the room. Her eyes are fire and brimstone when she finally turns to face him. 

“My sister is nothing like that nor your mother or Mary. You are placing your bias on an entire population of people. I never imagined you would be so short sighted as to make such baseless generalizations.” 

She glares at him circumventing him as she strides to the door. 

“Wait.” 

He stops her with a gentle hand on the wrist. 

“My....apologies. I did not mean those words. I have used them as an excuse for such a prolonged time they started to become truth to me. The truth is....love is terrifying and I would rather avoid it if possible. I know that Omegas thrive in true love matches and I cannot offer that to anyone, tying a hopeful Omega to a flawed man like me would be selfish and thoughtless.”

Her eyes. Liquid brown pools of chocolate brown. 

They widen, then soften in understanding. 

“Perhaps you are more than you give yourself credit for. Even someone like you is capable of love, being scared is no reason to hide from it. Your parents knew that their love was finite but it was enough to feel it, to love and be loved unconditionally. Is that not what we all aspire for?” 

He does not permit himself to hope or dream, that is for a man with less responsibilities than he. 

But she is gorgeous in her fierce defense and he cannot stop himself this time. He wants. 

He stalks closer, giving her ample time to escape from him. Taking slow purposeful steps until they are mere inches apart, those eyes all but mesmerizing him at this proximity. 

“Kate, please go downstairs.” 

She stares at him, eyes dancing all over his face ashe draws closer, encouraged by the lack of fear in her eyes. 

“I am not one of your siblings. You cannot order me around.” 

The Alpha in him begs to differ, clawing at the precarious thread of control that remains, his scent now permeating and soaking the air particles in the room. And then everything is lilies, sweet and cloying coating his throat and blocking his senses. 

“Kate.” 

His nostrils flare. 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

Her eyes glaze over and he has to kiss her, to devour her, or better yet destroy her. The way that she has devastated him, wholly down to his bones. 

Her hips are so soft under his tight grip and the exhaust of air leaving her lungs as he presses her into the door is all it takes for him to surge forward, terrified when in lieu of running away Kate mirrors him her hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders as she leans into him. 

“Kate.” 

He pleads once more. 

She must stop them. He is far too weak. 

“Anthony. Please.” 

The thread snaps, too thin to withstand the strength of their passion and he releases a roar deep from his chest as he does the one thing that has plagued his mind since he encountered this enigma of a woman. 

“Anthony! Kate!” Daphne’s voice breaks their intimacy. 

He pauses, hovering above her parted lips. Lily and spice punch him in the lung each time he inhales a breath. 

So catastrophically close. 

“Where are you both? Dinner has reached a close. Kate, your family awaits your return.” 

He collapses against her into the door, his body zinging with the need to claim, take, dominate. 

“My Lord.... You must release me. We will be discovered.” 

What was he minutes away from doing? He could have ruined Kate’s reputation. He was not one for regrets or mistakes, but this would have his greatest of all. 

“I...sorry. Go. I will stay here.” 

And after a long stare she slinks away, he pounds his clenched first against the solidness of the door desperately sniffing at the air. With his head hung in shame, he can see the tent formed in his trousers. It aches for release. He palms at his engorged member, Kate the sole object of his desires as he ardently strokes himself to completion, biting his lips as he recalls the how lose they were to crossing a line they could never return from. 

They both ignore each other for weeks. Anthony, attending several interviews daily and Kate accompanying Edwina on her many outings with suitors. Neither misses the other nor touches themselves with the other’s name on their tongue. 

She wakes up in a light sweat that only progressively gets worse until she becomes dizzy and almost faints, it was all too dramatic for her liking she was no damsel prone to fainting spells. Edwina had pleaded to stay with her but she would not let her little sister become sick as well.

Edwina was the one who needed to be healthy after all. Her health was nowhere as important.

And this meant she would be able to avoid him easily. There would be no family events and forced meetings between them at least until she had recovered from this sudden fever.

The servants check on her regularly bringing medicine and liquids. She has banned Mary and Edwina from her room but they speak to her through the oak of her door, telling her about Edwina's dates and which suitors are her favorites. She listens and offers commentary when necessary, soaking in a pool of her own sweat.

Sleep is torture. One person haunts her consciousness appearing in less and less clothing each time. He is shirtless in bed with her, then he's wet and crawling out of the lake he'd accidentally fallen into. That memory still haunts her from weeks ago, she had been trying to enjoy a nice row with Mr. Dorset when he had unnecessarily intruded despite being there himself with Cressida Cowper. She had desperately wanted to reject the hand he offered her but there were too many eyes and she did not want her actions to reflect badly on Edwina.

But then he started to caress her fingers and refused to let go so she'd tugged her hand away and he had tripped into the lake taking poor Mr. Dorset with him.

He must have been wearing the flimsiest shirt in all of England because it became completely transparent. Every muscle and curve of his well developed body on display, she tried not to look but her eyes would not obey her orders. And now that image was haunting her without end.

And furthering her shame she was... affected by her dreams. Waking up wet in unimaginable places. Too embarrassed to allow anyone to assist her in the bathe. The urge to take matters into her own hand per se was overwhelming, on one occasion she found herself grinding into her mattress chasing friction that it could not provide. She did not know of an illness that made people so unhinged and bothered.

But she is nothing if not controlled. She ignores her body's cry for more, please, and forces herself to sleep and ignore the temptation of the Anthony in her dreams.

On the fourth day she's has regained enough of her senses to leave her bed and eat the food the servants have been leaving her.

She's ravenous devouring everything in sight.

That's when she hears voices, they are too far for her to place them but they feel familiar. She presses her ear against the door attempting to listen better.

"-sends her well wishes and a fruit basket. Would it be possible to see her? We have all been worried beyond belief."

"I am not sure that would be best. She's still recovering and might be contagious. I will write to you all when she has fully recovered."

She has enough sense of awareness to grab a robe before opening her door and racing down the winding stairs. It's just like that day in the woods she cannot control her body, her feet refusing to stay away from him any longer. Something inside her demanding to see him and hold him. A hunger that cannot be appeased from afar. 

Mary gasps loudly at the sight of her in a flimsy night gown and a robe and nothing else, immediately stalking over to attempt to shove her back where she came from. Her desire to be near Anthony is too strong however and she sidesteps her startled mother until she's in front of him, breaths coming out in short pants.

He looks like heaven.

And she steps closer again, unable to resist his scent today and the fever that had resided is set aflame once more.

"Anthony."

She barely recognizes her own voice, it's been long unused while she was sick. Now it is all throat and rasp. 

He steps towards her too with arms wide open, and she almost trips over herself running to embrace him and everything is right when his arms are curled around her. She boldly nuzzles against the bare skin of his neck, rubbing her nose all over the gland hidden between the thin skin.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

"Kate! No!"

Mary's voice sounds far away but it is of no importance not with him cradling her and sniffing at her neck as well. Then she suddenly feels rumbling between them and it takes a moments pause to realize it's coming from him, he's purring between them- a deep guttural noise that makes her want to bend over and present herself to him.

And the filth of the thought is enough to knock some sense into her.

She knows what is happening to her.

But it can't be. She was a beta. Her eighteen birthday had come and past and nothing had happened. So why now? Why him?

In the end, he pulls away first nearly shoving her across the room in his haste. Her heart smarts at the callous move.

"You are experiencing heat."

He says it with so much disdain that she almost folds in on herself. She cannot deny his accusation not with the fever still running through her veins right now. With her body demanding that he take her right here regardless of their audience. 

"I must take my leave."

And then he's gone, fruit basket discarded on the floor and the door slamming behind him.

Her heart is in tatters and she feels Mary pressed against her back, holding her tightly like when she was much younger.

"Oh Kate, what will we do? My dear girl, my sweet precious Kate."

Mary had known, she was just the last to know about her transformation. 

He demands a carriage and a case with his possessions and without much of an explanation to his family before he runs away to Aubrey Hall.

He cannot stay here. Cannot be around her.

It should be impossible, Omegas presented on their eighteen birthdays without fail. It was so for every Omega that he knew so he doesn't understand why Kate would present this late in her life. What could have possibly changed to do this to her?

She had smelt so sweet. Sweeter than any other Omega he had ever encountered. His instincts had been telling him to do unthinkable things to her, claim her, bite her, possess her. And it terrified him. He was no boy, definitively not green behind the ears had even fucked courtesans in heat and never had such thoughts about them. Their holes had been wet and tight and that was the only observations that mattered to him.

He had been considering courting her. She was strong willed and gorgeous and someone who challenged him. All assets he had wanted in a partner. 

How could he reconcile all he knew about Kate with her newly discovered orientation? Would her disposition alter now? Would she be unable to meet his eyes like everyone else? He didn't want to see the light that he loved so much in her fade away into a distant memory.

Wait?

What was he thinking? He did not love anything about that insufferable woman! He could not love anyone especially not her.

Love was never in his cards and now that he knew who she truly was, he would extinguish these feelings towards her. They could never be. He would never wed or bond with an Omega. He would never end up like his father, dying too young and leaving Kate behind all alone and heartbroken.He could do her one last favor as a token to their failed relationship. 

He stays at Aubrey Hall for two weeks. Ignoring all the correspondences that arrive by carriage. He intends to hide until all his affections for her disappear.

She expertly hides her suffering from Mary and Edwina, having done it since she was a child and they believe her eventually when she tells that that she's fine and Anthony is not her true mate. Mary looks at her with wistful eyes but she pretends not to notice, all that remains is her dignity and she does not intend to willingly hand that over. But in the crevice of her heart she knows, it is an instinct and Omegas can always tell, Alphas are free to ignore it if they so desire but an Omega do not have that freedom of choice. Once their true match has been acknowledged it is impossible to truly love another. 

She could tell immediately after seeing him in the wake of her heat. 

Her heart went, “Oh it is you,” 

Then he promptly stomped all over that same heart in a matter of seconds. 

She cries softly at nights and stands tall in the morning. Edwina has found a few suitors who she has developed affections for and she is hopeful that her sister will be wedded soon and she will be able to return to India as planned.

Her orientation changes nothing. He changes nothing. She will live alone until it is her time to disappear from this planet. 

It means nothing to her that he hates her now for something she has no control over, it is better this way; they can both move on now before either of them developed any real feelings. She plans to forget all about him. As he has of her.

They attend parties and she garners attention now with her new Omega status but she ignores them all, only thinking about Edwina.

In the end her sister chooses an Alpha Lord that she knows she has mild affections for instead of the mild manner scholar who has captured her heart. It's the sensible choice and it breaks her heart.

She knows why Edwina makes this choice. It is for her and Mary. It is because she has groomed Edwina for this, her entire life.

"Are you certain you wish to marry him Bon?"

Edwina gives a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and she wishes their life was different. Wishes neither of them were bound by their circumstances.

"Bagwell could never provide for me. I must do this for our family."

It's a sentence she has lived her entire life by. But instead of feeling pride at Edwina's selflessness she feels anger at the part she played in making Edwina think she should sacrifice her happiness for them.

"No. I won't let you do this. Bagwell is who has your heart. Marry him. I will deal with the rest."

Her final sacrifice for her family.

"Dorset will be wed soon. You received an invitation days ago."

He's in his study, back at home with his family. His self executed exile over now. His plan was an utter failure, nothing but thoughts of Kate filling his mind his entire stay until he had to return to at least be close to her.

"Good for him."

"I shall be bringing the family to the modiste tomorrow. He is an old friend of yours, we must see him off."

This grabs his attention, he puts down his quill giving his mother his full undivided focus.

"See him off?"

She finally brings her gaze up to meet his, inhaling deeply before responding to him.

"Yes. He will leave for India with Ms. Sharma after they are wed."

This must be another dream, better yet a night terror. He pinches himself harshly, grunting when the pain shoots through his arm. 

This was...real. He was awake. 

“She presented as an Omega. I finally understand why you ran away. She is marrying Dorset to help dear Edwina marry for love, she has fallen for a mere scholar. You missed much with your escape to Aubrey Hall. I wrote to you but no letters returned so I presumed that it was of no significance to you. Dorset is a good man, he will treat her well. It is probably the best for all parties involved.” 

“Mama.” 

He has not called her that since he was much younger and far less jaded. Her eyes widen at the long forgotten moniker. 

“Yes, my dear?” 

“I think I made a horrible mistake.” 

“Oh Anthony.” 

She hugs him tightly, rocking him back and forth as he clutches her with all his might. 

“Anthony, you must go to her,” 

He listens, silencing the Alpha inside him that balks at taking orders from an Omega, that is not who he is anymore. He will be better for her. All that time spent alone in Aubrey Hall did nothing but strengthen his feelings for Kate. There was no one else like her, no one that made him question everything he thought he knew to be true. Nobody who called him out on his ignorance and forced him to see from another's perspective. Nobody as smart, witty, gorgeous and frustrating. He had spent all this time evading love only to stumble into it anyway. She had done it on purpose, spitefully made him fall in love with her just to prove to him that it was possible.

"I think I love her."

He loves her. There's no thinking about it, he can feel it in his blood.

He must go to her.

Miss Edwina opens the door looking haggard and exhausted. He immediately peers over her shoulder, manners all but eviscerated in his search for Kate.

"Lord Bridgerton. We are not entertaining guests at the moment."

She tries to close the door in his face but he moves in between the space swiftly.

"I must seen her Edwina. Please let me in."

He has never seen Edwina look so enraged, he flinches back at the dark storm that forms on her usually sweet countenance.

"You abandoned her when she needed you the most. Was your hatred for Omegas so strong you would discard my sister so easily? I thought you were a good man, a decent man but you are less than human. I will not let you anywhere near my sister."

He smarts at the carefully sharpened words, feeling smaller than an ant beneath her feet.

A servant interrupts them.

"Miss Edwina, we need more cold water. Kate is burning up, her fever grows worst by the second."

He uses the distraction to press the door open further, making sure not to hurt Edwina as he forcefully enters their home.

"You dare to show your face."

Lady Danbury, the real woman of the house appears. Walking stick extended to prevent him from moving any further.

"I know you all detest me but think about Kate."

"How dare you say that to m-"

He waves his hand in apology, "I love her. I acknowledge that I was a coward before, I was scared of how she made me feel and I ran away. Many times. Too many times. But I think she still loves me too and this fever is no fever, she needs me. Just like I need her. She's my mate."

"She's engaged to another."

"I do not care. She will never love another besides me and I her. Do you want your sister to spend all of her life in a loveless marriage?"

He knows that is a low blow but at this point he is willing to do whatever it takes to see Kate, cross any bridge and suffer any loss.

Edwina glares at him unmoving, looking so much like the little girl she tries to pretend not to be. Lady Danbury looks contemplative, rubbing her chin as she considers his words.

"You can go."

He swivels at the new voice, Mary slowly walking down the stairs with a bucket and rugs in her hands.

"I do not trust you at all. But if you are indeed Kate's mate then you are the only one who can help her. She might be going into shock from being separated from you for so long."

He rushes over to the staircase, blinking wildly as he climbs the steps in a haste. Mary only blocks him for a moment before stepping aside, and he runs the rest of the path uncaring about how eager he appears.

He growls at the servants stationed outside her door. All of them are betas unable to smell the too sweet scent of Kate strong enough to penetrate the door but still his Alpha wants them all gone, they are too close to his mate.

Tripping over themselves they all scatter away.

This time there is no hesitation, only a mere door separates them.

He shakes his head, lily drunk already before he drags the door open and gapes at the sight before him.

#bridgerton #kanthony #season 2 supremacy #kate sharma #Anthony Bridgerton #alpha/beta/omega au #chapter 2 coming soon #with 100% more smut

[inexplicifics]

I've started watching the Bridgertons season 2 and now I'm craving some Regency AUs... I think I remember from an ask game that you had a Gaetan/Letho in the works... Do you perchance have a small snippet to share of it? Thank you so much <3

Have some Vipurr regency...oddness. Not sure where this is going!

*

“The other balcony was better,” Gaetan informs Letho, edging a little further away from the doors. This balcony is much too small, and the curtains over the doors are light linen and do almost nothing to muffle the noise from within.

“The Pankratzes have the worst balconies to lurk on in the whole ton,” Letho replies. “You’ll like the ones at the Wolfe dance next week, though; they’re practically big enough to have a second party on.”

Gaetan grins. “Good to know. Have you ranked every balcony in the ton, then?”

“I have a five-point rating scale,” Letho informs him, grinning back. He’s tucked into the farthest corner of this balcony, well away from the too-low railing, somehow managing to vanish into the shadows despite his size. There is room for Gaetan to join him, but not much. “I’ve got one for gardens, too, but they’re riskier.”

“Riskier how?” Gaetan asks, deciding to sit on the railing. His skirts ruck up under him, and he has to fidget gracelessly to get them straightened out.

“They’re usually full of people having ill-advised assignations, so all the good lurking spots are taken.”

Gaetan snorts. “Guess I won’t try the gardens, then. How do you get away with spending the whole dance lurking out here, anyway?”

“I arrive early, make nice with the hosts, dance the first dance with the omega of the house, and then make a break for it,” Letho admits. “And then come back in right at the end to make my farewells. Somehow everyone just assumes I’ve been somewhere around and they didn’t see me.”

“You’re pretty damn noticeable,” Gaetan points out. “You’d think people would realize you weren’t out on the dance floor.”

“You’d think, but I’ve learned most people at these things are only paying attention to whoever they’re most hoping to snare. I just have to escape before the matchmaking mamas show up, and I’m golden.”

“Sneaky,” Gaetan says approvingly. “Wish I could do that.”

“Dance card full again?” Letho asks sympathetically.

“I got two breaks tonight, at least,” Gaetan sighs. “My brother figured if he didn’t allow me that much, I might actually bite someone.”

Letho chuckles. “Wouldn’t blame you.”

“Yeah, well, apparently proper omegas don’t draw blood when their suitors get too handsy,” Gaetan sighs.

“Well that’s boring,” Letho says, with a roll of those impressive shoulders. “Who’d want an omega without some bite to ‘em?”

“Most of the idiots in there?” Gaetan says, jerking a thumb at the doorway back into the ballroom.

“Yes, but they’re idiots,” Letho says.

Gaetan sighs again. “Unfortunately, they’re the options available,” he says, and rolls to his feet as the music comes to an end.

#questions answered #snippet #vipurr

[bubblegumbi0tch]

The Deal

Succubus Suna x Witch reader

Casting the spell was simpler than You'd first imagined. The ingredients weren't terribly difficult to come by, and the spell had already been in your grimoire. You lived alone, so privacy was no issue, and the price for this spell didn't scare you as it probably should have. I wasn't 100 percent sure You'd actually expected it to work. You'd achieved simple feats of magic in the past, but something like this? Conjuring? You never even attempted it. But now, in front of you, stood the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Though factually speaking, he wasn't a man at all. His hair was brown as roasted chestnuts eyes the brightest grey greenish. You've ever seen - unnatural but beautiful nonetheless. His skin was smooth, and his muscles looked as if they'd been sculpted by the gods - though gods certainly had nothing to do with his creation.

And he was naked. Perfectly naked. "Why did you call me human?" Goddess, even his voice was sinful. Deep and soft like honey, yet carried an air of importance that was impossible to miss. "I..." Suddenly your mouth felt dry. It was one thing to read about his kind and another entirely to actually be in the presence of one. Demon. Succubus. "Do you wish for higher social standing?" he asked, stepping out of the circle I'd conjured him from. "Or perhaps a bigger house?" You glanced around at your sparsely decorated one-bedroom ranch, suddenly curious about where he lived.

Indeed not all demons lived in hell? You shook my head, swallowing around the lump in my throat as You continued to watch him. "Money, then?" he asked, but quickly shook his head, "No...a boyfriend, perchance?" You felt my cheeks heat, but You managed to shake my head. You wouldn't make a deal with a demon for any of those reasons. He walked forward until he was directly in front of you, your breath catching in your throat as his warm fingers tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. He smelled like fire and brimstone and something uniquely masculine that made my stomach clench with want. You've read about that too. Succubi were created to be irresistible to humans - and he was certainly no exception. "Then what do you request of me?" You were slightly shocked to find a forked tail swaying back and forth behind his head, and though I'd known that all succubi had them, it was still a strange sight to see. He smirked, seemingly amused, as he asked, "Does my tail intrigue you, human?"

"(Y/n)." I whispered softly, "My name is (y/n) ." He nodded slowly as if surprised that You offered the information. "I am called "Suna." You felt yourself nodding, but You were still staring at his tail. Looking at his face was too complicated, and you were painfully aware of how close his hard cock was to you. The tail was an oddly welcomed distraction. Suddenly his tail was between the two of us as he said, "You are very distracted by it." Up close, it was easy to tell that the points were sharp - lethal even - and it made me wonder why he needed it - how he used it - how many had fallen at the hands of it.

He reached out, his warm fingers encircling your wrist as he brought your fingers up to lightly trail against his tail, and somehow the act was erotic. His wrist guided your hand for a moment more before he let me go to explore on my own. You gently trailed my fingers up, lightly exploring the sharp, forked end, when suddenly his tail wrapped around my forearm and tugged you forward into him, one hand on your waist and the other under your chin, so You were forced to look at him. "What is it you request, (y/n)?" he asked, his voice more profound than it had been, pupils were blown wide, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was as turned on as You were. Surely not. "I need someone...taken care of." He arched an eyebrow as he asked, "You would like someone killed?" "Yes," You whispered, barely able to force the word out around the lump in your throat. Even though You've come to a decision - firmly and honestly - actually voicing it was proving more difficult than I'd anticipated.

The demon Suna seemed slightly impressed, his fingers sliding from your chin to lightly trail against your cheek. "You're very young to have acquired an enemy that requires a demon." "It's not for me." "Do you offer your soul for someone else?" He seemed genuinely perplexed by the idea, but You nodded nonetheless. "For my little brother." "Humans are strange creatures," he murmured, his thumb sliding across my bottom lip. "Who?" "My father." You breathed out, trying to keep my heartbeat controlled as his simple touches seemed to light a fire in your belly. "Interesting," he murmured. "I assume you know of my terms?" I nodded, "My soul in exchange for you to do my bidding." He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his eyes studying mine intently as he was silent for a moment.

When You thought he would deny your request, laugh in your face, and leave, he finally spoke up. "And you're aware of how my deals are signed?" The heat that was racing across your skin seemed to burn twice as hot at his words. Of course, You knew how he signed his deals. "Sex." You said, your voice more confident than I indeed was - but You're sure he knew that already. The lazy smile that stretched across his face was sinful, and the sight of two sharp fangs only made me want him more. "I see the little witch has done her research," he murmured approvingly, softly pressing his thumb between your lips. It was all the prompting I needed to swirl my tongue around the digit, your teeth lightly grazing the pad of his thumb as his eyes darkened. "Say the words, (y/n)," he growled, the hand on my hip tightening. "I, (y/n) (y/ln), request the services of the demon Suna." You whispered, breath hitching as his fingers trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts. "In return for the murder of my father, Offer my soul to him to do with as he pleases." You watched in slight awe as a rune appeared on his chest. A matching one burned into the exact spot on your chest as well, though it felt incomplete.

"The rune will solidify after the deal is signed," he said, answering your unspoken question. I simply nodded, your eyes flicking between his eyes and lips. You've read countless stories of what to expect - deals this big always required more than a kiss to be sealed - and all of them spoke of the wild nature of succubi. Though they also spoke of carnal pleasure. "You are a very beautiful human." he mused, seemingly speaking more to himself than to you. I cleared my throat and shook my head, "I assure you there are prettier." "Perhaps," he said with a shrug, "Though in all my centuries, I've yet to encounter one." His words wrapped around me like silk, and in the back of my mind, I knew that he had to say these things to everyone - though I certainly didn't understand why. "Nobody bids me do anything." he said with a growl, the hand not on my waist sliding into my hair, "I am far too old to have to do anything." Was he reading my mind? How? Indeed he hadn't been able to the entire time. "I can read the thoughts of all the souls in my possession," he answered easily, his lips brushing against my ear with each heated, damning word he spoke. His lips trailed a series of kisses along your neck, moving down one side and up the other, gentle breaths against my skin before his lips hovered above your own. I couldn't control the racing of your heart at this point, the effort entirely futile with his proximity.

Your body craved him. Ached for his touch and wanted nothing more than to be claimed by him - thoroughly owned. And your brother is finally safe. "This is your last chance, little witch." he murmured, "There's no going back after this." In a burst of boldness, You hadn't experienced before, You laced your fingers into his soft hair and pulled him forward to close the gap between your lips. And goddess, he felt divine - and when his tongue effortlessly invaded your mouth, his taste wasn't of this earth. He was made of smoke and darkness and sin. And You wanted more. His growl was animalistic as he controlled the pace of our kiss, his hands seemingly everywhere your ass, your hips, your hair, and then suddenly his hands were unbuttoning the oversized shirt you were wearing a remnant from an old boyfriend, and though your heart was in your throat, You were powerless to tell him to stop. You wanted this. Once the thin fabric was pushed to the floor, You were left in nothing but your underwear, and the thought was exhilarating. His lips broke away to press heated kisses to your neck, his tail coiling around my wrist much like his hand had previously, only this time he was guiding you to his cock. You couldn't help the choked gasp that left my throat at the feeling of him hot and harrowing and smooth under your hand, and the groan that escaped him at the contact made you delirious with power. I had pulled that pleasured sound from this powerful demon. You.

And You wanted to hear it again and again. You gripped him firmer, his tail uncoiling to let you continue on your own as You brushed your thumb over the head, spreading precum along his shaft as You pumped faster. His hands had tangled themselves in your hair as he pulled you in for a rough, dominating kiss that had your knees shaking once he'd finally pulled away, his lips and teeth and tongue turning their torture upon my breasts. Indeed this was heaven. The dark chuckle that left him at your thoughts had my thighs clenching as he said, "I assure you this is not heaven." "It's surely as close as I'll get," I whispered, your free hand tangling into my hair as he focused all his attention on your nipples. His hips were bucking forward into your hand, his grunts against your skin more frequent as he nipped your breast, fangs scraping across the delicate skin just hard enough to sting - just hard enough to add fuel to the fire already raging inside you. "Where do you sleep?" he asked, quickly lifting you into his arms. You pointed to the door at the end of the hall, and in seconds he was kicking the door closed with his foot and depositing you on the bed. You knew that the flush that covered my skin was fierce, and as his calculating eyes took you in, You couldn't help but wonder what he really thought of me. As a demon - a succubus - he had slept with countless women when making deals like these, and you were sure they were only a foggy memory in his mind. "I've already said what I think of you." he said, quickly crawling his way onto the bed, his tail swaying between his shoulder blades, "You are gorgeous."

"Do you make deals with women you don't find attractive?" You asked, the question past your lips before You could stop yourself. His chuckle was amused as he hovered over you, "Attraction is not often something I'm aware of when making deals. It is not in my nature." His words only brought up more questions, but after tonight none of them would matter anyway. You'd live out the remainder of your life - however long that ended up being - and when You died, your soul would forever be bound to Suna. Your questions weren't necessary. You threaded one hand into his hair, lightly tugging him into another kiss as his delicious bodyweight settled over you fully. Too soon for your liking, he pulled away, tracing a path with his mouth over your neck, across your breasts, and down your stomach, coming to settle between your thighs. Without preamble, he slipped your panties from your legs, pushing your thighs open as he pressed soft kisses to your skin. "You smell divine," he murmured, his eyes closed as his fingers dug into your inner thighs. You had no idea what to say, though it was apparent response wasn't required as his tongue snaked out to brush against your clit. He smirked at my gasp of pleasure, sliding his tongue to the already dripping slit to slowly fuck you with it before returning to your clit. You had no idea how long he alternated this maddening pattern. Still, sooner than later, you were a writhing, moaning, panting mess above him, my hands tangled in the sheets at my head. "You're very responsive," he murmured, first one. Two fingers sliding into your cunt and arching come here before his tongue found your clit again. The constant pressure that had been building, building, building finally broke, and You shattered, thighs shaking as your orgasm raced through your body. He growled, his tongue hungrily lapping at your essence as I continued shaking above him, body wracked with pleasure as he refused to let me come down. "Fuck," You gasped, one hand shooting to his hair and pulling probably harder than You should have though it didn't seem to bother him at all.

He was relentless, claiming another orgasm as his before finally kissing his way back up your body and claiming my lips. Without warning, he slid into you, capturing my strangled gasp with his lips as his hips were flush with mine. And goddess, I was so full. He pulled back slowly, rocking his hips forward again, and the hiss that fell past his lips made your walls flutter around him. Never had a man sounded so sexy. He quickly hooked your legs over his arms, opening you further and changing the angle so that he slid even deeper, impossibly deeper. You knew that your nails were digging into his back, but the pressure felt so good that You couldn't help it. You were clawing onto him for dear life as he began to pick up his pace. "This is perhaps close to heaven," he murmured, a slight smirk on his face before he began peppering your breasts with kisses, his hips rocking steadily, pushing you closer and closer to the edge yet again. On a particularly harsh thrust, I came undone again, your arms and legs tightly wrapped around him as white light exploded behind your eyelids and stole your breath. His deep moan was the only thing that anchored you to the moment. Before I realized it, he'd flipped our positions, his hands on your waist as he guided your movements. "Ride me, (y/n)." How could I deny him anything when he spoke like that? You rocked your hips back and forth before slowly beginning to bounce up and down. He was so deep in this position, and it took your breath away. His eyes were intense as he watched you, his hands sliding to your ass to squeeze and slap as your pace sped up. He just felt so perfect. "Please," You begged, not quite sure what it was you were asking for. He knew, though. Suna's fingers slid to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that quickly had you clenching around his cock again.

He growled, sitting up to wrap his arms around you as he began thrusting up into you, his fangs scraping against your neck. You couldn't breathe. It wasn't necessarily experienced, but You'd definitely never felt anything like this in your life. Your arms were thrown around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair as he continued hitting that perfect spot that already had your legs shaking around him. "Oh fuck," You gasped, biting into the corded muscle of his shoulder, "Fuck, I'm going to come again. Fuck Suna!" At your near-shriek of his name, beautiful black wings exploded from his back, a guttural groan leaving his throat as his fangs sunk into your neck and  the pleasure just wouldn't stop. He pulled away from your neck, flipping our positions. Hence, he hovered above you again and began pounding into me without restraint. His wings were spread out behind him, blanketing us in a cocoon of darkness as his mouth and fingers exploring our body. Your breathing was coming in gasps as You clung to whatever bit of his skin was in reach, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Cum with me, little witch," he growled, fingers pinching and teasing your clit. And of course, it didn't take long - only this time he came with me. His entire body went rigid as he pressed himself as deep as he could go, his growl shaking the walls as You shattered around him. I felt him press a kiss to your chest directly over the rune, and you knew the deal was done. You managed to force my eyes open, noticing the slight difference in the mark on his chest. Your fate was effectively sealed.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! #hq x reader #hq smut #request are open #hq thirst #hq x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq suna #suna rintaro x y/n #haikyuu suna #suna rintaro drabbles #suna scenarios #suna rintarou #suna imagines #suna x reader #suna x you #suna x y/n

[nafeary]

Cuddles and Snuggles with the Ikevamp Suitors

Anon asked:

Hello 👋, can I have some really short and maybe flowery scenarios of the Ikevamp suitors cuddling? Just some cute little paragraph (that can turn smutty but doesn’t have to be) I really really like your style of writing, you see. Thank you!!!!

Heya! I love love love requests like these, they really make my day. Considering I didn’t want to give everything the same plot, I figured I’d just allow my creative freedom to run rampage.

I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much, but school is keeping me pretty busy (a week of holidays are coming up tho hehehehe). This has been sitting in my WIPs for an eternity, and I finished the last five bois today (it’s Sunday/Monday midnight by the time I’m scheduling this YEET).

I hope you’ll all manage to find some comfort in this, and I hope you’ll all enjoy (and remember to drink water~)

Also, I don’t care what Cybird says; Theo is 186cm and I do not take criticism on this.

Warnings: implied sexual intercourse (only for Leo tho), otherwise only toothrottingly sweet fluff... maybe angst, too. Blame Aki)

Napoleon Bonaparte

『laying siege to your heart』

Laughter prompted your body to tremor in delight upon seeing the form of your lover snuggling his blanket, spilling into the room in coaction with the afternoon rays streaming in buoyant ribbons. Napoleon lethargically peeked past his lashes, grinning as he grasped your hand to pull you into his awaiting arms.

Your head fit perfectly underneath his chin, your bodies an amalgamation of puzzle pieces enjoying their reunion. You allowed a few teasing quips to spill from your lips, regretting to have done so tout de suite as your body writhed beneath his butterfly kisses tickling your nape. The most darling sounding giggles encompasses your ears, eliciting some of your own as you tried your best to escape his tight embrace.

Eventually, he stilled, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and holding you for what felt like an entire eternity—no ounce of egomania weighed upon you, the fierceness of it brought forth by his sheer adoration for yourself. And even if he were to lay siege for an eternity, you couldn’t see yourself caring if you were pledged with no disparate treatment.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

『moonlight tryst』

If there was one thing you’ve come to cherish, it would be the time of the moon, when it reigned the sky in its eerie glory. You’ve never been able to see the stars’ purity, constellations clearer than ever before. Perchance, the appreciation stemmed from the company the firmament would gift you with, when the other half of your bed was frozen and weeping alongside you in abandonment. Yet, as you mused your loneliness, approaching echoes of heels hitting the tiled floor incited your gaze to leave the stars, instead turning to embrace the sight of your lover coming to join you to your tryst.

Stars melted into fervid streams of gems, pouring upon Wolf’s skin, hair, and eyes, aiding his appearance to leave you blinded beneath its ethereal irradiance. You picked up a ribbon le Comte had gifted you long ago, jesting the embroidered amethysts would gracefully accompany the composer’s own set of eyes; but the juxtaposition left you disenchanted at the blunt and transparent crystals, opting to tie his alabaster strands with it, shivering slightly as you parted a curtain over his nape.

He enfolded your hands with his, hastily trying to get it off. However, his lips were quickly claimed by his muse, pouring every emotion and feeling you could gather into it. You were glad for the minuscule distraction, even more so as his arms fell limp, succumbing to your passion—nay, not without teasing remarks, leaving your pounding heart at the wolf’s mercy, and carrying your cries into the night in concordance with the owls’ song.

Leonardo da Vinci

『the gift of light』

At times, your relationship felt like stumbling through an obsidian forest, the only object not the plunged into abyssal realms a map to show you the right path. The map knew everything, could achieve anything, would create the unimaginable, while you were left impotently relying one its guidance.

Leonardo was aware of these clouds obscuring your emotions, hindering your felicity, and he was unsure whether he should act upon it. Perchance, it would leave you in deeper misery, but he’d take the chance to undress the light in your eyes.

You essentially knew that that was what a relationship with Leonardo da Vinci would result in; after all, no one could possibly match his genius. Natheless, the string pinioning your souls was stubborn, and it would be near impossible for anything to deter you from this love.

As you straddled him, panting in exhaustion with sweat glistening like deep sea pearls across your bodies, he slid his hands past your ears, tugging on the ribbon keeping your hair up. They ran past your bare shoulders, a cascade of bougainvillea shadowing the outside world from seeing your lover’s flushed expression. With his hands still resting on your cheeks, he pulled you toward himself, capturing your lips with raw ardour. A gossamer simper slumbered onto his face just as the sun announced the arrival of dayspring, enkindling the forest in the light of dawn.

Arthur Conan Doyle

『cosy and secluded dancing』

A myriad of candles appeared to dance within the salon, frolicking in the gentle zephyrs through the opened window. The lovers exuded the impression of pure serenity, swaying in each other’s clutches in synchronisation with the flames.

A saxophone urged your feet to tap along the tiled floor, the beat accompanying the agute anecdotes Arthur shared with you. A simper blossomed on your face as the topic of them always managed to include yourself in some way or another; you’d taken notice of this the further you relationship wrote itself. And just like his words filled the paper with ease under the influence of his fountain of delight, so did the words pertaining to your mutual ardour.

As you allowed your lips to meet his nose, perplexity pulled your brows into a furrow—how anyone could just accept all the malicious comments of “mongrel”, “bastard”, and other vile slurs without retaliating in defense was beyond you, especially when a simple action like yours dissolved him into a fumbling mess, his footing faltering to and fro akin to the rustling branches outside. It was nothing but a mystery, but he was your mystery. And you had more than enough time to solve him, buoyantly filling the paper with breathings of your love along the way.

Vincent Van Gogh

『picnic in a flower meadow』

There was nothing but warmth—the ground, the breeze, the sun’s ever so gentle embrace on this bright autumn’s day, creating an atmosphere of absolute serenity.

However, the sun wasn’t the only one to embrace you. You felt your lover’s breathing gently caressing your face, his heartbeat beneath your head the sole sound next to the sunflowers’ ever so tranquil rustling.

Another breeze ruffled his flaxen tufts of hair, eliciting the tiniest of giggles as they brushed against his nose. As his hands rose up to brush your hair, he gifted to with the most brilliant grin, the epitome of an angel walking amongst mortals.

It made you nuzzle closer into his chest, inhaling the wonted scent of paint and dried sunflowers. Opting to enjoy these last moments of your picnic with the artist, your eyes fluttered close to the most ethereal sight on earth.

Theodorus Van Gogh

『unfeigned aftermath of a fight』

Ire was not strange to him, acquaintances till death, for sure. Nevertheless, these kind of manners didn’t appeal to him, but charading as the scapegoat for his brother’s wealth has made him into the devil’s advocate—and old habits hardly perish.

His hands caught the last few droplets of despair running down your chin, stroking your own pair of hands as he held you from behind. A few moments prior, he had shown you his quiet, oftentimes guarded, ardour, carrying these words to your ear. It left you nearly broken, the brush having stumbled across the artwork, red marks littering the void. But as fast as the shade spread, so did the greens and blues, the yellows and whites; if someone knew how to fix these mistakes, it was Theo himself.

In favour of his height, he straightened to place his chin atop your head, allowing you to lean into him. You couldn’t even remember what miscellaneous things you’d been fighting about, rendering your throats hoarse and your hearts wound; alas, as perilous as his clamours were, he never failed to apologise, whispering adorations as sweet as the saccharine treats he enjoyed.

Truly, as painful as some words could be, he always committed to proving you his worth. He just didn’t realize that that was irrelevant; after all, your devotion for him ran deeper than any slash could ever reach.

Dazai Osamu

『tranquil lazing in the garden』

Amidst the most delicate petals and the green leaves, the pond’s reflection of two twirling birds was similar to the lovers leaning against an oak, intertwined branches unable to release their hold.

You were situated between his legs, his broad chest acting as your pillow of comfort. It was a serene kind of purity, the meadow’s song—flora and fauna uniting to create a serenade of peace—coaxing your pair into a state free of despair and ire. That is, until he let his lips flutter down your exposed neck, prompting you to grip the flesh of his thighs a bit tighter.

The butterfly kisses didn’t appear to end anytime soon, not that you payed it much negative mind. A simper danced across both of your faces as a butterfly, with gossamer wings fluttering gently, landed on your lover’s finger, drawing a titter to resound throughout the garden.

He beheld your reach for the lepidopteran creature, the flaxen colours scintillant in your orbs. Perchance this little guy was an omen of genuine ebullience. However, certainty belay onto his thoughts, knowing that you were nothing but a sign of fortune, even to someone as tainted as himself.

Isaac Newton

『snuggles to chase away self doubt』

Unrelentingly, you pushed chocolate into his calloused hands, pledging that the tryto-something—“it’s tryptophan, darling”—would surely lift his solemn mood, clouds of doubt and pressure weighing upon him. He’d been used to the wallowing forlorn, solus; he’d been used to secluding himself apart from any comfort helping hands could give.

But now, now he’d been exposed to a star, more lucent than the North Star could ever dream to be, which shared its balmy rays with him, never imploring for anything in return.

As the slightly bitter treat melted in his mouth, he pulled the almost oneiric appearance of his sweetheart closer to him, your foreheads colliding together to display the sanguine shade of his fiery cheeks. Both of you chortled at his endearing ardency, finding yourself neglecting the light mound rising from the top of your head as you beheld his cherry blossom orbs.

He wasn’t a man of many words, his thoughts the stars he couldn’t fathom into constellations; and while all he could manage were the faintest pleas of gratitude, you knew that that was his crisp layer masking the dispatch of genuineness. Underneath, he was just as sweet and fulfilling as the fruit he so hastily denied. These obstinate and vexing thoughts pulled at the corners of his mouth, but you were swift in your endeavor to diminish them, letting your fingers glissade like zephyrs through the wild locks of salmon and ever so gently massaging him with their tips.

Jean d’Arc

『eskimo kisses and pep talks』

Jean oftentimes felt as if the world was weighing upon his lungs, threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. With his wings clipped and feet bound, all be could was sing in fear and cry for help, knowing he was undeserving of such feat. And yet, you were holding him closer than he’d ever been held before, kissing every scar, every painful remainder of his past, with the force of what could only be described as love.

He’d call himself vile names, thinking nothing much of it, and you’d never grasped what he meant. Moronic? His gentleness spoke of wisdom that many men could only dream of owning. Appalling? You would incessantly reassure him that his arms were your favorite place to while in, and that you wanted to feel his pulse through your veins. Ugly? His eyes met the moon and became almost prismatic as he claimed so, releasing that inhumanly beautiful hue of disenthralled, limitless amethysts, his skin reflecting the pale alabaster rays. How could a person so stunning and breathtaking be ugly? A person so kind and selfless?

Jean scoffed at your sentiment; withal, he allowed himself to succumb to his selfishness, brushing your nose with his own in an anguished assay to express his gratitude. You responded with a glee, succumbing to his endearing affection. He could only yearn for you to be able to withstand the barrel of infinity that he was bound to curse you with.

William Shakespeare

『interruptions ft puck』

You rose to the canorous breathing of your lover, nay, soulmate; that much was apparent judging by the euphoria encompassing your entire being at the sole mention of his name. It perplexed you how you were able to manage waking up to this empyrean sight without your heart granting the artist its last applause.

From his flushed checks, to his bare chest exposed to your own, to his lean arms reaching around yourself to tangle his fingers within your mane, more delicate and loving than the activities of the previous night required—you knew you were borne under a lucky star, whose only affiliation could possibly be be playwright claiming you his, cradling you with nothing but the zephyrs of a quiet twilight downpour.

You noticed a few candles he’d lit, most likely while you still rested, and they carried scents of raspberry sorbet, wafting around you in refreshing sprites. They were made my William himself, akin to the abundance of objects you’d sentimentally ramble about; and yet, he’d obstinately organise the most trivial things, no matter the obstacle of time and place.

Warmth engulfed your heart, your mind and being at how utterly cherished you were within his arms, and a few tears threatened their exeunt, but you suppressed your expression to the best of your ability, not wanting to worry him ignominiously. The fortunate appearance of your favourite character from the playwright’s own little story supported your despair de trop—even if he might not have intended to.

The little bunny hopped onto your lover’s head, staring down at you as if to mark his own territory. However, this attempt only prompted laughter to spill from your lips, and it amplified as William plucked Puck from his hair, placing him in midst of your tangled limps.

Comte de Saint-Germain

『napping in front of his fireplace』

The fireplace was ablaze, each scarlet flame radiating heat as the fumes frolicked in delight. With your legs angled to your lover’s lap and your fingers clutching his dress shirt, you were curled into the man’s side, the sofa cushioning your assay to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt the snug quilt slide over your shoulders, meeting brilliant gold whose owner was busy with shielding you from the frigid cold. His hand released the fabric, instead opting to ever so carefully grasp your chin, as if frightened you were a withering rose.

Words of adoring troths danced on your lips, assuring him that you weren’t fragile, that he mustn’t fret upon your disappearance. He could only place a kiss between your brows, aware that silence weighed more than words ever could; his mirth was apparent as he pulled you closer to him, wanting nothing but to transcend time and space for his other half.

Sebastian

『oreos, milk, and ice cream』

There were certain difficulties when your heart belonged to two people, but even more so when it belonged to multiple places—or periods. Nevertheless, being employed to a time-traveling and immortal boss had its certain advantages.

You knew he longed for these items as much as you did, yet only organised them as you uttered these fantasies in a sleepy stupor. Enthusiasm spurring the atmosphere, you scooped the icy vanilla custard into crystalline bowls, improvident about the dampness coating your fingers. Before the fallen spoon could hit the ground, your lover caught it, trapping your back against his chest as he placed it back onto the counter.

His reverberating laughter prompted your own, enjoying the sensation of the flush body enbosoming your own. Arms winding across your chest, further strengthening the protective cocoon, a feather brushed your neck as he kissed with the ilk of cotton fields. You couldn’t halt the goosebumps from waltzing to the rhythm of his teasing, rather opting to stuff an Oreo past his appealing lips.

Tag list: @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta @delicateikemenmemes

#ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikemen headcanons #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen napoleon #ikemen leonardo #ikemen mozart #ikemen arthur #ikemen vincent #ikemen theodorus #ikemen theo #ikemen dazai #ikemen isaac #ikemen jean #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen william #ikemen le comte #ikemen comte #ikemen sebastian

[goobra]

max i have been trying to get an office job for so long because im so sick of minimum wage food service :( do you have any tips for someone without a college degree perchance?

i was you once! apply to literally anything you think you could do, even if you're not qualified according to their requirements. it will be incredibly draining, which fucking sucks, but there truly is value to quantity. if you think you could do what's being asked in a job, apply.

also, lie! as long as you're not trying to do work that requires actual training/depths of knowledge, just lie about your qualifications if you think you can get away with it. i know that's probably bad advice but it worked for me so i feel inclined to include it. part of why i got my last job was because they thought i had a degree i didn't have, that i definitely didn't need.

making a good impression on interviews is important (obviously) but getting to the interview stage is such a tough hurdle to begin with, so make sure you look really good on paper! buff your resume with whatever you can! lie a little!

college is viewed by so many as a necessity, but it's just elitism. most office jobs don't require those degrees. i'm rooting for you!!

#sorry if this sounds super preachy

[ghostietoasty]

Why Sherlock Holmes FGO is Sus: Theories and More

Before I begin, I’d like to give thanks to my wonderful friend for all the points, art, and info searching that have been made to produce this piece, I can’t appreciate you enough for the effort you put in. 🥺🙏💕

Alright now on to it!

INTRODUCTION: Humble Beginnings (Identification of the Abnormal)

If you’ve played the app Fate/Grand Order for a while you’d know about the Heroic Spirit we first encounter in a hole within Camelot’s dessert whilst going to the Atlas Institute. Smart, handsome looking, and sharp enough to discern our True Name, this man of mystery has been seen as an oddball by many long time players of the game. There are many aspects about him that raise doubt about his credibility, is he truly what he wants us to think he is? That servant is Sherlock Holmes (Ruler) and there are many theories about him having some secrets, about him either being a Foreigner class, Beast class, or something else entirely. We are attempting to catalogue all this information in one place for maximum clarity.

SECTION 1: Other Character’s Reaction (First Impression is the Best Impression) *WARNING LOSTBELT 1 AND 2 SPOILERS AHEAD*

From the first encounter in Camelot right until the end of Lostbelt 2, there are many instances of characters reacting to his presence in….interesting ways.

Bedivere, when first coming in contact with Holmes in Camelot says that "I suppose I've never really been good with people like him. He reminds me of Merlin."

It could refer to the mysterious manner in which both Holmes and Merlin conduct themselves, but better to keep in mind that Merlin is a Grand Caster, and that he manifests as a servant due to specific circumstances (he is not dead).

In Camelot, Mash assumes that Holmes must be Caster class and that the original novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle must have been biographies penned by Dr. Watson under a pen name. Holmes corrects her, saying that: "My true identity, my essence, is slightly different from what you may think. And sad, but that is not the purpose of our gathering here today."

This dilemma is also present in the Sherlock Holmes Trial Quest (which mostly tackles the debate of whether he's a fictional character or someone who actually existed). Holmes has a line where he says:

"Ah, yes. I mentioned I was a Caster. Forgive me, I lied."

This is however immediately followed up by:

"A jest. My apologies. I couldn't help myself." 

This sort of backpedalling raises a doubt as to whether he was really Caster class before, so the nature of his former class is still a mystery. He later mentions that his Ruler class is the World telling him that not all illusions and dreams need to be laid bare.

When meeting with Salieri in Lostbelt 1, Holmes introduces himself as such:"I'm Sherlock Holmes, Chaldea's administrative advisor. I became a servant through unusual means, just like you."

Salieri was only summonable as a servant  because of his reputation caused by the fact that he killed Mozart. He is under the effect of Innocent Monster. It can also be said that Salieri is a lostbelt servant and is significantly more sane than he would have been in a normal summoning, that was the unusual summoning that Holmes was refering to. Does this mean Holmes is not from Proper Human History? 

Sigurd (who's under the control of Surtur), while attacking us in Lostbelt 2 says this: "So, a human and two Heroic Spirits. No, wait. Neither of you are pure Heroic Spirits, are you? You've both got something else mixed in. Hehe, hybrids then. Interesting" 

This is in reference to Holmes and Mash, who are alongside the master at this moment. Mash is a demiservant (human+servant) hence the "Hybrid" comment makes sense, but Holmes? What is the "something else" mixed in with Holmes?

Later in LB2, Holmes requests the assistance of Scáthach-Skadi in beating Surtur. Skadi says that normally she would never pay mind to what a mere Heroic Spirit had to say but: "...but in your particular case…I sense wisdom in those beautiful eyes. You remind me of Baldr, god of light." Quite a bit later, she also has this to say:"Perhaps those piercing eyes of yours in fact surpass Odin's? Mystic Eyes, perchance? ….No, that's not it. They merely reflect your wisdom born of human history's cumulative accomplishments."

She says that's not it, but the fact that it was the first thing she thought of shouldn't be ignored. 

Baldr is the god of light. Holmes' attacks consist of beams of light, and his cane lights up when he's using it in battle.

In Norse legends, Odin is said to have sacrificed one eye to the spring of Mimir in order to get ancient wisdom, the ability to perceive everything in the world. 

SECTION 1.5: More Reactions (From JP Only)

Since it is JP only and there is no official translation for NA yet, this information cannot be 100% confirmed in any way. (Most of this is from Reddit translation done by fans). But as these are also important, it's best to put this information separate section.

Moriarty's interlude involves him finding a micro-singularity in London. At some point the transmission between Chaldea and the master gets cut and Moriarty reveals he created this scenario, made the singularity and everything to get one on one time with the master. He tells us not to trust Holmes. When the time comes, we as master should choose Moriarty over Holmes. 

It has to be kept in mind that Moriarty is not a good guy, he is a character created entirely to oppose Holmes so it is natural that he doesn't trust him. For all we know, it is just emotional manipulation. 

Moriarty's very nature is tied to being the antithesis of Holmes. Holmes might theoretically go against us for the sake of humanity while also trying to keep us safe (the master is in a way, a Watson replacement to him after all) while Moriarty would gladly let humanity burn for the sake of us but also for the sake of being completely opposite to Holmes and keeping his identity as such.

However he does raise valid points, how was Holmes able to rayshift? This part was never explained, and he also mentions that his hypothesis has a fatal contradiction in the fact that Holmes risked his life to save ours. What can be inferred from this is that Holmes is a good man and is on our side, but there is something very weird about him that should not be ignored.

In Lostselt 5 it is mentioned at one point that Zeus called Holmes dangerous, he mustn't look at Zeus or the other gods and that his eyes are enemies of the world.

It has to be mentioned that this is some heavy emphasis on Holmes' eyes (Skadi mentioned Holmes' eyes twice, and she was a god as well). Is it because of the nature of Holmes that he is the one that reveals all truth? Is that in some way detrimental to gods, magic and the world in general?

Recently, from Holmes' skill upgrade interlude there was a section about Holmes saying that he is always an ally of justice and that while he may be on our side, he is still capable of evil but it doesn't change the fact that he is our ally. Even then it seems he has some secrets that can't be understood by himself.

By now with the presence of Dr. Jekyll and Helena and their recounts on what happened, it is confirmed that Holmes was actually "alive"(?)

Some of the adventures penned by Dr. Watson were actually censored versions of the original happenings, which were magical in nature.

Holmes was traumatised(?) by Helena's death back when they were both alive. He swears he would never let that happen again. (remember what happened in lostbelt 2…)

It seems that Holmes himself is not fully sure of what is secret about him. Since he utterly dislikes talking about something without being 100% sure about it (this tendency of his has gotten us in trouble before) plus his general secretive nature, it can be said that this is why he wouldn't talk about that.

SECTION 2: Weird Things That Holmes Does (And Other Questions)

Heroic Spirits are anything but normal, but there are few servants who break the norm even further, and Holmes is one of them.

Holmes is able to Rayshift (presumably) from London, to Camelot, and then to Shinjuku. There are very few servants who are able to manifest themselves. 

Musashi also appears here and there, but it's not a deliberate choice on her part. She is not able to predetermine her next destination. 

Arthur travels from a parallel world to this world, but this is due to "chasing after a certain powerful antagonist, evil omen" - so he tells.

Beast class has the skill of Independent Manifestation which would allow the servant to manifest anywhere they'd want. Merlin, Tamamo Vitch and Shiki possess it. However, it has to be noted that Holmes' rayshifts have a significant toll on his saint graph, as he is unable to fight or defend himself by the time we meet him in Camelot. While normal Independent Manifestation shouldn't lead to the depletion of the user's saint graph. Holmes' class is unknown at the time of his rayshifting. 

At the time of summoning, Heroic Spirits usually reveal their class and True Name (there also are exceptions to the rule). At the time of his summoning, Holmes doesn't reveal his Class: "Are introductions necessary? I am a detective. If you were expecting a hero, my apologies...But if you wanted a detective or an investigator, you drew the right card."

In the case of EOR Servants whose names haven't been found, they reveal their class.

Who summoned Holmes? The only thing we know regarding his presence was that it was first clearly there when he tampered with information in London.

Holmes' illustrator is Yamanaka Kotetsu, who was also the illustrator of the beasts Tiamat and Goetia

The artists who design and illustrate the characters tend to do it in groups of servants who are related to each other in some way (Pako with Arjuna and Karna Chacha and Nobunaga; Miwa Shiro with Brynhildr and Sigurd). It is strange that Kotetsu designed only Holmes, Tiamat and Goetia.

(NEW ADDITION) It should also be noted that as an illustrator Kotetsu has had previous works in a Lovecraftian Guidebook and is also the artist to the Alien God Preistess, somewhat showing how their work leans more to the outerworldly.

SECTION 3: The Design

It is a very commonly noticed fact that Holmes' coat in his third ascension has a very similar shape to that of the Foreigner card artwork.

The pattern work on the coattails of the foreigner art and the inside (blue) part of Holmes' coattails have a very similar, if not exactly same pattern running down the entire length of it. The sphere summoned in Holmes' Noble Phantasm also has the same pattern on its sides and front.

There is a "fog" around Holmes in his third ascension, which is reminescent of the smoke in the card art. (Also can be the London smog).

The glowing section of the abdomen of the being reminds one of the metallic corset that Holmes wears. 

There are 4 notches of smoke on either side of the being (total 8), under their cape. If we stretch our interpretation, then it could mean Holmes' arms and the metal arms that he has is also equal to 8.

In that tangent, the shape of the coat is also similar to that of Saver class Buddha, the fantasy trees from Lostbelt 3 and 4, and the Shadows made by the 6th imaginary element.

The Endless Knot / Shrivatsa symbol on his shoulders is one of the many references of his connection to Tibet (faking his death after the Final Problem). It is an important symbol in both Jainism and Buddhism.

Some of its interpretations include:

The eternal continuum of mind.

The union of wisdom and method.

Since the knot has no beginning or end it also symbolizes the wisdom of the Buddha

the endless cycle of suffering or birth, death and rebirth within Tibetan Buddhism.

The cane that Holmes wields has a pattern on its handle in the shape of a Prayer Wheel. 

However, we are not able to find the meaning behind the script on the cane. Both of us attempted to translate it but failed. If anyone can translate the meaning it would be greatly appreciated.

The holographic books in the base of the unidentified sphere have a pattern on their front that greatly resembles a lotus. 

In Holmes' third ascension, there are a number of magical circuits on his coat.

The circuits are almost only on his left side, with very few circuits on his right side. It's not like it was woven into it, were that the case the circuits would have been all over his coat in a more even distribution. It's almost like an impact radius.

The circuits are very similar to the ones visible on the title screen of the lostbelts, as well as the patterns seen on the fantasy trees.

CONCLUSION SECTION: Something's Up (It's Big Brain Time)

It's clear that something is very strange about Holmes, from his interactions to his design, it's clear that there is too much effort into throwing these hints that it's not just a red herring.

Is he a Foreigner? Beast? Counter Guardian? Some other unknown extra class? It cannot be said at the moment. Holmes' role as a revealer itself is dangerous to mystery and magic, so it can be anything.

 It is also not necessarily true that just because Holmes has all these abnormalities, that he will betray us, or is on the side of evil. When has there been a clear cut side of good or evil anyway? It can be argued that we are the villains in some way, as we bring about the end of these timelines to safeguard our own proper human history. 

Holmes has always been on the side of humanity and will continue to be, the question is what the reveal will be, why and how. That, only time and future chapters can answer, all we can do is speculate.

#fate #fate grand order #fgo #Sherlock Holmes #lostbelt spoilers #foreigner theories #fuccyoutumblrfuccyoutumblrfuccy #hope yall enjoyed!! feel free to give yalls thoughts!! #and again thank you soso much fremd🥺🥺🥺🙏🙏

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Unpopular opinion: I really don't want to be sorted into Hufflepuff. Because if you are an Hufflepuff, people will expect you to be sweet and accepting, if you don't, people will even hate you for this. I am always trying to be understanding and empathetic irl, but I want to have the chance to just be cold. People's opinion of Diego doesn't belongs to Hufflepuff and their hatre to Jane makes me scared of the stereotype so much and honestly this makes my impression toward this house worsen.

Speaking as someone who just made a post criticizing Jane for not upholding the values of Hufflepuff House in her role as Prefect...I feel a degree of responsibility here, and I just want to immediately say that both she and Diego are Hufflepuffs, because that is where they were sorted. They don't go anywhere else outside of re-sorting AUs. The Houses are arbitrary, and just because a character seems to suit another more than the one they're in (Snape comes to mind) or does not seem to fit the traits of their sorted House (Dumbledore, in my own humble opinion) doesn't mean they aren't a part of that House. Ultimately, you do get to choose. That is made very clear. If you want a particular House - or don't want one - badly enough, the Hat will probably listen.

There is no obligation to hold up the expected and stereotypical traits of your sorted House, either. Ben and Neville are cowardly Gryffindors. You can be a Ravenclaw without being conventionally smart, you can be a Slytherin without ambition. Wherever you are placed, or wherever you choose to go, it is where you belong unless perchance you come to believe it isn't. Like a friend of mine used to think she was a Slytherin, but more recently she's been considering herself a Ravenclaw. And when it comes to Hufflepuff...well, Zacharias Smith speaks for himself. Beatrice can occasionally have attitude as well. Hufflepuff as a House has some of the strangest stereotypes. Literally, why is it a Hufflepuff thing to like Herbology? It's even been mentioned in HPHM, but why? Because the Head of House in the books was the Herbology teacher? So what, by the epilogue she had been succeeded by a Gryffindor.

And one more thing - being nice and sweet and accepting? Yeah, those are not Hufflepuff traits. That's another stereotype. And sure, plenty of us do fit in to that stereotype, but what does the Sorting Hat actually say about the House of Badgers? They are just and loyal, patient, true, and unafraid of toil. To be a Hufflepuff, you might be incredible loyal. You might have a strong sense of patience. You might be diligent and hardworking. Or you might have a strong sense of justice. You may exhibit more than one of these traits, or none of them. You don't have to match up to anyone's expectations, but the vision most people tend to have of Hufflepuff House is a bit romanticized, if I'm being honest. Speaking as someone who could basically live up to the cinnamon roll stereotype of my House...yeah, not everyone will, and that's okay. Because pretty much the only one of the traits you listed that arguably qualifies is to be accepting, since "good Hufflepuff, she took the rest" This is the House where, most of all, you don't have to worry about living up to a standard. If you don't feel like you fit in any other House, you are still welcome here.

#Harry Potter #Hufflepuff House #Hufflepuff #Harry Potter Analysis #Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery

[elves-n-angels]

How Sebastian Stan Went From Winter Soldier to 'Winter Swoldier'

To keep up with the Chrises, Stan upgraded his diet, training, and worldview. And 2020 is shaping up to be his best year ever.

BY LAUREN LARSON 

DEC 19, 2019

THE COFFEE-SHOP staff is having a silent meltdown. The peppermint tea I ordered was forgotten as soon as Sebastian Stan walked in. He orders a coffee, receives it instantly, and goes to put it down on a table. The lid isn’t fully on, and the coffee spills. It’s almost a “stars are just like us” moment, but then a barista suddenly materializes with a paper towel in his outstretched palm. “It’s wet,” he says eagerly.

Stan, 37, is wearing black shorts, a black T-shirt, midcalf black socks, and a gray hoodie missing its drawstring. He looks very off-duty SoHo, which he is: He’s back home in New York City on furlough from preparations for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, an extravagant collaboration between Marvel and newborn streaming service Disney+.

He’s also wearing a blue baseball cap, which sits slightly higher on his head than it might on the head of someone with less va-va-voom hair. That hair sent the Internet into a tizzy recently, when a poster for Falcon showed Stan with a short cut. In the past when Stan has played the Winter Soldier (né Bucky Barnes), he’s had shoulder-length hair. Next to his forehead, which is giant—the White Cliffs of Dover of foreheads—the longer style made him look very sinister.

Stan is somewhat less recognizable in street clothes, but women still side-eye him on their way to the bathroom. Maybe they recognize him; maybe he’s just a little too strapping not to be famous.

As Stan talks, he maintains an unsettling deadpan, verging on a glower. “People always ask me if I’m okay,” he says, still glowering. “They’ve said I have ‘serial-killer resting face.’ No matter what I do, I’ve always had dark circles under my eyes that never really go away. Lately there might be a little moisturizer happening here and there, just in case. Preserving a couple years, or whatever.”

The more reserved the actor, the more likely he is to become part of Hollywood mythology. Between Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) and Captain America: Civil War (2016), a rumor circulated that he had gotten too ripped for the arm he’d worn in the earlier film, a wraparound contraption meant to look like a machine prosthetic. Redditors called him “the Winter Swoldier” and “Bulky Barnes.”

Stan laughs when I bring it up and clarifies that he used a new-and-improved arm in each successive film. With the first iteration, he had to apply lube to slide his real arm into what was essentially two rigid metal tubes. “It was like having a massive hammer attached to me,” he says, “but it looked unbelievable in the movie, and it actually informed a lot of my body language.”

Subsequent arms were more mobile, and Stan doesn’t have to lube up to get in there anymore: There’s a sleeve inside the arm for his next appearance as the Winter Soldier. But, he concedes, he did get too big for the arm used in Civil War. “I was so insecure being around these massive fucking guys, so I started lifting really heavy and ate a lot. I remember I showed up, and I was a little bit bigger than I had been in The Winter Soldier. The arm was a bit tight,” he says. “I was losing circulation.”

Stan is not a new arrival in the Marvel universe: He made his superhero debut in 2011, with Captain America: The First Avenger. But recently he’s enjoyed a burgeoning late-term fandom as his roles (and arms) have ballooned. Beyond Marvel, he starred alongside Margot Robbie in 2017’s I, Tonya, as Tonya Harding’s jackass boyfriend. When we meet in October, he’s just returned from shooting the spy film 355 in London, with Jessica Chastain, Penélope Cruz, Lupita Nyong’o, and Diane Kruger. Another insecurity-inspiring roster.

With Stan’s constellation of anxieties—he says he’s “terribly self-aware, to the point of detriment”—he is uniquely suited to stardom in 2020. A decade ago, audiences wanted actors to be pillars of Hollywood hubris, strutting around in latex Marvel suits, muscly and impenetrable. We still want the muscles, but we also want stars to be genuine.

Marvel films can seem at odds with that national craving for authenticity. Steve Rogers, for example, becomes Captain America instantly, in the first ten minutes of The First Avenger: He goes into a machine and emerges fit, huge, and self-actualized. I ask Stan whether that narrative—man gets muscles and immediately earns the admiration and attraction of everyone in his midst—isn’t a dated, unrelatable picture of masculinity.

“When I was watching Steve Rogers,” Stan starts in, “I saw him question his identity, his alliances, the government. ‘Who am I? What is this? What made me come into this is very different than the role I am in now.’ I think it was very timely, in the sense that you could see that character evolve. Then he gives up his shield and is like, ‘I’m out. I’m going to do my own thing.’ He chooses his own life. It’s actually more relatable.”

There’s an obvious metaphor there: Stan is Captain America, and stardom—and the press tours, the scrutiny, and the training that come with it—is his government, always invading his carefully fortified sense of self. As a result, he can appear very reticent in public, offering only occasional glimpses of the unguarded Sebastian Stan. Audiences live for those moments.

Stan is the anti-celebrity in the year of the anti-celebrity.

And his ambient hostility toward questioning is offset by the behavior of his Falcon costar Anthony Mackie. When alone in interviews, Stan can seem deflective and bored, but he gets an enormous kick out of Mackie, who has jumped in to rescue many an interviewer left to writhe on the hook by Stan. He is the Sebastian Stan whisperer, midwife to a charm that can be difficult to coax out.

“When I’m trying hard to find the honest moment, he sort of unlocks me a little bit. We both laugh and we find a way to have a good time,” Stan says. When I tell him that I’m planning to mine Mackie for gossip, he laughs. “Here’s what he’s going to say: ‘He’s way too serious. It’s boring. He slows everything down. It’s always these questions and, like, the stare. Give this kid a Yoo-hoo! Somebody get him a chocolate milk. Good God, put a smile on his face!’ ”

Mackie is the enthusiastic extrovert to Stan’s pensive recluse. Even though I reach him on the phone at 9:00 p.m. after a long day of shooting in Savannah—“I’m already going to bed,” Mackie says in a N’awlins drawl that sounds sleepier than usual—he’s forthcoming about Stan. He describes his costar as a hermit, a chronic Irish-goodbye-er who doesn’t offer much of himself at first. “If the FBI ever needed to get anything out of him, they’d be in very big trouble,” Mackie says. “I don’t know what the male equivalent would be of ‘resting bitch face,’ but Sebastian has nailed that 100 percent.”

His first impression, which lingered for a long time, was that Stan was a very quiet, very reserved actor. They shook hands when they met, but it wasn’t a buddy-com bromance at first sight. It wasn’t until much later, when the two were on a press tour for The Winter Soldier, that they hit it off. Mackie hung out with Stan and a few of his closest friends, and they “unlocked” Stan for Mackie the same way Mackie now unlocks Stan on press tours.

Their chemistry also plays well on set. They share a dedication to their work, and they both come from classical acting backgrounds. (“He went to Juilliard,” Stan says of Mackie. “He can do anything.”) Beyond that, they’re opposites, reining in each other’s moods to a perfect, workable middle. “He calms me down when I’m ready to rage against the machine,” Mackie says. In turn, Mackie bullies Stan into having fun.

Case in point: When they were on a press tour in Beijing, they had one of those endless nights that make press tours seem glamorous. “It just went on and on and on,” Mackie recalls. “We had to do press the next morning, and he’s like, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I’m like, ‘Nope.’ I took his wallet and his cell phone so he couldn’t get into his hotel room. Then, by the time we got to the press, I was fine. He just looked like he’d gotten hit by a car.”

Hollywood has always relished actor partnerships—from Robert Redford and Paul Newman to Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson—but now more than ever, buddying up feels like an imperative. Pairs perform, especially on social media. In November, when Stan and Mackie took over Marvel Studios’ Instagram to announce that they’d begun filming Falcon, fans were as thirsty for their friendship as they were for the show. Their dynamic is the stuff of memes: “[I] want someone to look at me the way Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie look at each other,” one fan tweeted.

I know what that fan meant. When Stan does look at you without suspicion—when, perchance, he laughs at something you say—it’s like winning a battle.

WHEN IT COMES to fitness, Stan has also benefited from the influence of a charismatic spirit guide. He played soccer and basketball at his Rockland County, New York, high school, but he didn’t start running and going to the gym until he was in college at Rutgers University. And he didn’t get really into fitness until 2005, when he was cast in a film titled The Covenant, which Stan calls “really classic.”

Really classic, indeed: The Covenant also stars Chace Crawford, whom Stan would later join on Gossip Girl (another classic), and Taylor Kitsch. Stan plays one of five prep-school boys endowed with supernatural gifts and sick abs.

“I got a call,” Stan says. “And one of the producers said to me, ‘Look, you’re going to have to look like John Travolta in Staying Alive.’ He’s just glistening with muscles. It’s ridiculous. I was like, ‘Oh my God.’ I started to work out with a trainer, but it was my buddy

Taylor Kitsch who got me into it.” With the trainer and Kitsch as his gym shepherds, Stan began exercising in earnest.

Then, in 2013, ahead of The Winter Soldier, Stan teamed up with trainer Don Saladino, who’d also sculpted Ryan Reynolds, John Krasinski, and Liev Schreiber. That same year, Stan starred in a Broadway revival of William Inge’s Picnic, playing a character whose defining trait is his hotness.

“Inge was writing something very important about vanity and how people were perceived in terms of being quote-unquote good-looking, beautiful, or pretty,” Stan said in a Playbill interview in 2013. “In the play, there’s something shameful and dirty about it. Our obsession with beauty has not changed. When we see something that turns us on, we either appreciate it or judge it. It’s so primal. We still dismiss people if they’re pretty; we don’t care how they feel, because they should just be happy looking the way they do. That’s something we were trying to say with this production.” Stan is less philosophical about his Picnic bod these days. “I had to be basically shirtless every night, like eight shows a week,” he says. “I really zoned in on diet, and everything transformed.”

He prefers exercising on an empty stomach, so he generally starts his day with coffee—and a rice cake with some almond butter and honey if he’s feeling depleted. Today he was feeling very depleted, he says, so he had some scrambled eggs with Brussels sprouts and aioli. “I’m not going to tell you the place where I got that,” he adds, unprompted and wary, as though I might start dining there daily in a stalker vigil.

Stan is a proponent of “quality over quantity,” but that doesn’t mean he skimps on his workouts; he just knows that a 20-minute session that catapults his heart rate into the red zone is as effective as an hour of low-intensity bullshit. He runs (“I’m not going to tell you where”) when he’s feeling meditative.

In advance of the Falcon shoot, Stan started lifting weights every morning and knocking out stunt training for the fight scenes. He points out that filming an action movie is a workout in itself: You spend whole days running around and sweating in a heavy suit. “I mean, next to Evans and Hemsworth and all those guys, I feel like I’m 50 miles behind. I don’t think I can get to that size, to be honest,” he says. That aside, Stan feels, in his late 30s, better than ever. “My body right now is probably the best it’s ever been.”

THERE'S A PHOTO of Stan, age 15, on his Instagram. It’s a headshot from Stagedoor Manor, an acting camp that he attended while in high school. He’s recognizable from the brow up—he has the same broad forehead, the same voluminous hair. His arms look pale and soft, like overcooked linguine, and he’s staring down the camera with theater-kid intensity.

Stan lived in Romania until he was eight years old. Shortly after the Romanian revolution, he and his mother moved to Vienna and stayed there for four years before heading to New York in 1995. No, he says, he didn’t have a foreign exchange student’s social cachet in middle school. “Maybe if I was from France or something. But I am Eastern European. We left communism,” he says. “When I came here, I just wanted to be like everybody else.”

I ask Stan which of his mannerisms are typically Romanian. “You’re kind of putting me on the spot to define a whole nation—a guy who hasn’t been there for years,” he says. But he thinks for a second. “For me, based on my mother, the ‘Romanian temperament’ is perseverance—being able to handle more than you think you can. At 27, my mother was working two jobs in a foreign country where she barely spoke the language. There’s a sense of family and perseverance that’s deeply ingrained in the blood.”

Even for someone who has experienced a certain degree of stardom, Marvel fans can be a shock to one’s sense of family. Certain Marvel stars acquiesce to the attention on some level, greeting fans with a Chris Hemsworthian openness to scrutiny. Stan’s boundaries are reflexive and firm, as though his sense of self is always under attack. (Which, to be fair, it may well be: “He’s so reserved,” Mackie says, “but in this day and age that’s a very good quality.”)

Stan is more protective of his personal life than most actors. Celebrities often use social media to dispense calculated chunks of themselves in exchange for privacy. Stan occasionally opens up on Instagram: “Been working with this guy through years of self judgement and mental wars when it comes to fitness and LIFE,” he wrote of Saladino in a caption accompanying a gym selfie. But questions about the people in his orbit ping ineffectually against his poker face.

He attributes this to only-vaguely-alluded-to incidents in which his family and friends were subject to public attention. As a public figure, he has opted into that attention, he explains, but they haven’t. It upset him when they were the targets of scrutiny, particularly when that scrutiny came from his fans. Stan seems to be looking for earnestness in an industry that, on the whole, disdains earnestness. He “tries hard to find the honest moment,” as he himself puts it (much like how he saw a profound statement about “our obsession with beauty” in William Inge’s horny play).

In this, the Marvel universe is an improbably good fit for him. We speak the week after Martin Scorsese said Marvel films “are not cinema,” and Stan is as defensive of the films as he can be without disrespecting Scorsese, one of his heroes. “All I know is that all movies affect people,” he says. “I’ve certainly experienced firsthand many people who have been affected and helped by Marvel movies.”

Captain America fans lean earnest. People have told Stan that Bucky Barnes helped them cope with their PTSD. During Q&A sessions, he’s asked questions like “What would Bucky Barnes’s major be?” and “What happened to Bucky Barnes when he fell from the train?” Stan fields those questions without sarcasm or diversion.

“They think we are these people,” Stan says, again without condescension. He’s content to take questions about Bucky Barnes, especially if it distracts fans from asking questions about Sebastian Stan. “Now we’re much more obsessed with the personality rather than the actor. We take people and swallow them and digest them and chew them up, and then we spit them out the other side. Then we’re done,” he says. “We’ve done that with numerous celebrities—people. I’ve seen people have massive ups and downs and stuff. All I can do is just try to be as honest as I can. And do my job.”

Men's Health Magazine, December 19, 2019.

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #winter soldier #mens health #long post

[samwpmarleau]

Would you write Arthur's reaction to the news that elia and rhaegar are getting betrothed

Another anon asked: Fic request: Elia and Arthur have a stolen moment just before she marries Rhaegar

He can’t say the news comes as a surprise, particularly. It’s an advantageous match, one that has Princess Loreza’s shrewd handiwork and the king’s pettiness all over it. He can’t fault the match.

And yet still it feels like a slap in the face. Fate’s fickle flick of the wrist. He leaves Dorne—leaves her—for the place perhaps least like it, only for his past to come barging right into his present. His best friend and the love of his life. Two of the very limited number of people he truly believes in, truly trusts.

Betrothed.

It was one thing to know, theoretically, that she would be wed. But being the wife to some Dornish bannerman is a far cry from the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms, eternally to be a constant presence in his life. Again, though far frostier this time around.

He should have known, really, the moment Elia arrived at Lord Robert’s tourney. Why else would she journey such a long distance from home, when the Princess always so fiercely limited her outings? An exception had been made during Elia’s sixteenth year…but that was an exceptional exception indeed. The prize of Jaime Lannister, disguised as a yet-undecided tour of suitors.

But the shock of seeing her, of talking to her, of kissing her hand and saying with cool indifference, “It is wonderful to see you again, Princess Elia,” as though they hadn’t once been each other’s entire universe, had superseded his good sense.

And so, all he can manage is an incredulous stare, his heart pounding beneath his ribcage, his hand reflexively clenching into a fist when at the feast following the joust Rhaegar says—

“It is my great pleasure to announce my betrothal to Princess Elia of Dorne. House Targaryen holds House Martell in highest esteem, and I look forward to our union being forever fruitful.”

The announcement is met with applause and a fresh round of ale, because of course it must, yet it’s quite obvious to Arthur that he’s not the only one taken aback by the news. Though for different reasons. How terribly upsetting it must be for the people to have a Dornish crown princess, and a sickly one at that. Perish the thought.

He endures the spectacle long enough for the first course of supper to be served. But even his Kingsguard stoicism has its limits, and if he has to witness one more series of Rhaegar and Elia graciously accepting this lord or that’s insipid congratulations, he’ll vomit. He switches posts with Ser Oswell, who had been patrolling outside the Great Hall. The deafening sound of waves crashing against Durran’s Point is just as well, for it drowns out some of the gaiety behind the hall’s heavy oaken doors.

It works until he’s an hour in and is stopped not by the latest in an impressive string of drunken nobility but Rhaegar’s freshly minted betrothed. Elia. His Elia, who hasn’t been his for quite some time.

“Princess,” he greets with a bow. “Or perchance it is now ‘Your Grace.’”

“‘Your Grace’? That’s all you have to say?” she asks. “Four years of not a word since you left that note without so much as a warning, and now it’s pleasantries? You have some nerve.”

“By ‘nerve,’ do you mean delight that my closest friend and my countrywoman are to be married? I could no sooner fret over that than the marriage of Daeron the Good and his queen.”

“You lie as poorly now as you did when you were a boy.” Gods, he’s even missed her fury.

He could continue the ruse, but it would do no good. “What do you want me to say?”

“I suppose you don’t have to say anything,” she replies. “So long as we’re both aware that you’re the one to blame for this situation.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh?” She takes a step forward, oozing half a decade’s worth of resentment and arguments unhad. “We could have been many years wed by now. A babe, or two. Tywin Lannister slighting my mother was the best news of my life. Then you just left. To join the Kinsgsguard, pledged to a mad monarch growing madder by the day.”

The sound of a man retching nearby has Arthur lowering his voice and guiding Elia further down the dim hallway, away from prying ears. “It’s hardly that simple and you know it.”

“What I know is I was unpromised and you were the damned Sword of the Morning, as viable a suitor as it’s possible to me, and you didn’t even try. My mother—”

“Your mother would not have agreed,” he interrupts.  “She said as much when I asked her.”

Elia’s brow furrows, just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” If someone had told him a week ago that he’d be having this conversation right now, he’d have sent them to Maester Pycelle for a medical examination. “After you returned from the Westerlands, I went to her. She’d cottoned on, of course. I’m not sure there’s anything within Dorne’s borders the Princess isn’t aware of. ‘Don’t start,’ she said. ‘The answer is no.’”

It’s clear that Elia had not been informed of any of this, and he can’t decide whether that works in his favor or not. But her confusion in short order gives way to renewed anger. “Since when did you care about my mother’s opinion?”

“I didn’t at first,” he replies. “But how could I sway her when she was right? A second son of a lesser house I was, the heir to nothing. She refused Baelor fucking Hightower. She aimed for no less than the future Lord of Casterly Rock. What could I have given you in comparison?”

“What comparison? You could have given me you! All I’ve ever needed is you, just as you are.” Elia seizes the golden circlet on her head, that which marks her as Dornish royalty, and tosses it at him. It skitters off his ivory breastplate into his hands. “How could you ever think that I wouldn’t have given this up without a moment’s hesitation? That I’d want the likes of Jaime Lannister or Rhaegar the silver prince?”

He doesn’t let doubt creep in. Because if he does, if he lets himself wonder whether he could have not cowed to the Princess, he couldn’t walk himself back.

“You didn’t even wait,” Elia continues. “Four years it took my mother to arrange this match. More than enough time for her to have changed her mind about us. Yet the minute Ser Harlan came along with his offer, you abandoned me. We could have run away together, if it came to that.”

“Run away where, exactly?”

“I don’t know, anywhere. My good-sister is of Norvos, my niece’s mother is of Volantis, there’s even that hidden tower in the Prince’s Pass you told me about. We had choices.” She crosses her arms across her chest protectively. “So, yes, Arthur, you are to blame for where we stand now.”

“Where is that? Where do we stand now, you and I?”

For the briefest of moments, Elia glances at his lips, and he can’t help but feel a frisson of anticipation. But then it’s gone.

“Nowhere. Not anymore.” She holds out her hand for the crown, and numbly he returns it, watching as she places it once more atop her head. “A princess and a knight. A tale for songs, not life.”

He grabs her wrist when she turns to leave, but no words come. Rhaegar’s the bard who can bend people to his will, not him.

Elia snatches back her hand, with one last cutting remark: “I’ll see you at the wedding.”

#elia martell #arthur dayne #arthur x elia #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #gotfic #my fic #compliance: canon #anonymous #btw as it says on my blog i'm not taking new prompts #i'm filling old ones

[simplyclockwork]

Simplyclockwork Fic Recs

Smut

More will be added as I read.

To a Tee - lookupkate

Explicit. 15,321. 14 chapters.

Sherlock receives a text from an unknown number. The man is under the impression that he needs a sugar daddy. After careful consideration...well, he could be right.

Coin to Travel Twice - @entanglednow

Mature. 1,997 words. One-shot.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone pretending to be dead with such relish before."

Closer - michi_thekiller

Explicit. 8,516 words. One-shot.

You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you "Sherlock cupped John's face between his trembling hands, the two of them so close together that they shared the same breath. Oxygen and carbon dioxide passed from one set of lungs to another, and he couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart, and he said, 'I need you.'"

Pentadione, Damascenone, Furanone, Vanillin - peevee

Mature, 2,242 words. One-shot.

Sherlock takes his work very seriously, whatever the job.

Every morning he catalogues. He wants to distill the very scent of John’s skin, his hair, his sweat.

Whisper Game - astudyinrose

Explicit. 11,705 words. One-shot.

John is on his stag night at a gay club a few weeks before he ships out to Afghanistan…when he meets Sherlock Holmes.

Curious Case - Cleo2010

Explicit. 44,653 words. 11 chapters.

After burning his hands, Sherlock's unable to release his 'tension' in the usual manner. Who should he turn to? His totally, completely straight friend and flatmate who's totally not into Sherlock or his boy parts at all. Definitely.

Just a bit of fun that's PWP with a hint of plot, all the way through.

Exquisite - SoftTae

Explicit. 4,755 words. One-shot.

Sherlock and John have been together for a while now, but every time they get start to get intimate, Sherlock pulls away. What happens when Sherlock stays and John finds out his secret?

Say My Name - mistyzeo

Explicit. 2,611 words. One-shot.

John Watson, my dear partner, faithful friend, eternal confidante, and enthusiastic lover, is the quietest man in bed I have ever known. ACD.

Best of Three - SilentAuror (@silentauroriamthereal)

Explicit. 17,473 words. One-shot.

“You want to have sex with me,” Sherlock announces one evening about a year after John's divorce. John's vigorous denial sparks a three-day wager wherein Sherlock is determined to prove his point, and John is determined to hold onto his heterosexuality. Set well after HLV. (Canon-compliant). PORN. With feels.

Distractions - allonsys_girl

Explicit. 9,677 words. One-shot.

Sherlock's on a stakeout and John's very pretty - distractions ensue

High Voltage - thedeadparrot

Explicit. 2,018 words. One-shot.

John. Sherlock. A gay club.

Not Your Doctor, Not Your Captain - weneedtotalkaboutsherlock

Explicit. 8,645 words. One-shot.

Daddy Doctor John/Barista Sherlock

In So Many Words - Mazarin221B

Explicit. 2,613 words. One-shot.

Wine and a post-case high lead to some an interesting conversation and even more of an interesting night.

Oh God, oh God, he should say no, he should, but Sherlock is intense and aroused and John hasn’t been laid in months, too damn busy cocking about with Sherlock and brandishing a weapon with enthusiasm. Oh, fuck it. “Yes. Christ yes,” he says, and the words are lost against Sherlock’s mouth.

In Good Hands - penumbra

Explicit. 1,619 words. One-shot.

John gives Sherlock a hand.

Nothing ever happens to me - PlainJane

Explicit. 5,575 words. One-shot.

John Watson is a very bored member of the UK Border Agency, assigned to Heathrow. Sherlock Holmes is a very rude passenger who smells pretty interesting to the sniffer dogs. Someone needs to be searched...

I Think It’s A Dare, Johnny - lookupkate

Explicit. 2,110 words. One-shot.

John gets teased by his army buddies on his 40th birthday. They dare him to try to bed a much younger man at the bar. Seeeeeexxxxxxxx.

Best Seat in the House - wendymarlowe

Explicit. 5,014 words. 3 chapters.

AU where John gets a new job bartending at a gay nightclub. He takes the job for the money, but he keeps at it because he loves watching Sherlock dance. Until one night, when Sherlock suggests they make it something rather more.

The Perfect Specimen - Cleo2010

Explicit. 16,066 words. One-shot.

After seeing John undressed for the first time and making certain observations, Sherlock quickly becomes obsessed with a certain body part belonging to his flatmate. This is the story of how that first sighting came to be and the following attempts to learn more. An unashamed masturbation-fest, first person and very detailed. It's rated explicit for a good reason!

Evening Ride - LapisLazuli

Explicit. 8,832 words. One-shot.

John has a series of unexpected meetings with a stranger on the Tube.

Just Browsing - bendingsignpost

Explicit. 3,869 words. One-shot.

“I’m a good kisser,” John says.

Another eye roll. “Everyone thinks that.”

“Everyone? Blimey, someone’s been kissing and telling. Had no idea I was so famous.”

Sandy Toes and Chafed Arseholes - CatieBrie

Mature. 5,506 words. One-shot.

And it all would have gone great, John getting a leg over and Sherlock being the devious whatever it was he was being but they had forgotten one disastrous component of sex on the beach.

The sand.

Or: A cautionary tale against sex on the beach

Perchance to Dream - dorothydonne

Explicit. 7,213 words. One-shot.

Sherlock has been the voyeur to people's dreams for as long as he can remember. It's why he hates sleeping.

That is, until he stumbles into one of John Watson's dreams. Then suddenly sleep isn't so unwelcome.

If you’re one of the authors listed here and have a Tumblr, and would like me to link it (if I haven’t already), please let me know!

#simplyclockwork fic rec #sherlock #johnlock #smut #fic rec #fan fiction

[eightlittletalons]

Prompt #4: Clinch

This prompt got a bit away from me, in the best of ways. It’s a continuation from the second prompt, Sway, though not written in a fragmented style like that one. I also threw in a reference to the fact that I’ve been very slowly leveling E’andhris as a dancer.  Definition of clinch 1: clench 2: to make final or irrefutable : settle 3: to hold fast or firmly

"Dance with me, G'raha " The whispered breath ruffled against his ear, making it flick. Strong, warm hands closed around his own, twining their fingers together. The Crystal Exarch felt his heart beat a sharp staccato within his chest at the sound of his name and glanced sharply up into mismatched eyes, one a warm brown and the other crystalline blue. 

While the request lacked a questioning inflection, G’raha recognized it as a request indeed by the tilt of E’andhris’ head. His chin dipped low towards him, as a soft smile graced his lips. So he followed, helpless against the main he had been prepared to give everything for. 

An impromptu band had been pulled together from among those in the Crystarium who could play in the excitement of the Warrior of Darkness’ return to the city alongside their beloved leader. They struck up a fast-paced tune as exuberant as the mood among the people, one that E’andhris quickly whirled G’raha in time to. He found himself laughing brightly within the hero’s arms, ignoring the way his body ached for a soft bed in a quiet, dark room. 

Even in wild, joyful form of dancing, E’andhris moved with a level of elegance that surprised G’raha. “You’re better at this than I remembered,” he exclaimed, laughingly. His dancing partner’s ears flicked forward in the strain to hear him over the din of the crowd.

“I may have picked up some lessons over the years,” E’andhris replied, giving a grin that G’raha learned long ago meant trouble. He yelped loudly and scrabbled against the taller miqo’te’s arms for purchase as E’andhris tipped him back into a steep dip. 

He could only watch as the Warrior of Darkness bent low over him, and he felt his face begin to heat as he realized - oh wicked white - E’andhris was looking at his lips. They parted with a soft exhale, and Gr’aha was unsure if what he was feeling was panic or anticipation. Perhaps both. Surely he wasn’t about to-

“Might I cut in?” a familiar voice asked, breaking the spell binding them into place. The two seekers looked up sharply to see as Alisaie stood over them with crossed arms and wearing a pinched look. G’raha slipped from E’andhris’ arms, his ears going flat as he stood to his full height. Which happened to be just barely taller than the young elezen woman who glared venom at him.

“Not at all,” he replied, attempting to quell the tremor from his voice. “I can hardly steal away the Warrior of Darkness’ attention for the entire night, can I?” E’andhris gave him a heated look that told him that the mage certainly wouldn’t have had any objections if he tried. Perchance for the best not to dwell on that, he thought to himself. 

Alisaie for her part linked her arm through E’andhris’ arm to pull him away from the Exarch. “Come, Andhris, you promised me a dance too. Remember?”

Sorry, the mage mouthed as they left G’raha alone. He waved them off with a vague smile, and hoped he didn’t look as frazzled as he felt. As soon as he was no longer within eyesight, he allowed himself to sag with exhaustion. Then, fighting the urge to pull his hood up or turn himself invisible, he edged his way to the outer ring of the festivities. It was slow progress, as he was stopped what felt like every third fulm or so by well-wishers. He accepted each and every one, as graciously as he could when all he wished was to sleep.

Once he was safely out of the throng, he let out a deep breath. What in the everloving Twelve had that been? He was certain that E’andhris had been about to kiss him. Rubbing at his eyes hard, he turned to look for the white mage among the crush of revelers. It wasn’t hard to find him thanks to the shock of Alisaie’s white hair. 

The object of his obsession was currently twirling the girl about with a broad grin, bending low as they both ducked under their joined hands before falling away form each other, only to come chest to chest again. G’raha smiled at his inspiration’s obvious happiness, and leaned against the wall to watch them. His admired the way the man’s blue robes flared as he moved, revealing a scandalous amount of leg that combined with E’andhris’ bared arms made the Exarch’s mouth feel suddenly very dry. 

He wrenched his thoughts away from that train lest his mind turn to static as it often did when presented with so much of the Warrior’s skin. It was interesting, he thought instead, that none of the tales that the Exarch had heard of the Warrior of Light had ever given any inkling that the man could dance so well. As for his own experiences with E’andhris, he could only remember drunken summer nights gallivanting about the Seventh Heaven tavern in Mor Dhona together. It made him wonder what other hidden talents the hero had developed in their time apart. 

The Exarch found himself tapping his foot idly along to the beat of the music, and watched as Y’shtola intercepted E’andhris for her own turn dancing with their other miqo’te. Alisaie pouted, and G’raha wondered what the story there was. He had assumed she was merely protective of their mutual friend, but perhaps there was an undercurrent of a jealousy. 

“Exarch!” A heavy arm draped around his shoulders and G’raha very nearly jumped out of his own skin, his tail puffing beneath his robes. The seeker turned wide crimson eyes on an apparently very drunk Thancred, bewildered by the hyur’s sudden appearance. Where was...? Ah, Ryne was with with E’andhris, shyly requesting her own dance from him. “If you stare any harder at him, you might succeed where the Light failed in felling him.”

“I’m quite certain I have no idea what of that which you speak,” G’raha groused, trying to school his ears into not giving him away too badly. 

“Now, now, none of that,” Thancred nudged him with a playful grin. “I may have been out of the game for a few years now, but I know the look of someone utterly besotted when I see it. What I don’t know, however, is why you’re all the way over here, when he’s all the way over there?” 

The Exarch considered playing dumb a moment longer but a wave of weariness overtook him and he sighed, as heavy as his eyelids. “I’m afraid I find myself in dire need of a bed,” he confessed. He pushed himself from the wall, intending to make his way up to his chambers within the Crystal Tower. Instead, he pitched forward. Thancred’s grasp on him was his only saving grace against falling face first onto the pavement. 

“I suppose getting shot and spending several days as a guest of an Ascian would do that to anyone,” Thancred quipped cheerfully, hauling him back upright. “Need help getting to bed, old man?”

“I can take him.” In G’raha’s distraction, he missed E’andhris’ approach. He placed a steadying hand at the Exarch’s waist.

Thancred beamed at their friend, grasping G’raha’s arm and wrapping it around the taller miqo’te’s shoulders. “Ah, the man of the hour! We were just talking about you,” he teased. E’andhris quirked a curious eyebrow at that, and gave G’raha a wry smile. He moved his hand to fold his arm around G’raha’s waist instead. The Exarch sank heavily against the mage’s side in gratitude. 

“Come, let’s find you a bed,” E’andhris said softly, dipping his head low towards G’raha. He had an affection in his eyes again that the smaller miqo’te didn’t know what to do with. So he simply nodded his acquiescence and allowed the Warrior of Darkness to guide him away, missing the wink that passed from Scion to Scion. 

He did, however, relish the warmth of the man holding him up. He had more muscle to him than G’raha could recall from their time together with the Sons of Saint Coinach. More scars as well, he thought as he gazed up at the prominent one gracing the side of E’andhris’ jaw. “A gift from the Dravanian horde, before we became friends,” the mage uttered when he noticed G’raha’s stare. He brought them to a stop at the base of the stairs leading up into the Crystal Tower and cleared his throat. “So! Will we be retiring to your bed tonight or mine, my lord?” 

G’raha’s mind went blank. What? His mouth opened and closed in a facsimile of a fish. “I beg your pardon?” he finally choked out.

“To sleep, G’raha,” E’andhris soothed with a patient look. His left ear twitched, betraying his nerves. “Look, you’re practically dead on your feet, and I am too. Let’s go rest.”

“You’re very...familiar tonight, my friend,” G’raha breathed. He clung more tightly to the Warrior’s robes, his ears pinned. E’andhris hoisted him closer and bent to nuzzle against his forehead. 

“I lost you once, Raha, and almost did a second time. I don’t intend to again,” he whispered againt the Exarch’s ear. G’raha shuddered, looking desperately up into his odd eyes. “If it’s unwelcome, pray tell me now, but I would sleep easier with you at my side tonight.”

Tears sprang to G’raha’s eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Your room, please.”

E’andhris gave a single nod, face splitting into a broad smile. “Can you do your little invisibility trick? I’d prefer to avoid being waylaid an hour or more by our adoring public.”

“For you, I can do one better,” G’raha proclaimed as he gave a giddy little laugh. He reached for the power of the Crystal Tower and pulled. He felt the world shift beneath and around them, and then they were standing in E’andhris’ suite in the Pendants. The hero gave an impressed whistle before tugging him to bed.

His Warrior bade him sit with a gentle push against his chest, then knelt at his feet. He pulled his feet into his lap and unfastened his sandals before sliding them from his feet. “I knew, you know,” E’andhris said quietly. He kept his eyes low as he firmly kneaded G’raha’s feet in a brief massage. “Your identity - I knew it.”

G’raha felt his fight or flight response kick in them, his ears standing tall at attention. “When did you guess?” he gasped, gripping the sheets beneath him in an iron grip. E’andhris kicked off his own shoes and slowly raised to his feet, regarding G’raha with an unreadable look. He loosened the clasps at his shoulders and let his robes fall to the floor, leaving him in only a pair of black shorts. As he climbed into bed alongside G’raha, he suddenly felt very warm for a completely different reason.

“I suspected when we met at the gate,” E’andhris admitted, reaching to strip G’raha’s layers away until he was down to his black robe. Then he drew them both down to lay, pulling the blankets up over them. “But I knew it to be true when I first heard you laugh - at one of my gods awful pun, no less.” 

E’andhris pulled him closer into his arms, and G’raha went willingly. He tucked himself under his Warrior’s chin and felt the man purr deep in his chest. “I apologize for my deception,” G’raha whispered. He wrapped his arms around the mage’s torso tightly and hid his face against his neck.

“I know you only did what you thought was best, my Raha. You’ve been forgiven from the moment each lie left your lips.” G’raha’s face burned both from shame and the intimacy of hearing his name on his inspiration’s lips. “We should sleep, though. We’ll have more time to discuss this tomorrow,” E’andhris whispered against his ear.  

Time. Time for G’raha had ever been a finite resource, counting down to that fated day on Mt. Gulg. A fate that was averted, leaving him with what? “That we do...Andhris.” Joyful arms clinched tightly around him.

“Good night, Raha.”

#ffxivwrite2020 #Crystal Exarch #G'raha Tia #Shadowbringers #ffxiv #wolexarch #E'andhris Tia #Liv writes #I had a blast writing this one