#Accented Blooms stamp set

[honeyncherry]

can we get a secret of us blurb - first date as an official couple 😁

this strayed from just a blurb....

part of the sou universe but can be read as a standalone

content fluff, little angst?

જ⁀➴°⋆

Joe made a promise to himself the day he realized you two weren’t just friends anymore. A quiet, stubborn kind of vow that no one else heard, but that lived loud inside him.

If he was going to do this—really do this—he was going to do it right. You were going to get the best of him, whether you realized it or not.

And that went for everything: the way he spoke to you when you were upset, the way he learned to hold your hand when his instinct was to pull away, the way he paid attention to the small things you thought no one noticed.

And most of all: dates.

Because as strange as it sounded, even after months of officially being together, you’d never actually had a first date.

Every time the two of you went out to dinner, Joe would shoot down the label before you could even offer it. “It’s not a date,” he’d say casually, eyes flicking across the table. “It’s just food.�� Same with breakfast. Same with lunch. Same when he picked you up for a party, or invited you to come to some event he didn’t want to go to alone.

Even those quiet nights spent building Lego sets at his kitchen table, stretched out on the couch watching movies—none of it, he said, was a date.

And at first… it messed with your head.

You tried not to let it get to you, but the doubt crept in anyway. You started wondering if maybe he wasn’t as serious as he claimed to be. If maybe this was just convenient for him. Maybe he was still figuring everything out, and you were just there.

But then you’d remember. This was Joe. Your Joe.

The one who had spent over a month trying to win you back and who showed up when it was pouring outside because he knew storms made you anxious. Who sent you Spotify links at midnight because he heard a lyric that made him think of you and who kept a little container of your favorite necessities in his glove box just in case you forgot any.

Joe wouldn’t just forget a first date. Not unless there was a reason.

And the reason, as it turned out, came wrapped in morning light and passport stamps.

It wasn’t long after the season ended that he brought it up offhandedly at first, like it was just a casual thought he’d been tossing around. A little trip, he said. Just the two of you in somewhere new. Somewhere where the most important part of his day could be you.

So here you were, months later, in the French countryside where the air smelled like earth and sugar and the perfume of whatever was blooming outside the little cottage window.

The house Joe booked was something out of a magazine with stone walls warmed by decades of sun, ivy curling along the shutters, and a terrace that opened to an endless field of wispy grass and wildflowers. 

An older couple had met you at the gate with the keys. Madame and Monsieur something-or-other, all soft smiles and thick accents, practically glowing with pride over the home they’d restored themselves.

They only spoke a little English, but it didn’t matter much; their excitement was clear enough. And you were pretty sure the woman kissed both of Joe’s cheeks just for being pretty.

It was the kind of town where time moves slow. You filled your days with nothing in particular—wandering cobblestone streets, buying fresh fruit from farmers’ stands, arguing about who could make the better picnic, and reading on the terrace until the sun dipped low. You wore sundresses every day, mostly because Joe couldn’t shut up about them.

It was barely mid-morning when you got back to the cottage, the sun still low enough that the light outside the windows was more honey than gold. You’d walked to the bakery alone that morning while Joe showered, and came back with a warm paper bag tucked against your chest filled with all sorts of pastries (specifically those little fruit tarts Joe couldn’t shut up about).

He was at the kitchen table when you walked in, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he scrolled slowly through the local newspaper like he understood more than just the headlines.

You set the pastries down in front of him and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He reached for your wrist instinctively, pressing a quick kiss there too. “Good haul?” 

“Mmhmm,” you said, turning and reaching for the pitcher of juice on the table. “The bakery lady threw in an extra one cause she said she missed you.”

Joe smiled at that, but something didn’t quite reach his eyes. You didn’t catch it until you turned back around and saw him fidgeting with the corner of the newspaper, eyes not really focused anymore.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, like he was trying to beat himself to it before he changed his mind. “I was thinking maybe we could, like… go out?”

“Go out?”

Joe nodded, slow, but his hand came up to the back of his neck, raking through his still-damp hair like he wasn’t sure this had been a good idea.

“Like… actually out,” he said.

He didn’t look at you when he said it, just kept his eyes on the edge of the table like it might open up and swallow him if he gave it enough time. And suddenly, the fidgeting made sense. The paper. The stiffness behind his smile when you joked about the bakery lady.

Joe glanced up at you finally, like he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know I’ve been kind of a dick about it,” he said, smiling faintly. “Saying none of our stuff was a date. But I think I just wanted to wait until it could be… this.”

The juice pitcher landed on the table with a soft thud, and a second later you were crawling into his lap, pastry bag rustling from its spot on the table. His arms caught you easily, even if he didn’t expect it.

He let out a soft huff of breath, all relief and crooked affection.

“So is that a yes?” he asked, voice still a little hesitant.

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, heart buzzing in your chest.

“Joe,” you said, smile blooming slow across your face, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me on a date for months.”

He grinned at that, hands settling more comfortably around your waist, like he was finally letting himself relax. You kissed him once and then pulled back with a raised brow.

“Okay, so… when is this date?”

“Today.”

“Today?”

Joe nodded, smug now. “Whole thing’s already planned.”

Your heart flipped—just a little. “Wait, seriously?”

“I’ve got an itinerary in my head and everything. Like a real boyfriend.”

You snorted. “You gonna laminate it?”

“If you keep making fun of me, I will.”

You pressed your forehead lightly against his, still smiling. “What do I wear?”

He paused, pretending to think, then looked you over with exaggerated consideration. “One of your pretty dresses.”

You gave him a look. “That’s your guidance?”

“Yup.”

So you changed. You tied your hair back and slipped into one of the dresses he liked—the soft white one with delicate lace detailing—and tried not to overthink what kind of day required a dress and trust and no real answers.

When you stepped into the living room, he was already waiting by the door.

You froze for a second longer than you meant to.

Joe looked like he’d come straight from one of his shoots. White polo button-up with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, open at the collar. Tan linen shorts that sat perfectly at his hips, showing off the kind of tan and muscle that made you forget what you were about to say.

The smile that pulled at his mouth as you began walking towards him was soft enough for your own smile to bloom in return, involuntary and pulled straight from your chest.

When you reached him, he took your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, then drifted upward, his touch trailing up the length of your arm until it reached your shoulder. He caught the thin strap of your dress between two fingers and twisted it gently.

“You look nice,” you said, eyes lingering on the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

He grinned at that, something playful flickering behind his eyes. “I like the dress,” he murmured, dipping his head to press a kiss on your shoulder, lips grazing bare skin.

Before you could say anything, he let his hand fall again, fingers finding yours like he didn’t need to look to know where they belonged. “C’mon,” he said quietly, tugging you toward the door. “You’re gonna like this.”

The first stop was a vineyard, hidden behind a long gravel road and a wooden gate that creaked when you pushed it open. You would’ve missed it if he hadn’t turned so confidently off the main road, like he’d been there a dozen times before.

An older woman named Colette met you at the entrance, sunhat tilted low and linen apron cinched tight. She greeted you like she’d been waiting all morning, pressing a glass of chilled wine into your hand and setting a tray of fresh fruit between you before you even sat down. Her English was scattered, but her smile was fluent—her flirting with Joe even more so.

She called him chéri and touched his arm whenever she laughed, and you did your best not to laugh at it. Joe just shrugged, met your eye across the table, and muttered, “French women are dangerous.”

You stayed there almost an hour, wandering through the vines with your sandals in one hand and your wine glass in the other. Everything felt like time had folded in on itself just for the two of you. Birdsong, the rustle of leaves, the soft clink of your glasses as they brushed now and then. Your fingers grazed a few times too—accidental, maybe. Maybe not. 

You talked about whether Colette actually liked Joe or just flirted with everyone, how many bottles you could legally fit in your suitcase, and whether or not the wine actually tasted like berries or if people were just pretending.

Joe swore his glass tasted like a candle, but when he tried yours, he actually liked it. You tasted his and called him dramatic, so he handed his glass over and took yours like it had been the plan all along.

It wasn’t the kind of place you would’ve picked from a brochure, but it was perfect. Tucked just far enough away to feel like a secret between the two of you.

And standing there with him, toes in the grass, glass in hand, you couldn’t help but think—of all the places you could’ve ended up today… this even felt exactly right.

The next stop wasn't much of a change of pace. Joe parked along a narrow street you hadn’t noticed before, somewhere near the old part of town where the buildings leaned toward each other and the windows were always open.

You wandered through stone alleyways and flower-lined staircases, stopping only when something caught your eye; a faded bookstore, a little cat asleep on a windowsill, a man sketching portraits near the fountain.

At one point, your gaze caught on a little flower stall tucked between two wooden shutters. You didn’t say anything or even look again, but a few paces later, you realized Joe wasn’t beside you anymore. He was already at the stand, handing over a bill with a quiet smile and accepting the wrapped bouquet. Without second guessing or needing to ask, he’d picked one with your favorite flowers tucked in.

He doubled back and handed it to you like it was nothing, fingers brushing yours before turning and continuing on the path. You lingered for a second, your fingers curling gently around the paper wrap as you brought the flowers to your nose.

The scent was soft and familiar, a little earthy. When you looked up, you caught Joe watching you over his shoulder, gaze soft like he’d forgotten he was staring. He didn’t say anything, just smiled like he couldn’t help it.

You fell back into step beside him, bouquet in hand. 

The two of you didn’t talk about anything new, not really, but it felt simple in a way you could go on for hours and never run out of things to laugh about. He brought up that night back at OSU when you made him drive an hour to pick up a pie from a bakery you saw on Instagram, and you reminded him how he finished half of it before you even got there. You teased him about pretending to like rom-coms just to win you over, and he claimed (very confidently) that anyone with good taste likes Crazy, Stupid, Love.

And then the sun began to dip, soft and gold against the edge of the sky, and Joe said it was time to head back.

You thought the day was over, and you wouldn’t have complained. Of all the days you’d spent with Joe, this one already lived in a different part of your memory.

But when you turned the corner onto the back hillside of the cottage, your breath caught.

There, spread across the grass just before the slope dipped toward the trees, was a picnic blanket. The big one you’d argued about. You’d insisted on red gingham, he’d said it was cliché, but here it was anyway.

The basket beside it was half-open, chilled water and fruit peeking out from inside. A little folded note rested in the corner, anchored down with a smooth stone.

You looked at him, but he just stood there with his hands in his pockets, pretending not to watch your reaction.

You sat down on the blanket and picked up the note. Your name was scrawled across the front in his handwriting—slanted, blocky, still a little unfamiliar after years of only seeing it on birthday cards or scribbled grocery lists.

Thought you deserved a real first date. Even if it took me way too long to figure out how to do it right. You mean more to me than I ever know how to say. I hope today felt as special to you as you are to me. — J

When you looked up, Joe had sat down beside you, fiddling with the edge of the basket.

“How long have you been planning this?” you asked, the words catching a little at the end. 

He shrugged, not meeting your eyes yet. “Couple weeks. Maybe longer.”

You waited.

“I remembered you said you’d never been to a vineyard,” he added, carefully setting a plate on the blanket like it required his full attention. “So I started asking around—locals, the bakery lady, even Colette in the end. Told them I wanted one that wasn’t too touristy. Something quiet. Something you’d like.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the letter.

“And the picnic?” you pressed, voice softer now. “You said it was stupid.”

“I said gingham was stupid,” he corrected, finally glancing at you again. “The picnic was always part of the plan.”

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-relief. “You were being so annoying about it.”

“I was trying to throw you off.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and felt something in your chest shift.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said, voice quiet.

“I know,” he replied, just as softly. “But I wanted to.”

You glanced down at the letter still sitting in your lap. “It’s been the most special day.”

He smiled a little, rubbing his palm on his thigh like he needed to do something with his hands. “Yeah?” he asked, almost shy.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of quiet before he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours like it was nothing.

“I should’ve done it sooner,” he said, eyes still on your joined hands. “I knew how much it would mean to you. I just… I didn’t wanna give you some random night and call it a date.”

You stayed still, listening.

“I wanted it to be the kind of thing you think about later,” he added, eyes flicking to yours for just a second. “Like… years from now. I want you to look back and feel how much I loved you.”

Something caught in your throat.

“I know I don’t always say stuff the right way,” he went on, his thumb brushing across your knuckles, slow and warm. “But you’re it for me. You have been. For a long time.”

You blinked hard, heart stumbling in your chest.

“Joe…”

He didn’t look away this time. “I just wanted to get it right.”

And somehow, that was what did it. Not the flowers. Not the vineyard. Not even the note.

Just that.

You reached for him without saying anything, curling your hand around the side of his face and pulling him close. You kissed him like you hadn’t already spent the whole day doing it with your eyes, and he kissed you back like he finally didn’t have to hold anything in.

When you pulled away, he was smiling again—more certain this time.

“I’m gonna keep trying to get it right for you,” he said. “Every time.”

And you knew he meant it.

[dragonfly0808]

I know you’ve answered this several times before but what’s everyone’s current style like (since its possible it’s changed)

This is actually in my character sheets so I’ll give their style with a few examples of colors and fave clothing and stuff like that.

This will get way too detailed but I don’t care, I’ve been waiting for this moment.

Bloom: I don’t know how to describe her style, maybe casual street style but a little cute?

Her main colors are blue, yellow, light orange and the tiniest dash of pink. Bell bottom jeans and high tops are her staple. Other favorites are: thrift shirts, graphic T’s, simple form fitting blouses. Messy ponytails.

Later on her style becomes just a bit more elaborate (in part thanks to the other girls influencing her style) and she incorporates cropped cardigans, pattern jeans and collard shirts. She loves using small flames but doesn’t wear a lot of red. Doesn’t like heels. Messy buns are her fave (she can often be seen with a pencil holding up her hair). ALSO, her staple is bell-bottom jeans and she uses a lot of sweetheart necklines as a way to honor Daphne since that was Daphne’s fave.

Stella: She’s just starcore and artsy fashion.

Her main colors are gold, orange, yellow and green. Later on starts using dark blues and silvers as she gets more in touch with her moon magic.

She wears chain belts, dozens of matching sets (crop shirt and skirt) bralette croptops, mini skirts, high waisted shorts, silk satin fabric (lots of satin fabric), sequins and glitter. Gold jewelry and *extra* shoes, wears heels almost all the time. And her hair is always straightened.

Her style doesn’t so much change as it does just… mature over time, she still wears her glitter and sequins just with more… I don’t want to say taste but more strategically if that makes sense. She experiments more with shapes and overall she does appear a little more mature. She also starts curling her hair a little more often.

Flora: A mix of bohemian and cottagecore aesthetic.

Her main colors are pink and green. Overtime she starts mixing in more neutral colors like beige, white and light greys and browns along with blues and lilac.

She wears puff sleeves, sheer blouses, ribbon corsets and long flowing skirts. She wears cute lace and lots of tull. Simple shoes. Platforms and comfortable heels and ankle boots. She always has braid crowns and accent braids.

Overtime she incorporates even more romantic silhouettes, wrap shirts, translucent shirts over tops, and more complicated shapes for her skirts. She loved showing off her shoulders and back but is at a stage in which she isn’t doing such and is wearing more long sleeved shirts. She also wears more big earings, not just hoops but also big stars and hears and moons and stuff like that. The braids remain but now her favorite kind are waterfall braids.

Musa: She starts off goth/emo but at season 3 I feel like she’s shifting becoming more goth/punk.

Her main colors are dark red and black. Overtime she incorporates dark blues and royal purples.

She wears lots of leather, strappy croptops, fishnets, plaid, checkered patterns, combat boots, chunky platforms, tight mesh tops and big jeans. Her staple is red eyeliner.

Overtime she starts wearing more chains, leg/armwarmers for the aesthetic, chokers, more leather skirts and fishnets with patterns. She loves space buns. And cropped sweaters. Big sweatshirts and lose jeans. Her staple is still red eyeliner but she starts wearing dark lipsticks, dark purple, black, etc.

Tecna: She’s kind of futuristic cyber-punk.

Her main colors are purple and green, later on incorporates silver, blues and whites.

She wears a lot of deconstructed tops and pants. Long boots, irridescent fabric. Cargo pants are her favorite, the more pockets the better. Neon colors and long sleeves.

She starts wearing a lot of bomber jackets (Stella makes her some with dozens of pockets). Visible hemlines, stamped designs (idk how to explain it) black tops and baggy pants.

Aisha: she starts off kind of not really having a style of her own and just wearing the same stuff she does to do sports and dance but over the course of season 2 and 3 she finds she really loves and embraces street style

Her main colors are tans and neutral tones at first, as she discovers herself she incorporates blues, aquas, greens, black but keeps her tans as well.

As her style develops she starts with more sporty streetwear but evolves to just streetwear, cool sweatpants, tracksuits, jerseys, leggings, knee high socks, jumpsuits and sneakers. Cargo shirts.

She incorporates cut-out tops, wide leg pants, platform boots, long necklaces and satin tops as well as interesting patterns for her tops.

Sky: Simple style, becomes a bit more fancy over time

His main colors are blues and yellows. Incorporates oranges and dark green overtime along with neutral tones.

During the swticharoo he mainly wears plain t’s, collared shirts, simple jackets, comfy sneakers and jeans.

After that he wears more ‘styllistic’ shirts and really cool shoes not sure how else to describe it and he honestly doesn’t care that much so that’s as much as he does when he’s not in prince mode. In prince mode he goes all out, long leather boots, capes and velvet.

Brandon: Sporty casual (is that a thing?) becomes more skater boy aesthetic by the day

His main colors are green and white, starts using more dark red and dark blue overtime

He wears tight shirts, vans and either simple or ripped jeans. Printed shirts and lots of weird, but cool, patterns for his shirts. Starts wearing more converses and jackets with patches.

Helia: my boy is very preppy but in a soft way if that makes sense

His main colors are beige and pale yellow and neutral colors, he incorporates pale greens and blues and reds.

He wears a lot of chinos, soft cardigans and collared shirts as well as knitted sweaters and vans that he paints on .

He incorporates overtime blazers, button ups, scarves, pullovers, soft vests and loose… what are they called? Those romeo-like shirts you know the ones. But he still wears exclusively long sleeves unless he’s in the dorm or with just the squad.

Riven: He starts off very street style but after he starts living with his grandparents his street style starts incorporating some punk elements (yes, he was influenced by Musa but he will never admit it)

His main colors are dark red, dark blue and grays. He incorporates more blacks, greens and different shades of red.

Bomber jackets are his staple in season 1. He also wears leather jackets, cropped t’s, graphic t’s, ripped jeans and simple shirts with stickers as well as sneakers.

Overtime he incorporates, hightops, plain sleeveless shirts, black cargo pants and darker bomber jackets with patches. He starts wearing a lot of rings and his sister always paints his nails black. He’ll occasionally ask Musa to do his eyeliner.

Timmy: I love Timmy but he is low-key hopeless. He’s just nerd

His main colors are yellows and oranges, he wears more greens and neutral tones overtime.

He wears simple t-shirts with colored sleeves, baggy jeans and cotton shirts, sneakers and layers. He has 1 jean jacket that he loves more than life itself, both his mom and Stella keep trying to burn it because it’s that old but he guards it with his life.

He starts wearing more button up shirts, turtlenecks and slightly less baggy jeans. He gets shirts with cute patterns (he has one with kitten paws) or graphic t-shirts from fandoms. He also wears a newer jean jacket with patches that Stella made but still has the old one.

Nabu: he has a cool casual style if that makes sense? Not sure?

His main colors are purples, blues, grays and neutral tones.

He wears chinos, button up shirts, cool vans, loose sweaters. Cool long sleeved, loose shirts. Leather bracelets and hawaiian-style shirts only with patterns that are more ‘fashionable’.

Fire-round for the Trix’s styles in season 1 since all fashion has gone out the window for them for different reasons.

Icy: main colors; blues and silvers

HIGH PONYTAIL, leather skirts, crystals and crop tops. Thigh high boots, belts, strappy tops high heels and mini skirts with chains.

Stormy: main colors; dark reds, black and blue

Punk. Ripped fishnets, black, ripped graphic t’s, belts, off-shoulder shirts and plaid shirts over black bras.

Darcy: main colors; purple, yellow and grays.

Long bell pants, vests and blazers. Circles/weird patters, small sunglasses. Platforms and simple crop tops.

There!

Now, you may be asking, Dragonfly did you seriously just HAVE THIS in your fucking character sheets since before season 1 began?

…yes, yes I did. I HAD A LOT OF FREE TIME AND IT WAS PART OF THE CHARACTERIZATION. Also I was pissed at what Fate did with fashion and that’s why s1 had a lot of descriptions of what the girls were wearing

Also also, fun fact, I found in Stormy’s character sheet that her real name was going to be Rita? And I just didn’t remember I’d already decided her real name and just changed it to Willow and I hadn’t remembered the name change until now? So uh… yeah?

Anyways, hope you enjoyed!

[atimelesslullaby]

Anonymous said: It's a box. A small wooden box set upon her bed, carved with intricate details along the elegantly whorled tiger mahogany, the deep woody reds contrasted in stripes against lighter orange sections. It is easily held in both palms together, silver accents in corners and small molded feet to rest on surfaces, and a simple little hinge lock easily moved aside to open the lid. Velvet the color of deep royal purple lines the inside, a waft of clean sea air tinged with hints of roses accompanying the opening lid, a fine accent to the treasure held within. A pair of golden chains hold draperies of fine beads made of tiny faceted gemstones, accented and spaced with fine filigree to keep them separate of each other, a fine counterpoint to a deep blue gemstone at the focal. It is cut into the shape of a teardrop, not too big to overwhelm the piece, but still large enough to be the center focus. When the light hits the front face, a shimmer of silver underneath shows the stylized curl of a sea dragon before it disappears into the blue depths once more. Sitting beneath the box is an envelope, smelling of spice and roses, and stamped with the emblem of thirteen stars. The paper within scrawled with an elegant scroll of handwriting, the sweep of the pen practiced and punctual. 'Birthdays are special days, most especially for royalty. But it is good to remember, in all the revelry, to take time to reflect on yourself as well. So to you, we send The Protector. The Leviathan is a spirit who lives in the depths. But it is at its core a protector. We may not see it often, but it is a long-lived and hardy creature. So to you on an auspicious day, you become a keeper of a piece of it. I hope it finds you well.' It's not signed. But likely, a signature is unneeded, the matching stamp of thirteen stars the only notary in the bottom right corner. Granted, the gift is belated, but the thought still counts. Though the better detail here is... How did it get in here to begin with...

My, what beautiful craftsmanship!

Upon opening it, assuming it was just another pendant from one of the guards, she's stunned. It's beautiful, Chains, but not just any chains. Chains that would go perfect with her traditional dress. They were of gold, they would match and fit in just fine with the rest of the jewelry she was required to wear. That wasn't what really drew her eye, however, as she was used to golden jewelry.

What really drew her eye was the sapphire.

It was a little known fact, that Zelda's favorite color was blue. Not purple or pink, like many assumed, but blue. Then the scent of roses reaches her, and she's enamored. Roses were such a beautiful flower, and thus, a beautiful scent she often didn't experience in the autumn times, during her birthday. In Hyrule, they only bloomed in late spring to late summer.

The Leviathan... She'd heard legends of such a being, yet she never imagined someone would send such a beautiful, meaningful piece of jewelry. But who sent it? That was the real question. Clearly someone skillful, no guard would be this thoughtful towards her, and neither would the council. Someone who was able to sneak around, yet she knew these weren't Impa's words.

So who could it be?

"I'll love it, even if I don't know who has given me such a priceless gift."

She broke her perfect diction. Now all she had to figure out is where to put it, on display, of course. And when she got the chance, she'd most certainly be wearing it. Perhaps as a bracelet, with such a beautiful jewel for everyone to see. Maybe as a short necklace, that was one piece of jewelry she didn't have to wear for tradition.

Needless to say, she was thankful."

[jcpaperco]

DIY Wedding: Crafting a Personal, Budget-Friendly Celebration

In recent years, DIY wedding have grown in popularity as couples look for ways to create unique, meaningful celebrations that reflect their personalities without breaking the bank. Planning a DIY wedding allows you to handcraft many elements of the day, from invitations and décor to favors and table settings. Here’s a guide to planning the ultimate DIY wedding, bringing your vision to life in a personalized, memorable way.

1. Crafting the Perfect Invitations

Your wedding invitation sets the tone for the entire event, so why not make it as unique as your love story? JC Paper Co. offers beautiful templates and custom designs, allowing you to choose and personalize stationery that feels perfectly suited to you. If you’re feeling crafty, consider adding a DIY touch like a wax seal, ribbon, or hand-painted accents. Choose colors and designs that complement your theme, whether it's rustic, vintage, or modern. Handmade invitations will leave a lasting impression and give guests a glimpse of what’s to come.

2. Designing Your Ceremony and Reception Decor

DIY décor can completely transform your wedding space. Some ideas to get started include:

Floral Arrangements: Skip the traditional florist and make your own floral arrangements with seasonal blooms. You can purchase flowers in bulk from a local flower market and assemble them with friends and family. Consider using recycled jars, vintage vases, or hand-painted pots as containers.

Signage: Wedding signs add a charming, rustic touch and help guests navigate your event. From welcome signs to seating arrangements, creating your own signage can be easy and affordable. JC Paper Co. offers customizable signage templates, making it simple to create elegant signs that match your theme.

Table Centerpieces: DIY centerpieces can make a big impact without a huge cost. Consider options like mason jars filled with fairy lights, candles in geometric holders, or wooden slabs adorned with greenery. Each table can reflect your unique style while staying within budget.

3. Creating Personalized Wedding Favors

Wedding favors offer a great opportunity to add a personal touch. Some budget-friendly DIY wedding favor ideas include:

Mini Succulents or Potted Plants: Guests will appreciate a living keepsake from your wedding day. Add a small tag with your names and wedding date for a special touch.

Handmade Candles or Soaps: Crafting small candles or soaps allows you to customize scents, colors, and packaging. This personal gesture will make guests feel appreciated.

Sweet Treats: Homemade jams, cookies, or candy make thoughtful favors. Package these treats in small jars or bags tied with a personalized tag.

4. DIY Wedding Day Stationery

JC Paper Co. offers templates for wedding day essentials like menus, place cards, and programs. These items tie your theme together, so coordinate the design with your invitations. Add calligraphy, stamped details, or pressed flowers to give each piece a handmade feel. Creating these items yourself is not only budget-friendly, but it also brings an extra touch of love and creativity to your big day.

5. Setting Up a DIY Photo Booth

Capture memories and give guests a fun activity with a DIY photo booth. You can rent or borrow a camera and tripod, then set up a simple backdrop with a curtain, fairy lights, or greenery. Provide fun props like hats, signs, or frames that match your theme. You could even use JC Paper Co. for custom “Mr. & Mrs.” signs or hashtag cards to add to the experience. This touch will let your guests walk away with candid, fun photos.

6. Planning for DIY Success      

While a DIY wedding is a beautiful way to express your personality and creativity, it’s essential to plan ahead. Make a list of each DIY project you want to tackle and set a realistic timeline. Don’t hesitate to involve family and friends—they’ll likely be eager to help and excited to contribute to your special day. Remember, the goal is to enjoy the process and create lasting memories, so don’t overwhelm yourself.

Conclusion

A DIY wedding is an opportunity to create an intimate, one-of-a-kind celebration that truly reflects who you are as a couple. From invitations and décor to personalized favors, each handcrafted element brings an irreplaceable charm. With JC Paper Co.’s custom templates and high-quality design resources, you’ll have the tools to make your DIY wedding beautiful and seamless, leaving both you and your guests with treasured memories of a heartfelt celebration.

[poonammsharma]

Embracing Elegance: Wedding Stationery Trends for 2023

As an expert wedding planner, I understand the crucial role that stationery plays in setting the tone for a couple's special day. The year 2023 brings with it a wave of fresh and captivating wedding stationery trends. From inventive designs to eco-conscious choices, these trends promise to elevate your wedding celebration to new heights. In this article, we'll delve into the top wedding stationery trends that are poised to define weddings in 2023.

1. Sustainable Elegance

With an increasing focus on sustainability, couples are seeking eco-friendly stationery options. This trend incorporates recycled paper, plantable invitations, and biodegradable materials. These choices not only reduce environmental impact but also add a unique and naturalistic touch to wedding stationery.

2. Digital-Print Hybrids

2023 is witnessing a seamless blend of digital and print elements in wedding stationery. Couples are opting for personalized, digitally designed invitations that are then embellished with exquisite finishes like foiling, embossing, or letterpress. This combination offers the best of both worlds - convenience and a tactile, luxurious feel.

3. Botanical Illustrations and Floral Motifs

Natural elements are gracing wedding stationery in the form of delicate botanical illustrations and intricate floral motifs. Whether it's lush greenery or vibrant blooms, these designs evoke a sense of romance and bring a touch of nature to the paper.

4. Artistic Watercolors

Watercolor designs continue to reign in 2023, offering a dreamy and ethereal quality to wedding invitations. Soft, pastel hues blended with artistic brushstrokes create a visually stunning effect, capturing the essence of romance and sophistication.

5. Minimalistic Typography

Less is more in 2023, as minimalist typography takes center stage. Clean, elegant fonts with ample white space create a timeless and sophisticated look. This trend aligns perfectly with couples seeking a modern, understated aesthetic for their wedding stationery.

6. Interactive Elements

Innovative and interactive stationery elements are making a splash in 2023. From pull-out RSVP cards to multi-layered invitations, couples are incorporating playful, tactile elements that engage and delight their guests, creating a memorable experience from the moment the invitation is received.

7. Bold Color Palettes

2023 sees a departure from traditional pastel hues, with couples opting for bold and vibrant color palettes in their stationery. Deep jewel tones, rich burgundies, and striking emeralds are making a statement, infusing energy and personality into wedding invitations.

8. Custom Illustrations and Monograms

Personalization is key, and couples are opting for custom illustrations and monograms that reflect their unique story. These bespoke elements add a touch of intimacy to the stationery, creating an invitation that feels truly one-of-a-kind.

9. Luxurious Finishes

Elevating stationery to a whole new level, luxurious finishes are gaining popularity in 2023. Foil stamping, metallic accents, and velvet or silk ribbons add a touch of opulence, exuding a sense of grandeur and luxury that sets the tone for an elegant celebration.

Conclusion As we step into 2023, the world of wedding stationery is evolving in exciting and creative ways. Couples are seeking designs that not only reflect their personal style but also capture the essence of their love story. From sustainable choices to opulent finishes, these trends promise to make wedding invitations an artful and cherished part of the celebration. As one of the best wedding planners in Bangalore, I am thrilled to embrace these trends and work with couples to create stationery that leaves a lasting impression on their guests, setting the stage for a truly unforgettable wedding day.

[fandom-puff]

Manhunt

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Requested by: anon ‘Hey, I saw that your requests are open. Can I request a Tommy Shelby fic where y/n gets kidnapped, please? Maybe Tommy’s getting extremely angry and worried and only calms down when he gets her back. Of course it’s up to you. Female reader if possible. Thank you so much :)’

Warnings: kidnapping, violence, swearing, injury (result of knife, beatings)

Bold italics = flashback

Gif creds to owner

“Where the fuck’ve you been?” Polly demanded from her desk, arms folded and lips pursed as Tommy stumbled through the door.

“Ah, let him be, Pol,” Arthur grinned, clapping him on the back. “Reckon his head’s still on his honeymoon. Been stuck in bed with the missus all morning, eh, brother?”

Tommy smirked boyishly. “No. Fuckin’ car broke down. Anyway, YN left ours hours ago, said she was seeing Ada before she buggers back off to London,”

At that moment, Ada walked through the door, holding one of John and Esme’s kids on her hip, bouncing him gently. “I haven’t seen YN today, Tom. Didn’t show up to our reservation in that nice cafe. Haven’t heard from her, so I just thought she was with you,”

Tommy frowned deeply. “But... she left at half eight to catch the bus. I told her I’d give her a lift but she said she needed to run a few errands before she met up with you,” he checked his pocket watch quickly. “It’s gone noon. Are you lot sure you haven’t heard from or seen her?”

“Tom, it’s fine, she’s probably just caught up in the shops or something,” John said, lighting a cigarette.

“No. It’s not fucking fine, Johnboy. She left at half eight this morning, stood Ada up in her favourite cafe- and she’s been going on about it for weeks- and no one has seen hide nor hair of her for hours. Something’s wrong,”

Jaw set harshly, Tommy strode out of the betting shop, closely followed by his brothers. “Oi! Finn. Run and tell Sergeant Moss that I said to have a search party out. Tell him YN’s missing. Then on your way back, go to Charlie’s yard and tell him to keep an eye on the canals for her, alright. Good lad,” Finn nodded and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him.

“What about us, Tommy?” Arthur said. “Tell us what to do,”

***

Slowly, your eyes opened, though you still couldn’t see anything- a length of fabric covered your eyes, blocking out all light. Every inch of your body ached, and you became vaguely aware of the stinging sensation at your wrists- they were bound behind your back, the tightly knitted rope rubbing your skin raw. Judging by the slight jostling movement of your body and the hum of an engine below you, you were in a vehicle, being driven god knows where.

Deciding to keep quiet, you took some deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself, trying your hardest to recall the previous hours...

***

“I’ll see you later, Tom,” you smiled, giving your grinning husband a final kiss goodbye before setting off to the bus stop. Tommy had offered you a lift, but you declined, saying something about errands and scenery. It was an alright day, by British standards, the sun trying its hardest to peak through the thin clouds.

You were halfway to the bus stop when you felt a presence behind you. Hurrying your steps a little more, knowing the old gentleman from the village would likely be at the stop for his weekly shop, if you could just get around this bend, you dared a look behind you, before colliding head on with something- or rather someone.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” you said, making to step around him, but his arms shot out, grasping onto you while the man behind you yanked a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards.

“Don’t you worry, Shelby,” he said, a slight accent lacing his low voice. “You will be,”

You tried to stamp your heels down on the attackers’ shins, you made to bite the hands closest to your face, to wriggle as much as you could. As you began to scream, a damp cloth was held over your nose and mouth, making your eyes roll back and your body slacken, allowing the two men to drag you to their vehicle, hidden by the shrubbery and blossoming trees and the loud caws of the birds.

***

Tommy was in full panic mode. He had Peaky Blinders scouring the whole of Birmingham, Sergeant Moss had managed to telephone the London police and have a telegram sent to every constabulary in the country to keep an eye out. Johnny Doggs had the Lee boys out, and Charlie was stopping every boat the passed through the cut.

Tommy kicked the table in the betting shop, sending papers and coins flying. “Where the fuck is she?” He roared, eyes flashing with some anger, but mostly fear.

“We’re doing everything we can, Thomas,” Polly said firmly, patting her nephews back and pushing a cup of tea into his hands. “It’s well sugared. You need the energy,”

“It’s not fucking enough!” He yelled, taking one sip of the tea before slamming the cup down, sloshing the table. “She could be anywhere and we’re sat here like idiots!”

Polly sighed, retreating to man the phone, waiting for someone, anyone to phone with knowledge of your whereabouts.

“It’ll be alright, brother,” John said. “Esme’s down with the Lees making sure none of them are sat twiddling their thumbs. Moss has every copper in Birmingham on the case. Even the London coppers are looking for a Shelby, and their almost all under Solomons and Sabini,”

Tommy was quiet for a moment before he looked between his brothers. “Solomons and Sabini...” he said slowly, processing the information before his face hardened.

“Solomons is a mad bastard,” Arthur said quietly.

“Right. Car, now. We’re going to London,”

***

The blind fold was removed, but you still couldn’t see much. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the room you were in was plunged in almost complete darkness. Your hands were still tied, only now they (along with your ankles) were bound to a chair. You tried to shuffle the chair along, but it made a loud grating scraping noise, and caused a blinding pain to shoot through your nerves. Something was definitely broken.

“Shelby,”

The voices echoed around the room as you heard the men draw closer, their footsteps rapping sharply against the concrete ground. You strained your good eye, trying to make out their faces, but you could only make out vague face shapes, plunged in shadows.

“I told you, I don’t have any information!” You said urgently, preparing yourself for another punch or kick.

It didn’t come. Instead you felt the cold edge of a thin blade pressing against your swollen cheek. He dragged the blade slowly and you hissed as your cheek bloomed with stinging pain, feeling your hot blood trickle down your face and neck.

“We don’t want information,” the other man said lowly as you felt the tip of the knife press against your neck briefly. You held your breath, preparing for the worst, before the blade dropped. You let out a shaky breath of relief, which quickly turned into a groan of pain as a thick finger dragged along the fresh wound. “We don’t need one of Shelby’s whores for information,” you shut your eyes tightly, willing your tears not to fall. “We want to destroy Tommy Shelby,”

***

“Thomas! Thomas! Stop the fucking car now!”

The car squealed to a halt and Tommy almost tripped over his own feet in his haste. “This had better be good, Pol,” he growled, grabbing hold of the phone. “Speaking,”

“That you, Tommy?”

Tommy gritted his teeth. “Aye, Solomons. Make it quick. I’ve no time for business now,”

“Yeah, I know, right. Right fuckin’ fuss you’ve kicked up, yeah. Looking for that wife of yours, I heard. Well, Tommy, my coppers have been out and about , right, searchin’ high and fuckin’ low. Found nothin’ right,”

“Alfie,” tommy hissed. “I’m on my way down to London, now. If you’ve got no information, I don’t wanna hear any of your fuckin’ stories, alright?”

“Oi, you watch your tone, Tommy. I’m getting there. See now, Ollie’s missus’s got a friend whose friend is the wife of a fuckin’ wop, right. She says, right, that your wife, YN, had been on Sabini’s fuckin’ hit list from the very start. He’s got his coppers trying to dismiss this ever so mysterious disappearance, right. But my coppers, yeah, Tommy, you followin’?”

“I’m following,” tommy said through gritted teeth.

“Right, well my coppers have received a tip off from one of Sabini’s coppers that there’s some funny business going on in the old abandoned warehouse, you know the one, the one up in Cheltenham, what the anarchists set fire to,”

“You sure, Alfie?”

“Course I’m fuckin’ sure. Off you go, Tommy,”

***

How long you had been on the floor for, you had no idea. Your arms and legs were no longer bound- not that it made any difference. You couldn’t move without a fresh round of pain turning your stomach. Tears mixed with blood on your cheeks; you could barely keep your eyes open; you lay next to a pool of your own vomit due to the pain; your clothes were soaking with your own blood and urine; you were ready to die.

***

Gunshots. Three of them.

Three voices shouting, although you couldn’t distinguish what they were saying.

The door swung open, flooding the room with light. You made to lift your head up off the floor, but sobbed in agony.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“YN, it’s alright, I’m here! They’re gone, I’ve got you,”

You felt the familiar warm hands on your body, the strong arms lifting you, the distinct smell. But you couldn’t open your eyes- you were simply too tired.

“Tommy...” you breathed, one hand bunched up in his coat.

“Shhh, I’m here, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you help, okay, my love. Don’t you worry one bit, okay?”

You nodded, trusting your eyes to shut, knowing that this time, tommy would be there to shake you awake, preventing you from giving into the darkness.

[hlizr50]

Leathers (NSFW)

I wanted to have this ready for Gwynriel week, but I haven't written smut in probably 10 years so I was on the struggle bus for a bit.

Read on AO3

Gwyneth Berdara was a devious creature. A true menace.

Everyone thought she was sweet and innocent. But Azriel knew better.

She was cruel and secretive and conniving.

He’d realized her scheme as soon as she entered the High Lord’s study with the other two Valkyrie leaders, all clad in the leathers that marked them as such. And he knew, he knew, that this had been her plan all along.

As he gritted his teeth and worked desperately to quell the heat churning in his gut, his own tightening leathers, and the scent of arousal, he saw her soft pink lips spread into a knowing, satisfied smirk.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

He had seen the leathers before. He remembered the day in the house when Nesta emerged into the dining room with them on, squealing to her mate. The shadowsinger recalled that he always thought white was a terrible color for fighting garments, but even he could admit that the Valkyrie leathers were exquisitely designed and painstakingly constructed. They weren’t so different than the Illyrian leathers, overlapping scales over most of the torso, but the gold accents over the trim and feather-stamped panels over the shoulders made them look less like warriors and more like angels. Angels of death and light.

Azriel had wondered in that instant what Gwyn would look like in hers. He’d fantasized about it, seeing her standing tall and confident, a warrior in all areas of life. But she had never let him see them. She never talked about them, barely acknowledged their existence. She didn’t even keep them in the bedroom they now shared. He’d never mentioned it, never pushed. Perhaps it had been a bit odd, but the female never did anything without a reason.

And now, with his jaw practically on the floor, the musky scent of his arousal filling his nose (luckily he could tell he wasn’t the only one), and shadows twisting and writhing around him, he knew exactly what that reason had been.

Gwyneth Berdara – cruel and calculating and tantalizing Gwyneth Berdara – had waited for this moment, so she could see the practiced calm of the spymaster unravel before her eyes. One of the most powerful males in all of Prythian, absolutely undone, for all the powers of the Night Court to see. Cobalt siphons flickered.

This challenge would not go unanswered.

Luckily for the shadowsinger, this meeting was nothing deeply serious and more of a discussion about expectations for the three as leaders and members of the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle. As if anyone there had any doubts about their capability or dedication. And it was a good thing that his attention wasn’t particularly important, because he could not remove his gaze from the former priestess standing with hands on her hips as she listened intently to Rhys.

He’d always admired her body in leathers, though in the beginning he’d found it a source of shame rather than pride. Gwyn had been through too much for him to be casting lustful glances in her direction. But things had changed quite dramatically since then, in regards to her body and their relationship. Where once stood a relatively scrawny girl, now was a strong woman. The leathers – Azriel thanked the Cauldron for how tailored they were to her – showed off the definition in her arms, the muscled thighs and powerful calves, and the swell of that perfect ass. Every inch of her was sculpted from hours upon hours of training, then extra training, then training to escape nightmares or to work through feelings.

And that process was how their relationship had developed as well. The more time they had spent together, the more the spymaster had craved it. It was always easy with her. She always made him smile and laugh, things he didn’t often let others see. His shadows had been quite taken with her, and she had never shied away from them.

Nor from his hands.

He couldn’t be sure when it had happened, but she had firmly planted herself in his heart. She was beautiful and kind, irreverent, bold, and relentless. He respected the hell out of her, and that only made him want her more. But he hadn’t wanted to make the move, concerned about his own demons, concerned about her comfort and choice.

The Blood Rite had changed everything.

He had been as confident as he could have been, under the circumstances. He’d had to lean into that, keeping Cassian from falling into a pit of despair or, even worse, from doing something incredibly reckless that would’ve resulted in a death warrant on both his and Nesta’s heads. But the storm had raged inside Azriel then, a stark reality settling heavily in his stomach that he may never have another minute with Gwyneth Berdara. And since then he’d never made it a secret what she meant to him.

So he didn’t care that his hazel eyes slowly roamed her body, clad in white leather painted with gold, over and over. Memorizing every rise and fall and curve of her. He didn’t care that it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was immensely distracted. He didn’t care that his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she walked into the study on swaying hips. He didn’t hear the amused chuckles or see the raised eyebrows when he’d nearly dragged her out through the double doors when their meeting had concluded.

The only thing on his mind now was that she would pay for her scheming.

“You seemed a bit distracted, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn giggled breathlessly, trailing behind him, tethered by his hand on her wrist. He rounded on her, releasing her wrist only long enough to cradle the back of her head as he pushed her against the wall. His body pressed into her, they breathed the same breath, her eyes bore into him with intensity and desire.

“Seems I fell right into your trap,” he whispered gruffly, sliding his cheek down roughly against hers and letting his tongue dart out against her jaw. He felt her inhale against him and he smiled wickedly against her skin. “You’re a menace, Berdara.”

“I won’t forget that look on your face for a long while,” she breathed, her fingers crawling up his chest, around his neck, and planting in the thick dark locks at his nape. It wasn’t a full confession, but it wasn’t a denial. And it sure as hell wasn’t a damned apology.

“You don’t know what you’ve started, lovely Valkyrie. I think you need to be taught a thing or two about decorum.”

Her giggle was more like a shaky rasp. Azriel could feel her heart beating as he dragged his lips down the column of her throat, feel her chest heave as her breathing quickened at his touch. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I was not the one gawking and distracted while the High Lord was speaking.”

A growl rumbled through his chest, and he knew she could feel it reverberate through her, as well. He let his hands slide down the leather scales over her sides and traced them around to her back, fingers trailing ever downward until they cupped the muscled swell of her ass. After a rough squeeze he reached just a little further down to lift her thighs. Gwyn didn’t require much prodding, crossing her ankles behind him and effectively holding herself up against him. The shadowsinger lifted his head from her neck, turning his attention to the roses blooming under those freckles. One might think they made her look innocent, but he was no fool. Those cheeks were flushed with desire and satisfaction, teal pools darkened lustfully. He captured her lips in a demanding kiss as he pulled her from the wall, their grip on each other firm and unyielding. He stalked toward the door, anxious to get outside the wards of the estate so he could winnow them home.

So he could show her exactly what she did to him.

“You’re going to pay for that, Berdara,” he whispered huskily, voice coated in want. He could barely see, barely focus on getting them out into the cobbled street. The only thing in the world was her, the maddening heat of her skin and her warm breath hitching against the shell of his ear. And then he stepped into the darkness, emerging just a few paces outside the door to their seaside home with the conniving Valkyrie and heavy shadows still wrapped around him. The locks and hinges on the door took care of themselves as he stalked into the foyer, finally in the privacy of their home.

And that was all he needed.

Azriel set her down – not as gently as he probably should have – on top of the cabinet in the foyer and crushed his mouth over her soft full lips, long fingers immediately working at the ties of her leather pants. He felt her laugh against his mouth and took the chance to push his tongue between her lips. Gwyn’s fingers curled into his hair, grasping at him desperately. He grinned against her mouth as he loosened her leathers enough to reach a hand down over the lower part of her toned stomach. His Valkyrie’s hands drifted down around his neck and over the front of him. But he knew that her aim was to loosen his now very tight breeches, and there would be none of that. He pulled away for just a moment, grabbing her hands and then forcing them above her head. He covered both of her alabaster, freckle-speckled hands with one of his, holding them against the wall as he looked straight into her eyes and traced his other scarred hand down her front.

“Did you enjoy the sight of me coming undone before your eyes, Gwyneth?” She moaned as his knuckles disappeared beneath the leather, into the heat between her legs. He pushed a finger into her, relishing the wetness that had already built there. Azriel chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed her jaw. “It appears that you did. Very much.” He dipped a second finger in, his palm rubbing against her clit and eliciting a gasp.

“Az!” Gwyn breathed. His tongue darted out right under her ear before nibbling on her soft skin. “Oh Gods, Azriel.” Her voice, usually strong, was breathy and labored.

“Yes, Love?” His mouth continued to move over her neck, nipping and sucking and licking, as he plunged his fingers into her core. Satisfaction rumbled through his chest as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over that bundle of nerves. Her hips bucked against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth, was it your intention to drive me mad with arousal? In front of the entirety of the High Lord and High Lady’s inner circle?” Her head tipped back, mouth open and gasping, giving him even greater access to that elegant neck of hers. His thumb kept rubbing, fingers pumping, her body writhing under the mastery of his powerful hands.

“Did you want them to scent my need? Even as they could see it plainly on my face? In my fucking pants, stretching and struggling to contain what the sight of you did to me?” He pushed his thumb down and she cried out.

“Gods, Az, please!”

“That’s not an answer, Love,” the shadowsinger crooned against her throat as she bucked and rolled against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth. Yes or no? Ride my fingers and tell me.” He curled the two fingers inside her and pulled them nearly out of her before plunging them back in, pressure ever present on her clit. Her moaning and keening were music to his ears. He loved that he was the one she trusted to give her pleasure, that she would let go for him.

“Y-y-yes! Yes, Azriel!” She was almost there. He could feel it, feel her clenching around his fingers and hear her impending release in the cracking of her voice.

“I’m going to unravel you, lovely Valkyrie. I will undo you with my touch, just as you undo me. Just as you unraveled me in that study. I told you that you had no idea what you started.” He lifted his head and grew impossibly harder as he studied Gwyn’s beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, expressive eyes lidded, strangled cries escaping through parted lips. “Look at me, Gwyn. Look at me when you cum for me.” The wicked smile that curved his lips could not be stopped, not when those clouded teal eyes found his. They were deep as the sea, dark as the night with ecstasy. He curled his fingers inside her again and ground his thumb into that sensitive bud, driving her over the edge. She howled her release, tense muscles firing through her legs and core, making her twitch and buck. His touch was relentless, extending her orgasm as her wetness soaked his hand.

“That’s it, Love,” he praised as he leaned in to press his lips to hers and pulled his hand out from between her legs. He pulled her hands away from the wall above her head and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Hold onto me,” he whispered, kissing her again. He grabbed her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Then he pulled her off the cabinet and carried her down the hall, navigating the corridors to their room. Her breathing had only just begun to calm as he stepped into the bedchamber. He released her legs and she allowed them to straighten as he lowered her toes to the ground.

When she looked up at him, arms still around his shoulders, her smile was languid and content. Azriel flashed a crooked grin. “How do you feel?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “I feel… very good.” She giggled at her lacking vocabulary. The shadowsinger let his hands slide over her, finding their way to her back – to the buckles of her leathers.

“I think we need to get these off.” He started fingering the buckles, pulling straps with an impatience that wasn’t typically his style. But when it came to Gwyneth Berdara he could never get enough, soon enough. “I am not nearly finished with you yet.”

[deathonyourtongue]

Henry taking you on a carnival on your birthday hc?

Okay, so I took inspiration from the descriptions of the circus in The Night Circus, which is by far my favorite description of a carnival/circus I’ve ever read. Wish it existed in real life! The song I was listening to while writing this is Zoetrope by Joep Beving

You’ve told Henry a million times that theme parks and carnivals are a waste of money on you. You’re afraid of heights and falling, and that cancels out most, if not all of the rides. With most carnivals not having an extravagant budget for more complicated rides that use the latest technology, every time you’ve gone to one, you’ve been left wandering aimlessly, looking at games of chance that are impossible to beat, and food that is as overpriced as it is unhealthy. On a whole, you’d rather spend an evening watching a movie than watching others have fun.

Which is why, when Henry comes home one day with tickets to a carnival and an excited grin on his face, you can’t help but feel crestfallen. This is not how you’d planned on spending your anniversary with him and the fact that he’s forgotten your fears only makes you feel worse. 

“Before you say anything, just know that I full well remember that rides are useless and games of chance are a waste of money. This is not that. This will be a night you’ll never forget.” He says, reading your body language in seconds, one hand lifted in defense of the barrage he knows is coming. Sighing, you stick out your hand, palm facing up, wanting to see the ticket. If you’re being dragged somewhere, you at least want to know where you’re going. 

You’re surprised when the ticket placed in your hand has heft to it. Most tickets nowadays are the definition of cheap, with the print disappearing in weeks, and the paper ripping at the slightest glance. This one is different. 

Printed on textured cardstock the color of midnight, it takes you a moment to realize the writing isn’t pressed, but handwritten in elegant, flowing script. The ink reminds you of fireflies in the garden, not quite gold, but not quite silver either. You spend far longer than you imagine entranced by how the light reflects off the letters. 

Le Carnaval de L'éphémère

One night only. Never to return. 

Opens at dusk and not before.

“Now I have your attention,” Henry smiles, knowing your obsession with stationery and calligraphy. 

“Did you make this?” You can’t help but ask, even though the question sounds stupid the moment it leaves your mouth. Henry laughs and shakes his head. 

“Bought and paid for. Like the card says, one night only, love.” 

Your favorite part of October are the smells, and not for the first time, you’re grateful your anniversary with Henry falls nearly on Halloween. Every wonderful scent in the world–his included–is at full bloom right before the world falls asleep in Winter’s icy grasp, and summer aside, it’s the season where you feel the most alive. 

Holding onto Henry’s bicep, you keep time with his long strides, his steps leading to Kynance, the mews not too far from the one you both live on, but far more idiosyncratic and interesting. The archway that marks the beginning of the street brings up a thought in your mind, and you can’t help but feel your curiosity yet again piqued in the same way it had been when Henry handed you the ticket.

“Isn’t Kynance a dead-end?” You ask, swearing you remember a dark brown double-gate at the end of the road. Squinting, you realize that the gate you remember is no longer there, replaced by a large iron gate behind which stands an old-fashioned ticket booth. Henry just shrugs, his smile broadcasting the same excitement you feel growing in you with each step you take closer to the end of the mews. 

There’s a few people already waiting when you get there, bundled up in various degrees of cold weather gear. Knowing you have the advantage of living with a human furnace, when the two of you settle in your spot, you simply slip your arms in between Henry and his plaid jacket, instantly shielding yourself not only from the cold, but from the slight breeze that twists and dances through the narrow road in a way you’ve never felt in any other mews. 

Henry graciously wraps his arms around you, turning you both so that you’re parallel to the gate and can take a moment to appreciate how the sunset plays off the gilded edges of the ticketbooth. You notice a large, meticulously-constructed clock at the top of the booth, the numbers replaced with only two words where 12 and 6 would normally be; Dusk and Dawn are the only markers of time on this particular chronograph, and you recall the words on the ticket with a smile. Whatever this is, they’re leaning into it hard and you appreciate it greatly. 

You tip your head up to press a kiss to Henry’s lips, his arms squeezing you tighter as a breeze seems to wrap around the two of you like a tornado. Pulling away, you both look at each other like children on Christmas morning, adventure and wonder filling the air. Your eyes turn to the sunset, mesmerized by the waves of pink and purple in the sky; a sunset rare for this part of the country, especially with winter fast approaching. Resting your head on Henry’s chest, you can’t keep the smile from your face if you tried. 

A deep tintinnabulation causes you to lift your head, and looking at the ticket booth, you realize the clock has hit Dusk. The carnival is open and your night has just begun.

When the curtain draws back on the ticket booth, you nearly gasp to see not a person, but an automaton behind the glass. Impeccably painted, the animated machine holds out a hand and takes the ticket, inspecting it briefly before stamping the back with the same ink used in the hand lettering and returning it to the waiting patron. With each person, it gives a different greeting, and when it’s yours and Henry’s turn, you eagerly await what it has to say. 

Stamped and handed back, the automaton looks up at you and briefly, you wonder if there’s not life behind the glass eyes in its papier mache skull. 

“Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing.O budding time! O love’s blest prime!”

The accent is appropriately 18th century, and you hear Henry snort above you, his face holding nothing but amusement. “The lady knows her Eliot,” he remarks with a raised eyebrow, taking his ticket back and keeping you close as you step forwards to heavy black and white striped curtain. You can’t help but smile when you feel Henry’s one-handed grip on you tighten as he peels back the curtain with the other hand. 

A gasp does leave you this time, as you’re met with a narrow corridor, lit only by small flecks of light that dance around as though in their own orbit. Fog floats at your feet, and ozone floods your nostrils. You keep both arms wrapped around Henry’s torso as he guides you through, knowing full well you’re nearly night blind. 

The corridor twists and turns in impossible directions given its geographical location, and for a moment your mind goes to the Bermuda triangle and alternate universes. There’s no way the city allowed them (whoever they are) to take up so much public space and alter it in such a way as to confuse the carnival-goers into thinking they’ve entered another realm. After what feels liked an eternity, you and Henry find yourselves at another curtain.

You watch the confusion and excitement light up in Henry’s eyes after he lifts the second curtain, bringing you into open square. Intricate parquet floors gleam from the rays of a moon that seems too close to be your own. Other guests mill about, all with the same slack-jawed expression of awe that both you and Henry are wearing. In the center of the square stands an iron cage with cutouts designed to look like trapeze artists, lions, tigers, and tents. Inside burns a fire that you swear changes color each time you blink. Henry has to physically move you towards the first tent. 

With the same gilded lettering as the ticket, the tent is titled simply, and though you swear it’s your night blindness playing tricks on you, the lights around the sign seem to dance in circles around the letters. 

Hall of Mirrors

Looking at Henry, you can’t refuse the boyish grin he gives you, letting him lead you in through another heavy curtain, into an even darker space. When your eyes adjust, you see each mirror is lit by a single, flickering candle and you can’t stop yourself from stepping up to the first one that’s at eye level to you. Rather than your own reflection, you find a scene that brings tears to your eyes immediately. In a grassy field sits the man you love, a warm creme-colored sweater setting him apart from the sea of green. In his arms is an infant, little hands curling around Henry’s chin as it coos and gurgles happily. Finally, you enter the frame, another infant held in your arms, the smile that lights Henry’s face one you won’t soon forget. 

“You alright, love?” Henry asks even though his eyes don’t move away from the mirror he’s gazing into. You squeeze him tight and wipe your eyes, smiling up at him after giving him a little jostle. When he meets your gaze, you’re not surprised to see the same, sappy look on his features that you yourself are wearing. 

“I love you,” he whispers, a breeze ruffling through his curls as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead even as the air guides you out of the tent. You return the sentiment with a kiss to his sternum and a rub to his back, the scene still playing vividly in your head. 

A scent catches your attention as you step back into the moonlit square, and without even needing to look up, you feel Henry tug you in the direction it’s coming from. Salted caramel and exotic spices mingle in the air, creating an otherworldly smell that you wish you could bottle up. Arriving at the stand, you marvel at the different offerings, all delivered by a different automaton dressed much like an 18th century baker would be. 

Without a word, the doll hands each of you a bag of caramel corn, drizzles of chocolate and a sprinkle of cinnamon binding everything into one mouth-watering treat. The doll’s eyes indicate that the two of you should move and Henry quickly shuffles you out of the way and accidentally into another tent.

Though you miss the sign, there’s no question as to its contents the fur brushes your hand. Looking down, you’re met with a white Siberian tiger, its frost-colored eyes gazing up at you with curiosity. The animal chuffs and purrs, rubbing itself against you before moving on to another patron. 

“Henry,” you whisper before moving your gaze and finding a veritable pack of large cats prowling the interior of the tent, none of them seeming all that interested in the prey that walked right into their space. You side-step when Henry gets nudged by a full-grown lion, its main a beautiful sunlit gold, the cat nuzzling against Henry until he gets pet. Henry laughs, the sound equal parts joy and surprise, neither of you understanding how it’s possible. 

You get braver with each step, and soon you’re petting puma while Henry is crouched down, getting a tongue bath from a cheetah, the fear of being mauled all but a distant memory as you enjoy what seems like a dream.

When you finally step out of the tent, both of you have to pause short as a colony of penguins waddle past, some wearing bow ties. “Henry,” you look up, befuddled, “what is this place?” Again, you get a helpless shrug, Henry’s eyes catching the moonlight and nearly making you swoon for how icy blue they look.

You all but yank Henry to the next tent, excitement rushing through you like whitewater down a mountain.

Aquatic Life

Behind the curtain is a wall of water, and you flinch thinking you’re about to get caught in a tsunami, but the water moves only in gentle waves, never once losing its vertical shape. An automaton hands each of you a paper straw, motioning for you to go forward, into the unconfined aquarium. Placing the straw in your mouth as modeled by the doll, you and Henry hang onto each other tightly as you step through the threshold. Surrounded by an oceanic warmth, you look down to find your clothes not only feel dry, but that you and Henry are both encircled in a bubble blown simply by the two of you breathing normally. 

A dolphin swims past, jarring you from your thoughts, and you look up to find a whale shark coming directly for you. Henry pulls you aside and you both stand completely still as the creature dallys past. Sea turtles, great whites, and jellyfish all move about, not caring whether they’re impossible or not. Reaching out, you touch the bell of the jellyfish, marveling when your hand comes back as dry as it went in. 

Your last stop for the night is one of the few stands that offer games of chance. Though you have a rule about them, Henry convinces you to let him play once, and you give in, unwilling to say no when he’s managed to escort you on the most magical evening you’ve ever had. 

The game is simple; on a luxuriant black velvet board, the same twinkling lights that illuminate the rest of the carnival dance. If Henry counts how many of them there are and guesses the correct number, he wins you a prize. 

Sipping on the last of his cider, you watch as he readies himself. The automaton signals and Henry begins, moving in quadrants so that he doesn’t re-count the number of lights. When the time reaches its limits, he writes his answer neatly on a piece of cardstock, handing it to the automaton. A moment’s pause and the wall behind the ornate doll slide open, revealing a choice of prizes unlike any you’ve seen at other carnivals.

You take your time in choosing, the automaton seeming to watch you as you select between antique jewelry, smaller automatons, a framed painting of a headless woman, or a plush tiger which looks handcrafted and not mass-produced. Henry says nothing, but you can see his eyes venturing to the automaton of a ballerina, so realistic and graceful its as if they miniaturized the principal dancer of the Royal Ballet.

You point at the Ballerina, and when the automaton places it in your hand, you’re delighted to find that she sits on a jewelry case, dancing to a music box version of Gymnopedie. So admiring of it are you that you nearly trample a contortionist on your way out of the kiosk area. The woman smiles understandingly from her position, reaching up with one hand to give you and Henry each a small card. 

On it, you find a fortune similar to the kind you’re used to getting inside of takeout cookies. You only read the first word before the contortionist catches your attention again, shaking her head from its spot between her knees. She indicates the music box, and without a word, you place the fortune inside, daring not read it just yet.

As you make your way out of the carnival, the first streams of sunlight filter through the starry sky, and you blink, trying to figure out how time seemed to slow inside the carnival. Just as you come to the edge of the cobbles, you hear the chiming of the bell once more, and looking back, are shocked to find the same old brown gate you remembered always being there. You say nothing to Henry, still held in thrall by the magic of the evening and not wanting to ruin it with chatter. 

You very nearly forget about the music box and the ballerina once you get home, the ache in your feet from having spent all night walking around making itself known as you sit down for the first time in nearly six hours. It’s not until the familiar tinny music begins to play again that you remember the fortune you’d tucked inside. Standing, you pad over to the box and to Henry who still seems to be in a dreamlike state, his eyes transfixed on the ballerina. 

“What did you see in the mirror?” You ask him quietly as you observe the automaton dancing on her platform. Henry’s quiet for a few moments, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and hoarse, as though he’s holding back tears. 

“I saw you standing in our kitchen, swaying back and forth, wearing my favorite dress of yours. You were smiling and there was music playing off in the distance. When you turned, you were glowing. And…” he waivers, pulling you back against him, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “You were carrying our babies.” The words are muffled and whispered, holding so much joy and anticipation, that it puts a frog in your own throat and you can’t help but reach up and card a hand through Henry’s curls in silent hope. 

Reaching down, you open the box just as the music fades, winding it up to play anew before pulling out your fortune. You let out a wet chuckle when you read the words, and Henry squeezes you tighter, a snuffle accompanying the tears that darken the shoulder of your shirt. 

On the same beautiful black cardstock are the gilded letters, the fortune cementing the night’s theme.

After winter comes spring, and new life it brings.

[agapaic]

for prompt, how about an au where guan shan is famous and he tian isn't? (i love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️)

25.

‘I heard he’s an asshole. A mean asshole.’

He Tian lights up another cigarette, crouches down on an overturned crate. The back door is propped open with a thick hardback, spine broken and pages ruined and wrinkled from rain and spilled ink, and He Tian indulges in the heaviness of smoke in his throat, breath stolen for just a moment. 

‘You shouldn’t listen to rumour,’ he tells Jian Yi, who is propped against the back wall, worrying at his lip. Jian Yi’s cigarette is dwindling in his fingertips, half-touched, and He Tian forces himself to look away from it. 

‘Hard not to when the guy’s press team is setting up inside your store for a signing.’

‘My brother’s store,’ He Tian reminds him. 

Jian Yi jolts forward. ‘Which makes it worse! Protect the family name! The integrity!’

He Tian smirks, grinds out his cigarette beneath the toe of his shoe, newly shined. ‘He Cheng? Integrity? That would be the day.’ He presses his hands to his knees, pushes himself to his feet with a small sigh. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘He’ll be here soon.’ 

‘Ready to protect the family honour?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. ‘What little there is of it—I don’t think it needs defending from some celebrity thriller author.’

Jian Yi halts in the doorway. His look is incredulous. ‘Some celebrity? He’s the youngest recipient of the Mao Dun Literature Prize. He’s won it twice.’

There’s a breathless sort of reverence in the words, an adoration He Tian thought the fair man reserved only for one other person. Waxed lyrical like a starving poet first discovering the moon.

He Tian says, ‘I thought you said he was an asshole.’

Without hesitation: ‘Oh, he is. A mean one.’

—

Jian Yi is right: the man is gruff to his staff, dismissive of He Tian’s. He’s hard-tongued to his fans, and delivers his short welcoming speech in clipped tones and the curved accent of someone raised on the backs of city streets. He Tian’s only interaction thus far takes place with the author’s publisher, a sharp-edged, sly man with silver hair and a series of tattoos peeking beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeves.

He Tian watches the proceedings from the upper mezzanine, arms resting on the balcony banister. The bookstore is big, the building inherited from a long line of He’s and, once, housed a group of Literati scholars during the Qing Dynstasy Men and women waiting eagerly in line, copies new and old clutched to their chests, eager for a glimpse at the man who could create such a mastery. Jian Yi stands at He Tian’s side, eyes on the café on the other side of the mezzanine, where Zhengxi stands cleaning the shelves behind the counter, now empty, listening to the voices from below.

His eyes flicker up, and, seeing Jian Yi, he offers a nod, a small wave. Jian Yi looks away, blushing.

‘Really?’ He Tian asks, unable to help himself. ‘Just fuck already.’

Jian Yi���s eyes go wide, silvery and wet with childlike fear, as if he’s just heard the beginnings of creaking from his parent’s bedroom.

‘We haven't—It’s not—Oh, balls…’ He sighs, dramatic and overzealous, a hand pressed to his forehead like a fainting maiden from one of his battered romance novels from the eighties. ‘It isn’t like I don’t want to,’ he hisses, suddenly correcting himself. An almost defence. ‘But Zhan Zhengxi’s…’

'Frigid?’

’Stoic.’

He Tian considers the barista, his dark brows affecting an air of eternal broodiness and a painful duty of thought. Some Byronic figure blessed with dark, philosophical features and bright, cutting eyes. Beneath it, He Tian knows there lies a shadowy, quiet man who is far simpler than the likes of which Jian Yi likes to indulge.

But He Tian leaves him to his fantasies.

Below, Guan Shan is reaching the end of the first wave of guests, those who’d bought tickets for the introductions and a photo pass with the author. He Tian watches as the man states, unflinching, into the camera, flinching each time as a fan presses closer, leans in. There’s a curl to his lip that is purely hostile, and a startled look in his eyes for just a second as the camera flash goes off and He Tian realises that the whole thing is a front.

Guan Shan, he realises, is like most other authors who step over the threshold of the store. Unused to crowds, largely content with their own company, enduring social conventions with an awkward manner that lingers on rude.

‘He doesn’t like this,’ he murmurs.

Jian Yi glances at him. ‘The country’s most famous author doesn’t like going on a tour of adoring fans?’ He shakes his head. ‘Imagine standing on a stage and having a crowd of people singing your songs back at you. The thrill.’

‘Imagine putting your private thoughts and the workings of your mind on show.’ He Tian glances at the publishing representative, the sharkish figure standing towards the back of the store. He has a smile on his face, yellowish eyes glinting in the light. ‘It’s a horror.’

‘It’s money,’ says Jian Yi, a little more practical. ‘I heard he’s got a three-part movie deal for Secondhand Smoke. If it flops, maybe he’ll get a Netflix drama. Maybe a K-drama. He’s set for life.’

More decisions, more executive choices handed over to someone who knows him little and claims a lot. Dreams and secret thoughts set on a screen and gazed at while Guan Shan flinches from the criticism like a camera flash.  

He Tian stops himself—he’s not a writer. He can’t create characters like this, a caricature of a man—a real man—he doesn’t know.

—

He ducks out for a cigarette when the line begins to thin and the sky has grown dark, leaving Jian Yi to watch over the final signings. He won’t get a chance to leave the shop until the early hours of the next morning, stacking away chairs and tables for tomorrow’s opening and reviewing the accounts from the day’s events, a night holed away in the office with straining eyes and a too-dim lamplight Jian Yi has told him to replace a thousand times. 

He hears the door hinges creak, the stomp of boots, an unfamiliar gait. Somehow—he knows.

‘Got one goin’ spare?’

He Tian glances back, unaffected, and then goes still. He’s different up close; the spotlight attached to the wall beside the fire exit adds a softness that none of his author’s portraits have allowed him. There’s an amber glint to his hair, his eyes, a pellucid quality to his skin. Hard callousness gives way to a strange, chipped beauty that He Tian can’t look away from.

He offers up the carton. 

‘Getting tired of handing out your autographs?’ he asks, only lightly mocking. 

‘Just signed the last copy.’ The author’s lip curls, and he takes a cigarette. ‘I hate this shit,’ he says, and then pauses when he props the cigarette between his lips. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that.’

The corners of He Tian’s mouth quirk. ‘You’re bringing me good business. You can say what you like.’

Mo Guan Shan leans into He Tian’s cupped hands, the flame of He Tian’s lighter snagging on the end of his cigarette until it blooms like a marigold. He kicks a crate over and sets himself down on it.

‘You’re usin’ a copy of Secondhand Smoke to keep your back door open,’ he remarks, unoffended.

He Tian hides a smile. ‘It’s hefty,’ he says. ‘And we ordered too many copies.’

‘A bookstore with an accidental surplus,’ says Mo Guan Shan. ‘What a luxury. Guess you’re doin’ pretty fuckin’ well from where I’m lookin’.’ He leans back, smoke tendrils drifting upwards. ‘Oldest independent bookstore in Beijing, and you haven’t sold the place out to Suning or Yonghui or some other corporate shit like the rest of ‘em.’

‘The building belongs to my family,’ says He Tian, a finite note to his voice. 

‘I know. My publicist gave me some background.’ Mo Guan Shan glances back. ‘Guessin’ there’s some stories to be told in these walls.’

‘You’d be writing forever if you set yourself to writing about my family.’

There’s a pause, and then, ‘Okay. You got archives?’

He Tian leans back. He considers what the man is saying, what he’s offering. It’s not much, not a promise—but it’s something. And that something starts to warm behind his ribs, a ball of air in his throat that feels like panic.

‘If you come in tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll try and get them for you. But no promises.’

The writer shrugs, stamps out the dwindling cigarette from beneath his shoe, and gets to his feet. ‘See you tomorrow then, Mr He.’

He Tian glances back to watch him leave, the slight set of the man’s shoulders disappearing into the store, the door thudding against the beaten copy of his most famous work. A shift, and He Tian murmurs, ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Mo.’

—

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[mollymauk-teafleak]

Black Coffee

Vax'ildan needs a way to make money. Life got pretty rough after Syldor cut him off and he and his sister found themselves living in a tiny apartment in the city.

He needs a quick way to make some money. What he finds is Percival de Polo.

-

We’re calling it the sugar daddy au and we’re unapologetic, folks. Will be multi chapter if people like it.

Please consider reblogging, leaving a comment on Ao3 or donating to my ko-fi page!

Thanks to @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

-

Always meet them in a public place.

That had been the prevailing advice when he’d looked on the Internet, when he’d asked Molly’s mother, when he’d finally decided to do this slightly crazy thing.

So Vax had messaged back, after stewing over those handful of words for nearly half a day, after they’d popped up with a unusually cheery message chime that honestly was a bit of a weird choice for an online sex forum. Though Vax didn’t know what else he’d expected. A moan of lust maybe, every time a message from his anonymous friend came in?

I’d like to meet you and talk about this face to face.

He’d replied, sat cross legged in his underwear on the bed that took up the majority of the space. He’d have called his bedroom the box room of the apartment, if his sister’s hadn’t been equally as claustrophobic.

1pm tomorrow at the Blooming Grove café? It’s on fifth street.

Vax thought it was a good choice. Nice, airy and Caduceus made the best coffee he’d ever had in the whole city. Also it wouldn’t hurt to be in a place where there would always be a stronger-than-he-seemed, seven foot tall friend within earshot.

He’d frowned than, tugging at a loose strand of ink black hair that had come loose from his bun. He’d told himself he was overthinking this. Catastrophizing, that’s what the CBT book his sister had lent him called it. Odds were this guy was just a nice enough, probably lonely middle-aged man. If anything seemed off, Vax could easily just politely decline and get out of there. He’d escaped from far worse.

Besides, maybe the offer would scare him off. Maybe Orthax- obviously not his real name but his username on the website- would lose his nerve and shut down and that would just be the end of it.

But then the reply came, less than five minutes after Vax’s offer when he’d taken five hours.

I know it, good choice. See you there. I’ll have a red carnation.

Vax had smiled at that, maybe even snorted a little. How romance novel. How Gone with the Wind.

It was a little sweet.

His estimation of the guy’s age had shot up but the amount he feared for his life went down.

And now he was sat here, at the comfy table for two right in the window, the one with the black iron seats and the mosaic table top. Dark eyes flicking to his watch, he noted it was now five minutes past one and there wasn’t a single flash of red to be found amongst the dinner crowd.

What if he never showed up? Maybe Orthax had lost his nerve at the last minute.

Vax frowned and leaned back in his chair, trying to figure out how that made him feel.

It wasn’t like he was dying to be someone’s sugar baby. After all, if he felt completely, 110% okay with it, he wouldn’t have lied about where he was going to his sister when she’d asked, dashing back to grab her forgotten lunch and seeing him half in, half out of his leather jacket, chasing Trinket around for his second shoe. He’d told her he was going to meet another art director, once she’d wrenched his now dripping shoe from her hairball of a dog.

And instantly regretted that lie, when he’d seen how her face lit up with hope for him.

Truth was, he thought as he took another sip of his black coffee to match how bitter he felt inside, the auditions had been very thin on the ground lately and even the few he did get didn’t go very far. Most directors wouldn’t even see him dance, not once he told them he was trans.

No auditions meant no jobs. No jobs meant no money coming in. And he and Vex would rather lose the apartment than ask Syldor for money, after he’d made it so acidly plain they wouldn’t be seeing another penny as long as Vax lived as himself.

The old man could rot as far as Vax was concerned.

He sighed, screwing up his face, fingers tight on his own arms. He was getting angry again, he could feel it, the kind of anger that could so easily make him say and do stupid things. But it was so much simpler to get mad at his bigoted ass of a father than at the whole world, the world that just didn’t seem to want to let him be happy, the world that had always been so unfair to him, the world that had left him sat here, messaging random people on the internet, offering to sell himself, hoping for one last chance to not fuck his whole life up.

“Are you…sorry, this is going to sound insane if I’m wrong but are you Raven?”

Vax opened his eyes, startled.

Well, he was a hell of a lot younger than he’d been expecting. Wasn’t half bad on the eyes either.

“I am. You’re Orthax?”

Tall, very tall. Human. White hair but it had to be the result of dye rather than age, no one with naturally white hair would wear it in such a neat, subtle undercut. Shockingly blue, tired looking eyes behind a pair of circular, gold rimmed glasses. Stubble creeping up his jaw. Looked like he needed a good night’s sleep.

And he actually did have the red carnation in his pocket.

The guy’s face wrinkled in gentle embarrassment, “Yeah. Sorry, it’s a rather stupid username. I didn’t think how bad it would sound out loud.”

His voice was prim, sculpted, a borderline ridiculously high society accent. But it was the only thing about him that gave any hint of the wealth Vax assumed he’d have; his clothes were dark and simple, no logos or brands, just dark blue jeans and a pain grey collared shirt that was a little oversized. Wait, no, there was a ring on his finger. The gleam of real gold, a crest too small to make out from his distance.

Vax cracked a smile, “It’s fine. Doesn’t have a reference to the size of your genitals so it’s better than most I see on there.”

The guy laughed, a short, bark of a laugh like he didn’t do it very often, “Even so. Now we’ve met face to face, can I be Percy?”

“Sure,” he nodded, “Then I’m Vax’ildan. Vax for short.”

“Lovely. Can I get you a drink, Vax?”

He tipped his mug, judging that he had maybe two swallows left. Having two drinks at a café was rank extravagance on Vax’s budget, even with Caduceus’ heavy friends discount, and all of a sudden the idea of having one bought for him seemed strange. But he was going to have to get used to that if this was going to work.

“Sure. Black coffee please and an amount of sugar I’m not comfortable telling you right now. The guy behind the counter knows.”

That made Percy laugh again, “Sure. A gentleman after my own heart.”

Vax paused as he watched Percy move through the maze of mismatched tables to the counter (Caduceus didn’t have the best eye for organisation). Being called a gentleman had gave him a happy little tightness in his stomach and it was probably good that he’d been able to make the guy laugh twice. So far so good.

Vax had always been very good at reading people in a short space of time. It was partly good intuition, partly a strong sense of empathy inherited from his mother, partly survival instinct from his years with Syldor, trying to work out how much he could trust people, how much he could be himself versus how much he’d need to lie.

It was serving him well as it ever had in trying to set up this delicate arrangement, helping him reject a handful of people and decide Percy was the only one he was going to agree to meet. And it was telling him a lot about Percy right now.

He seemed sad. There was no other word for it. There were too many lines around his eyes for someone as young as he was, down turned ones that clearly didn’t come from smiling. That shirt wasn’t doing a good job of concealing how slender he was, his nails were bitten uncomfortably close, there were old burns and scars on his hands and he’d missed part of his hair when he’d brushed it. And of course there was the fact that he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. It didn’t take a lot of Vax’s intuition to see that.

In short, he looked a bit bedraggled. At first Vax had been stunned that someone with such good looks and, presumably, a lot of money needed to inquire after a sugar baby. But as he watched him fumble for change, exchange a few pleasantries with Caduceus and pick his way back over to their table with two mugs, he was starting to piece it together.

Percy was just a little bit lost. He needed someone to hold his hand.

Vax mentally shrugged. He could do that.

“Here…” Percy sat the two coffees down, one in front of Vax, “I promise I didn’t look when he put the sugar in.”

Vax smiled wanly, “I’m pretty sure he stints me every time. It’s for my own good.”

Percy slid into the chair opposite him, muffling a cough, “Sorry…and I’m sorry for being late too. Time got away from me when I was working.”

“Oh? What do you do?” It was as good a place as any to make a start.

The tips of Percy’s ears reddened, “Well. Not work as in for my job. It’s…well, tinkering? Just messing around with machinery for my own amusement. I have a little work shop in my apartment.”

“Sounds interesting,” Vax smiled, wondering if he could be paid for his company in putting up all that flatpack furniture that was still sitting around in his own place.

“Well…” that seemed to please him, “I’ve made a few things. Odds and ends, patented a few things actually…”

Vax filed that away for something to return to later, something to do a little research on, “So what’s your day job?”

The discomfort returned a little, though it seemed a well-worn kind, something he was used to, “I, uh…I run my family’s company. Whitestone Industries.”

Vax nearly choked on his coffee, “Wait, what? Seriously?”

It was one of those ubiquitous household names, a little silver stamp on everything from electronics to massive civil engineering projects and charity initiatives. So huge and all encompassing, it was hard to imagine it as a family business.

Fuck, he’d suspected anyone with a kink for having a kept partner would have a fair amount of spending money but he hadn’t expected an oligarch.

“Yeah…” Percy looked down awkwardly, tracing his finger between the pretty glass tiles on the table top, “I don’t do that much, the board just puts stuff in front of me and I sign it. It’s the surname really…they let me mess around in the aerospace engineering department sometimes.”

Vax paused, his dismay fading. While he wasn’t about to feel sorry for someone who earned more money by the hour than his mother had ever seen in her life, he could see how that would be lonely. Having the pressures of your family bend and twist you into a position you couldn’t hold long before your muscles began to burn and your head swam.

He could understand that.

“Well…” Vax gave a friendly smile, soft and gentle as he could manage, “You’ve always got your work shop to come home to?”

“Yeah,” Percy looked up, like he really appreciated those words, “I do…so what do you like to do, Vax’ildan?”

“You can call me Vax,” he reminded him, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I like saying it,” he said it like it was something he was admitting, “It’s beautiful.”

Charming as well, huh? Vax was starting to think this whole thing was his very first good idea.

“I’m a dancer,” he stirred his coffee idly, spoon ringing against the china, “Aspiring, really. It’s been a while since I had a gig. I do teach a class down at the community centre and my friend Mollymauk lets me choreograph for his shows. They do Shakespeare mostly so there’s not a lot of call for it but…”

He trailed off limply. He felt like he was in front of someone who remembered him from Syldor’s, meeting him in the street and asking politely how he was getting on, all the while both of them painfully aware that he’d been disowned and this entire conversation had been an unadulterated mess.

But Percy had a smile in his voice, Vax heard it even when he didn’t lift his eyes to see, “That sounds lovely. I really admire anyone who has a creative job, especially people who teach others, I could never do that.”

Vax’s eyes darted up, too stunned to worry that he was looking a bit of a fool, “Really?”

Percy blinked, even tilting his head a little like a puppy would, “Forgive me but…have you ever had a compliment before?”

Vax opened his mouth…and had to close it again, smiling sheepishly. After a moment, the two of them found themselves laughing quietly under the chatter contained within the café. What else was there to do?

“Glad I could be your first, anyway,” Percy’s laugh ended in a cough he muffled into the back of his hand, “I’ll make sure I throw in as many as I can in the future.”

Vax lifted an eyebrow, “Does that mean…this is going to be a thing? You and me?”

Percy smiled playfully, eyes flashing a little, something Vax hadn’t even thought he would be capable of doing, “Well…I’d certainly be up for it though I think we should talk ground rules?”

Vax’s smile softened around the edges and any lingering worry that had survived in his chest died away at that moment. He was approaching this like a blueprint, of course, but there was comfort in that, reliability.

“Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking, then?” He’d finished his second coffee at that point, a pleasant buzz starting up in his veins.

Percy nodded, ticking them off on his fingers as he went, suddenly becoming very business-like and formal, “I’d pay your rent, I understand that’s the main monetary concern for people. I’d also send you a number of gifts every month once I get a better idea of things you like though some would be sexual in nature. I’d send these to your apartment or you could keep a separate P.O box if you prefer to keep that information private.”

Vax tried not to look too eager, though his heart was hammering in his chest, “And in exchange?”

“A…we’ll call it a date for want of a better word though we’d be by no means exclusive, you could pursue any other relationships though I’d prefer to be the only one with whom you had this kind of…arrangement. But one date every fortnight at least. You can suggest activities but so can I, we’ll reach a compromise. If you need to cancel any, that’s fine, though I’d like it to be rearranged if possible.”

Vax was fighting a bemused smile at how much like a meeting this felt, “And how many of these dates would end in sex? All of them?”

Percy looked taken aback, “I’d…I’d never force sex on you, Vax’ildan, never. I’d like to be intimate with you but if there’s ever any night you’re not feeling it or you’re not in the mood that’s fine. You just have to tell me.”

Vax’s amusement was replaced by surprise for a moment, surprise at the sincerity in Percy’s voice. He really did seem to care about Vax’s consent and comfort. Something that really shouldn’t come as a shock, he realised, but still…

“Understood. Same to you, of course,” he nodded.

Percy looked relieved, apparently genuinely hating being thought of as a person who would demand sex simply because he was paying for it, “I’d also appreciate pictures, whenever the mood takes you. And…” he stopped suddenly, finally seeming shy and even a little embarrassed, “I’d just…I’d like a friend. Tell me how your day is going. Tell me what you thought of whatever was on TV last night. Stuff like that.”

The expression on his face, which so clearly screamed that Percy hadn’t had that kind of friendliness in a very long time, that was what made Vax reach out and put his hand over Percy’s where it lay on the table. It hadn’t been a deliberate action, something he’d thought about, but he was glad he’d done it after Percy’s shame turned to relief and gratitude.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Vax smiled, feeling Percy’s fingers turn under his to hold, knotting them together, “Got a contract you want me to sign or something?”

Percy smiled, blushing lightly under his gentle teasing, “No…sorry, a force of habit, I guess. Whenever you don’t know what to say at board meetings, if you use that kind of tone I’ve found they’ll leave you alone. Even if what you said was complete bullshit. So I guess I do it when I’m nervous?”

“Don’t be,” Vax grinned, “I think this is going to work out fine.”

Percy was full of polite apologies that they couldn’t start things right away but he had work to get back to. Actual work, he promised, not his tinkering.

But they exchanged numbers and Vax stood outside the café, watching his white haired saviour disappear into the crowds, clutching a fresh coffee to see him through the afternoon. It was getting cold but he lingered, waiting until he lost sight of Percy. Percy of the tired eyes and burned hands and family money he seemed so awkward about. Percy who smiled sweetly most of the time and darkly when he wanted to and asked for a friend.

Vax smiled wryly to himself and turned himself back towards home.

At least it wasn’t going to be boring.

[missbrightsky]

Velaris National Park

Fics Masterlist

Chapter 1

Green light filtered through the canopy, patches of gold peppering the road ahead. Rolled down windows allowed the late spring air weave through the car, carrying the scent of growing things and warmth to wrap around us.

Elain had some 2000s pop station pouring from the speakers, all of us belting out the familiar words to our audience of Mother Nature. Nesta had called shotgun at the beginning, leaving me to have the back seat to stretch out, propping my feet on the bag that held our borrowed tent.

It was May in Prythian, warm and good and green. I had just graduated from my master’s program in Art History, my whole future stretching out ahead of me. Elain had insisted we celebrate but all of us were in educational debt and couldn’t afford to fly anywhere. Ever the florist, she found a state park a few hours away that boasted the largest collection of wildflowers in the country, one especially that bloomed once every three years. And because Elain was always lucky, this year was one of the few that it blooms in full.

A few days after graduation, she managed to wrangle Nesta away from the publishing house and me away from my couch and stuffed us all into her 2005 Honda.

Velaris National Park

Turn off 5 miles

Elain’s singing broke off mid-verse, a squeal replacing the lyrics as she pointed out the sign. I could only smile at her excitement; camping was never really our family’s thing, but her happiness was too infectious. At least I had managed to throw my sketchbook and watercolor pencils into my bag before she dragged me out the door. It had been a while since I had done some wildlife sketching, there was not a lot of green space or biodiversity in the city.

She turned down the music while Nesta and I straightened in our seats, ready to hop out of the car and get blood flowing back into our legs.

Even Nesta who normally tolerated Elain’s antics had a ghost of a smile playing around her lips, the fresh air loosening her iron grip on her emotions.

Elain slowed the car, turning right before the massive stone wall that announced the entrance to the park, gravel crunching under the tires.

The rough road weaved with the terrain, up and down and curving around hills and patches of meadows that peaked through the trees. We even rumbled over a wooden bridge that spanned the banks of a sparkling stream, the water throwing shimmering rainbows into the air.

A low log cabin-like building greeted us, its small parking lot only holding a Jeep with the park logo on the side and another car.

Elain turned the car off and all of us popped our doors open, slightly stumbling as our legs reacclimated to moving. Small groans slipped out of our mouths as we stretched feeling back into our lower halves, taking in the new environment.

A small sign in the window informed us of the park’s office hours and the emergency phone line. Elain pushed in first, a petite ding announcing our arrival.

The inside was a simple, square room, half the room stocked with souvenirs and anything campers may need in a pinch. A long, low counter ran along the back wall with an open doorway hinting at the back room. This was where a perky blonde emerged, greeting them with a bright smile. Her long hair was braided down her back, a forest green polo stamped with the logo somehow accented her curves instead of looking dorky and too stiff.

“Hi! Welcome to Velaris National Park. I’m Mor, what can I help y’all with today?”

“Hello! I’m Elain and these are my sisters Nesta and Feyre,” she gestured to each of us in turn, we all shook her hand, surprised to find it calloused and strong.

“How long do y’all plan on staying?”

“Two nights, please. And if you can point out on a map where the Starfall flower will be blooming?”

Mor laughed, a grin splitting her mouth. “I should’ve guessed, this is some of our busiest weeks of the year. Well, you’re in luck, we have only a few campsites left. Any preference to where?”

“None at all, we’re not too picky.”

“Perfect, how about y’all take site 20. It’s near the trailheads and not too far from the bathrooms.”

Elain turned to confirm with us, we each nodded back. Our lack of experience had us indifferent to where we camped, as long as it wasn’t out in the middle of nowhere.

Elain and Mor exchanged money and maps, paying for our spot and pointing out the major landmarks of the park.

“We do allow fires, as long as they’re in the designated fire pits. Please use the trash cans we have all along the park, anyone caught littering can be fined up to 200 dollars along with not being allowed to revisit the park. No glass or alcohol on park grounds. If y’all need anything, please don’t hesitate to call up to here the main office, and the numbers for our rangers are on the maps, along with the emergency line. Further into the park, cell service can get a little spotty, but as long as you stay near the trails, our rangers can spot you if you get into trouble. A little tip, don’t feed the wildlife, we have them on a diet,” she finished with a laugh and a wink. We laughed along with her, it was easy to feel a friendship forming with the bright woman.

“Well if that’s all y’all need, just keep following the road and you’ll see the signs pointing out the campsite. Parking gets a bit limited so try not to double park.”

We thanked her and headed out to pile back into the car.

As we were pulling out and getting back onto the road, I spotted one of the rangers on top of a horse.

The animal was tall, taller than any of the horses I had ever encountered before, and blacker than the deepest night sky. Its rider was sitting perfectly still, used to having to blend into the background.

I stifled a gasp. The ranger was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but they peeked through the leaves, boring into mine. His shoulders were broad, covered with a khaki shirt, he gripped the horse with powerful legs clad in dark green pants that were tucked into wore brown boots.

Our car soon turned a corner, breaking my gaze from his, banishing me of the spell he had cast.

More gorgeous forest passed us by, feeding my artist's mind with texture and light and color. Maybe this trip would replenish my weary mind after years of rigorous study. I loved every minute of my classes, but it left little free time for drawing and painting.

Wooden signs ticked up, eventually indicating where our sight was. Once again parking, we exited the car and took in the scenery.

We were to share a small common area with a few other campers, picnic tables and grills dotting the grassy area. Two cars were already parked there, brightly colored tents peeking out from the bushes that gave each sight a bit of privacy. Under a massive oak tree, there was a ring of rocks that held gray and black ashes from prior fires, stumps surrounding it for us to sit and enjoy the company.

I grabbed the tent from the backseat and slung my pack over my shoulder, leading the way to the small clearing that would be our home for the next few days. It was simply packed dirt, slightly raised from the rest of the ground so that if it rained, our tent would not get flooded.

I had never set up a tent before but with the instructions from the bag combined with the store owners’ tips, it was soon popped up in no time. Maybe only slightly leaning to the left but that would be a problem for later.

Nesta had pulled out our coolers of food, prepping sandwiches for a late lunch. Elain was already off in the surrounding area, making notes of the greenery and wildflowers that grew nearby. It was not the elusive Starfall but it did not take much for her to get wrapped up in flora.

Satisfied at my work, I tossed our bags into the tent and zipped it up. We could unpack after a bit of exploring.

Joining Nesta at the table, I swiped one of the completed sandwiches, ignoring her protest to wait for Elain. She was the one who refused to stop for lunch so she would just have to get the next one.

My fingers itched to start drawing the massive oak tree, its complex branches and multicolored leaves begging to be noticed and put onto paper. My stomach, however, told me it can wait.

Nesta somehow pulled Elain away from a blue flower, convincing her that it won’t disappear in the next 15 minutes.

“So, what’s first on the agenda, sis?” I asked her.

“Well it is getting a little late so I don’t want to go too far before it gets dark, but I thought we could start with one of the short trails!” Elain radiated energy, feeding off the teeming forest around us.

I smiled back at her, excited to start cataloging the world around us. We finished off the sandwiches and repacked the coolers into the car. One thing we all learned from watching TV was to not let wild animals get into a camper’s stash of food.

A quick trip into the tent had us changed into t-shirts, shorts and tennis shoes with light jackets tied to our waists. Even with Prythian warming up, the nights could still get a bit cool.

Elain consulted the map Mor gave us, confidently leading us to the first trailhead. It was only two miles long and would introduce us to the wildlife we could see in the park.

Every few hundred feet, plastic signs would pop up, listing fun facts about the park and giving an example of some of its inhabitants. Some would show a burst of color followed by the flower’s common name, scientific name and any medicinal or historical facts about it. Others would tell you how to spot an animal camouflaged in the surrounding foliage.

We all talked and joked with each other, with no tension that usually accompanied us when we got together. Nesta told us a story about an author that tried to sneak in her friends’ manuscript that turned out to be an awful rendition of Twilight and Fifty Shades of Grey. By the end, all of us were in stitches and barely able to walk, clinging onto tree trunks and each other in an attempt to stay upright.

Just as the sky was glowing orange and pink, the trail delivered us back to the beginning of the campsites, all we had to do was follow the gravel road back to ours.

The smell of meat and potatoes set our stomachs growling, the sandwiches from earlier long gone from the hike and laughter.

The other campers that were out earlier had returned.

“Howdy!” one of the men shouted at us waving his arm. He looked to be in his late fifties with combed back salt and pepper hair, sporting cargo pants and a navy long sleeve to ward off any wayward cool breezes.

We all gave back nervous smiles, unsure of who our neighbors were.

“Kevin,” a voice scolded, “you can’t just yell at unsuspecting young girls.” The source of the admonishment appeared from the bushes.

“Sorry about my husband, he’s just excited to have more company,” a man apologized. He also looked to be in his fifties, a bit shorter than Mike but leaner. Dark brown skin was covered in matching cargo pants, but a faded Prythian U sweatshirt covered his torso.

“I’m Raymond, this is our third night at the park.”

We tried not to look too relieved as we shook his hand. All of us had experience taking care of ourselves but we were in the middle of a national park with the other nearest humans about 50 yards down the road.

Kevin looked appropriately sheepish as he came to greet us. “Sorry about that, I am excited to have more company. The couple that’s over there just keeps glaring at us and avoids us like the plague.” His words were playful enough but there was a deeper sadness buried in his eyes as if he was used to this sort of treatment.

“Well it’s awesome to meet you,” Elain gushed, ever the social butterfly. “I’m Elain and these are my sisters, Nesta and Feyre. We’re here in celebration of Feyre graduating!”

“Congratulations! Where from?” Raymond asked.

“Well you’re actually wearing my college right now,” I replied with a smile. There were tons of people who went to Pryth U but it was always fun to meet someone who graduated there in the past.

I fell into conversation with Ray, who insisted on using the shorter version of his name about the campus and how much it has changed from when he was there. He was an engineering major but still asked me a million questions about the art history department and why I wanted to get my masters there. Elain roped Kevin into a debate about botany and the best soil for growing tulips in. It sounded like he was also in the flower business and was here to see the blooming of Starfalls.

Nesta was never one to make easy friends and opted to start our dinner, taking over the grill next to Kevin’s. Tonight was burgers with potato chips and then s’mores for dessert that would be roasted over the campfire.

Dinner was full of lively conversation under the night sky. We were far enough away from the city’s light pollution that we were able to make out constellations that we had only read about and see the dusting of galaxies that spanned the sky.

“And that’s when the professor realized he had designed a system that looked exactly like a dick!” We burst out laughing at the end of Ray’s story from his time in college, even Nesta couldn’t keep her giggles contained at the raunchy tale.

Our cheeks were rosy from the fire that crackled happily before us, the smell of burnt marshmallow filling the air. As perfect as Nesta was at everything, it took her a few tries to get the timing and distance right for roasting.

“Sounds like I missed a hell of a tale,” the new midnight voice sent shivers down my spine.

“Ah! Rhys! I was wondering when you would show up,” Kevin greeted the newcomer. “Where are Cas and Az?”

The figure stepped into the ring of light and perched on an open stump beside Feyre. I forced myself not to freeze and stare at him. It was the same man I saw on top of the horse.

Closer up I could see how his dark hair shone blue in the firelight, no longer hidden beneath the Mountie hat he wore earlier.

He shifted his body to angle slightly towards me, catching my eyes with his. They were so blue they seemed to be an impossible violet, sparking with hidden laughter at an inside joke. “They’re right behind me,” he said without breaking eye contact with me.

I forced my eyes to drop to the page I was intermittently sketching on. I was lucky that I had started a new outline of the stream we passed on the way in instead of still having the sketch of him on his horse open. Hopefully the blush that was already on my cheeks hid the new blood that was rushing there.

“What was all that laughing about? I hope someone was making fun of Rhys,” another male voice called out as he came into view. He was tall and even more well-muscled than the man beside me but had his dark hair pulled into a low bun on the nape of his neck and his eyes glowed amber.

Rhys broke his stare at me to twist to the man, “No, I was telling them about the time you got stuck in what you thought was quicksand but turned out to be just a massive mud pit,” he shot back. The group laughed at the retort, including me while trying to shake off my embarrassment.

He pouted at the memory, “Aw com’on, you promised you would stop bringing that up.”

“Never in your dreams, brother.”

“Cas, come sit by me and have a s’more, I’m sure you thought you were right at the time,” Kevin teased, offering a marshmallow already speared on a stick. Cas threw one more sulky look at Rhys and walked over to where Kevin and Nesta were sitting. Nesta sized up the addition, bracing herself for interaction.

Cas saw her reaction, immediately forgetting his brother’s teasing. There was a new opponent to spare with. He aimed a feral grin at her, spurring her to narrow her eyes at his assessment.

A final figure, presumably Az, emerged from the dark, almost as if melting from it. He nodded a polite greeting to the group opting to stand near Ray and Elain. It took no time at all for her sister to draw him into a conversation about what all she can see at the park and if she was allowed to take any wildflower clippings home to preserve.

I turned back to my book, darkening the path the water took over, around and through the stones on the creek bed. The weight of Rhys’s gaze settled over me, making me tighten my grip on the pencil.

“You’re a good artist,” he remarked.

I smiled slightly in his direction. “I would hope so, I staked most of my career on it.”

“You do this professionally?”

“Well, I hope so someday,” I admitted, “I just graduated with a master’s in art history.”

“Really? Congrats. What’s next for you?”

He finally succeeded in pulling me away from the drawing, meeting his gaze again, looking for any sign of mockery at my chosen path. Most heard the words “art history” and assumed I would become a starving artist or elementary art school teacher.

There was no trace of judgment in his face, only open curiosity.

“In my dreams, I would open up my own studio, maybe a few galleries. For now, I’ve applied to a few museums as a curator and I have an interview with one of them next week.”

“I hope it goes well, anyone who can draw that well must know a thing or two about Picasso.”

I barked a laugh at his statement, “I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are,” giggling my way through the sentence. “You won’t believe the number of students I met who couldn’t tell the difference between Picasso and their own ass.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, followed by laughter rich and clear as a bell spilling from his mouth. “I can believe it, I’ve met my fair share of idiots in this world.”

“I bet, being a park ranger must set you up for a whole slew of idiots who watched one episode of Bear Grylls and thinks they can survive out here with nothing more than their wits.”

His face jokingly darkened, “Do. Not. Get. Me. Started.”

“Please, start,” my sketch was now long forgotten, pulled into his expressive voice and body. He wove the tale of a couple that thought they could go all Naked and Afraid only 20 feet off the trail, managing to get as far as cutting down a few trees to start a shelter before another camper contacted them and they were able to stop them from scarring any more people.

My cheeks hurt from the constant smiling and laughter, unable to stop myself from leaning closer to catch every detail.

By the end of his story, our knees were brushing each other every few seconds, both of us catching our breath. He paused at the end, taking the small bubble we had trapped ourselves in.

His eyes dipped to brush my lips before meeting mine again. My breath caught in my throat at the intensity of his gaze, heat blooming across my cheeks and down my neck. Our shared air was sweet with chocolate and heavy with anticipation…

A hiss startled us apart.

Across the fire, Nesta looked to be about two seconds away from slapping Cas, fury twisting her face into a knot. Cas looked like he was the cat that got the cream, lazily reclining against the stump, looking up into her wrathful face.

“And that’s our queue,” Rhys muttered under his breath. “It was wonderful to talk with you. I’ll see you around the park.”

I blinked a few times, mentally shaking myself out of the trance he put me in. “Uh, yeah sure, see you around.”

“Cas, Az,” his voice was sharp, “We need to go to the next campsite. Thank you for the s’mores and have a good evening everyone.” He pulled his brothers away, retreating into the dark. From the blackness came the sound of a sharp slap and angry words being whispered.

Everyone exchanged awkward looks at their departure. Nesta was still fuming, glaring at the direction they disappeared in. Feyre and Elain knew better that the question her on what Cas said, knowing it would only infuriate her more.

“It’s been a long day, and we have a lot of hiking tomorrow,” I broke through the tension, “I’m off to bed.” Elain and Nesta got up to join me, bidding Kevin and Raymond good night and that they’ll see them for breakfast.

Elain and I exchanged worried looks behind Nesta’s back, but it would be better to let her sleep it off. She was quick to anger but given time, could squash it back down.

We all climbed into the tent, leaving our shoes by the door. It was colder away from the fire, so we didn’t waste time layering on warmer clothes and crawling into our respective sleeping bags.

I fell asleep with purple eyes burning behind my eyelids, chasing me through my fitful dreams.

Next Chapter

[thegildedgun]

Bargain (Prompt: 02)

[This is written in the voice of @mottledscales, but hosted here as this is my main FFXIV blog. It will be reblogged at a later time.]

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

The gil trapped between his forefinger and the table steadied, stilled out of its cyclical spinning. The letters stamped into its face were clear, as was the symbol of the Spinner, though it was the former he focused on. Six years ago, he wasn’t able to read the script of Eorzea. One-hundred, ten letters, seven variants.

He wasn’t able to read the bottles stashed up on the shelves, their labels new or faded, it didn’t matter. O’Ghomorran Mead, thrice-distilled Mun-tuy brew, Daniffen’s Joy, all were nonsense, known only by smell. In Ul’dah it had all been the same: sickly sweet or nigh-medicinally harsh. The soft touch of plum was naught but a dream until they’d come to Limsa Lominsa.

A sheaf of vellum sat on his desk, awaiting delivery and correction. He could imagine the old Doman tucking them between his yet-remaining fingers, brow knit, wrinkled scowling from his nose to his scales. All in exchange for spirits and stories. This one about bells, that one about a girl of red flowers; warrior epics, cautionary tales, faerie stories...never told the same way twice.

Asato had enjoyed them, too. Doman script, some four-dozen stitches, bowl after bowl of soup and stew and kindness and care: and his tales the only price. He caught the coin between his fingers after sending it whirling across the tabletop once more, though his eyes were trained on the flower blooming on his wrist. Not simply stories to tell, but stories to make. New ones. 

New stories penned together, of winters when food was scarce and the sickly were many. Stories about the snow of the valley -so different from that of the mountains- as it crunched underfoot while he sought slumbering herbs for more medicine. How the marshlands had, again and again, turned dangerous, lakes and inlets frozen over in some places and too thin for crossing in others. They told stories about spring when flowers would blossom and he’d collect river weeds for weaving into baskets laden with colour. Children from the town would follow him, wandering through his stride and adding more and more to the pile. They’d go door-to-door in town with wreaths for the youngest girls and oldest of women, a tradition he brought from the mountains. Their neighbors found it quaint and charming, Asato said. That such a beastly man of the Steppe observed something so frivolous and feminine. Foolish, he replied, for all things come of the earth, and go to the sky.  He’d stray from their home for days, draw water for the rice paddies to the south where the hills were steep, and come home with arms full of leeks, nettles, and turnips. The farmers were eager for his stories and he, in turn, heard theirs: the rabbit that made mochi on the moon, the dragon that lived in the lake, the sky princess who lived in a palace of bamboo. 

Asato guided his hand to write the struggles, the triumphs, the sun and the moon, gold and silver, flame and water...and other such worn-out symbolism that he thought were clever at the time. Doman script across loosened scrolls, accented with Xaelic pictures and patterns. None bore their names, just the inked line of a slender bird with a flower in its long beak.

They thought themselves brilliant, clichés be damned, and when men of iron came and set everything to the torch, the library in his heart remained.

Chagatai lifted his gaze from the table, captured from his thoughts by the muffled sound of tinkling bells and a wash of vibrant blue in his periphery. By anyone else’s reckoning -and frankly, his own- he had no business playing the tall and looming shadow over the creature that waited at the top of the stairs. His, after all, was no currency such as gil, no copious coin to beg a pretty thing’s time.

Just words, just stories. A queer commodity.

[diannescards]

An Accented Blooms Thank You

An Accented Blooms Thank You

Sometimes I do stupid things. I recently ordered some of the Tropical Escape Designer Series Paper. After all, it is on sale! What I thought I ordered but apparently didn’t is the stamp set and Framelits that are part of the same suite. It’s on the list. So as I went to make some thank you cards, I had to improvise. I think the Accented Blooms stamps set filled in quite nicely.

  The layout of…

[qhostqizmo]

Date Night

*pounding fists on table* Let them date!! Let them date!! Let them dATE!!

- - - - - - - - - -

She played the conversation over and over again in her head. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny that everything about the invitation had been rather… intimate.

Maybe Adela and Abe had been right when she’d offhandedly brought it up to them. It sure sounded like Amon had asked her out on a date, as the duo suggested. Just her, and the heir to the Illiad name; no one else, going to dinner and play. No one else had gotten an invitation. No one else had gotten to see his quirky nervous half-smile, and see the color rise in his cheeks, or the joy in his face like she had.

She could make the excuse that because they were Aurumval, everyone else had other plans in mind. Adela had been hitting up the jewelry shops a lot lately. Rava had been joining her, or trying to pester the Master Seeker into further training pranks. Sulhadur was spending much of his time with his idol or practicing alongside Abe; and Abe himself was spending time with either Sul or Pen (when the later was not out looking for a lay). Even Pri’cha had found themselves a hobby in meeting with the local shopkeep at Whitemore’s for conversation and study.

But the fact that the nobleman had asked no other than her was suspicious. He hadn’t made it secret that he’d only come to her, but the word ‘date’ had never entered his vocabulary. She’d thought nothing of his offering, other than eagerness at being able to spend any time with her nobleman.

Staring at the sets of clothes laying out out on the bed, Essätha was at a complete loss with what to do.

“Wear the wine one, it makes the gold of your eyes stand out and goes with your skin tone.”

“But should I really be wearing a gown? Maybe just a shirt and slacks…”

Adela peered up from the necklaces she’d been picking through with an empty expression. “Honey, he’s taking you to the theater in Aurumval and out to dinner. It’s going to be an event. This isn’t a ‘nice blouse and skirt’ occasion. You’re in the capitol. Everything’s going to be expensive taste and fine etiquette.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Essätha folded up the camisoles and pants to put away. She peeked over the dresses left; some more conservative than others. The deep purple one Adela pointed out did have a nice off the shoulder, with a cinched waist, and a flowy bottom. There was a slit on the right side that went a few inches above the knee, though.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?” she choked out.

The Tiefling did a sideways glance towards the garment. “Looks fine to me.”

“I like it,” Rava agreed, her hand getting swatted as she reached over to examine a bracelet. She pouted at the jeweler pitifully.

“No touching, you’ll mess up my organization method.”

“What are you even doing with all that jewelry?”

“Trying to find the right hues of gold and amber that fit well with the dress and Essie’s eyes, now shush. Let me concentrate.”

Essätha met the wood-elf’s gaze. The young elf shrugged helplessly. She’d only joined the preparation party as a way to scope out Adela’s gemstones.

Giving an enormous sigh, Essie picked the dark plum dress up off the bed. As though stamped with a life sentence, she sulked with her head low in the direction of the bathroom.

“Wear this with it too,” Adela remarked, pointing at a thin cashmere shawl. It looked like it was made of spun gold, and had a sheen over it.

“Uh… okay?”

“Listen if I can’t go out with my fiance, I’m going to have to live through your date,” the Tiefling explained. “Now go get dressed and let’s talk about some shoes while we get your hair and makeup done.”

“That sounds a bit selfish,” Ravamora remarked, picking up a set of earrings to study. “How much are these?”

Determined to escape the squabbling (and the rogue’s attempt at learning to gauge jewelry value, as if that couldn’t go wrong), Essie discretely slipped into the bathroom and softly closed the door behind her. She thunked her forehead gently to the doorframe to groan with despair.

Which was worse, going over the top to a mediocre event, or going underdressed? And frankly, why did she care?

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she ripped it roughly off her head, musing her bun in the process and scattering her hair pins to the floor in frustration.

She was going to make the best of the damn evening with Amon, regardless.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Essätha, are you ready to go?”

Ready as she was ever going to be.

Smoothing out the front of her gown, Essie opened the door to the restroom to slip nervously out. She clutched her hands nervously in front of herself to avoid messing with the tedious waterfall of braids Rava and Adela had done for her. The one thing she’d managed to push the pair off of was cosmetics. The last thing she wanted was a test run between the pair of them. She went with her usual mostly nude hues, with only a single outrageous change from her comfort zone; adding a shimmering metallic gold eyeshadow that went well with the glittering jewelry.

She didn’t bother to look up, tightly holding her clutch in her hands. “I think I’m ready…”

The gasp that escaped Amon was partially a wheeze, as though someone had struck him in the chest.

Startled, she looked up from the short pumps her eyes were fixated upon to the Briarton Lord. His jacket was a tailcoat was a shade of navy so dark, it could almost qualify as black. The white dress shirt he wore beneath was crisp and freshly pressed beneath his dull gray-blue vest. The only color on his person that stood out in his hands; which were shaking, a single hybrid peachy to red rose.

Her face felt as hot as Amon’s looked; as though someone had dusted his features with a the pink of a setting sun. A wash of humiliation immediately settled over her as he had trouble staring at her for more than a second at a time, twirling the flower in his hands.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The nobleman cleared his throat. “No… No you look… sublime… like perfection.”

“Thank you.” Her face felt even hotter. “You look exceptionally handsome yourself, m’lord.”

His jaw worked, and he swallowed loudly. Essie reached for his hand out of impulse. He looked so distressed, she couldn’t help herself.

He startled beneath her touch, looking from her hand to her face. The tension in his smile was still prevalent as he offered her the bloom sheepishly.

“For you,” he squeaked, voice cracking.

“Oh, thank you.” She accepted the rose, holding it awkwardly. Her eyes looked around the room. Should she leave it here…?

“Um. Well. Here, may I?”

“… S-Sure?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think this through,” he mumbled, accepting the floret back. She stood absolutely still as he tucked the stem carefully behind her ear, through the bouncy twirl of her curls. The brush of the back of his hand skimmed her flush skin and against her cheekbone as she glanced shyly away. He had a tremendously careful touch, adjusting the petals and lightly brushing his fingers along her hairline.

“There… Your beauty accents it well.”

“I thought it was supposed to be the other way around.”

The warmth in Amon’s eyes grew. His smile softened. “No. Your beauty definitely outshines even the most exquisite flower.”

She gave a stiff, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should wear a dress more often, I didn’t realize it made such a difference.”

A pained look of hurt flickered through the nobleman’s eyes. “It’s not the garment that makes you so gorgeous, Essätha.”

“… What?”

“I… I just… You are a very beautiful woman, Essie. You don’t need any of these things to prove that. I was a bit stunned; in a good way, seeing you in something so different, but you are always… breathtaking.”

She could not meet his eyes. She could not look at him any longer, fearing the trembling in her knees and fluttering beneath her ribcage. If he had any idea the way he made her feel; strong yet vulnerable, resolute but shy, spirited and on the other hand calm. She felt a hundred emotions around him; some old, some new and freshly budding that she had never felt before. She wanted things her mind could not comprehend, her lungs could not voice. Things her heart yearned for against the protest of sense.

How was she supposed to keep eye contact with him tonight, when he was so lovely, so sweet, and so charmingly handsome that it made her insides nauseous with want?

He took her hand; the one not holding her handbag, with a gentle grip. It was a safer place to look then to the ocean of his eyes that she would otherwise get lost in.

“May I escort you to our carriage, Miss Essätha?”

Straining on a nervous giggle, she curled her fingers between the spaces between his. She liked this better than simply holding his forearm, even if her palms were a bit sweaty. It was like a security blanket. She knew everything would be okay, if he kept his hand in hers.

“You may; I will grant you that honor.”

“And what an honor it is.”

Gods have mercy, she was going to faint before the evening was over.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The coach came to a halt outside of what looked like an elite restaurant. Everyone stepping in and out of the building was dressed in finer clothes; though few had attire quite as nice as the two of them. It made Essie’s insides squirm all the more as Amon lead her out by the hand of the chariot. He spoke briefly to the coachman as she anxiously bobbed her weight from one shoe to other, passing him a few shillings and a nod before joining her once more.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, just affirming roughly the time he should be back by to pick us up from the theater. It’s only a short block away from here, so I thought we could take a stroll there after we dine in…” His eyes suddenly widened with panic. “Unless you would rather take the ride-?”

“No, that’s okay. A walk sounds fine.” Gods she hoped her smile didn’t look as dopey as it felt. A walk? Like, a romantic stroll down the boulevard?”

Amon only appeared somewhat relieved by her answer, taking hold of her hand in his once more. His fingers were clammy, and a bit awkward as he fumbled with hers. “Let’s get checked in for our reservation.”

She nodded, stupidifed. Reservation? How long had he been planning this? She hoped it hadn’t been booked days in advance. This seemed far more high-class and over her head then she was used to.

He opened the door for her as they approached the building, as usual. It eased some of her nerves. Some things never changed, just like the bold triumphant lingering in his eyes upon hers. He took her hand again as they stepped inside, sending sparks hurtling through her bloodstream once more. So much for clear-headed. She felt drunk off him all over again; and intoxicated by the aroma of ginger, sage, and tonka bean blended with leather and agarwood on his skin.

Holding on to his hand, Essie’s gaze moved throughout the elegant décor while he spoke to a gentleman up front about their reservation. It was even more dazzling on the inside than the outside. Everything was glowing in shades of amber, illuminated by glass and mirrors that made the candlelight bounce from room to room. Her insides swelled, taking a daring moment to glance at the distracted, chuckling man at her side as he spoke with the doorman.

Definitely even more wonderful on the inside than the outside; which seemed impossible, but true.

“Right this way,” the host acknowledged, nodding to the pair of them as he snapped his booklet shut. Amon passed her a proud but shy smile, following their guide close to her side as they made their way through the establishment. The man stopped at a privately enclosed curtain, adjusting it for them to pass with a murmur for them to enjoy their meal.

The view was spectacular. She held her breath, staring out at the remnants of the setting sun and incoming twilight stars sprinkling the skyline. Her eyes ventured to Amon’s, and the patient but bashful expression he wore.

All of this, for her?

“Here, allow me,” the nobleman rasped, clearing his throat while tearing his gaze away from her. He appeared flustered as he pulled the cushioned chair out from the table.

Brushing the back of her dress flat, Essie gratefully accepted her seat. She looked up, seeing how distant the other end of the table was with a twinge of remorse.

“How much trouble would we be in, if I asked you to move your chair closer?”

Was it possible for the man to have a devilish grin of mischief? It seemed so.

“I’m renting out the space, I think they’ll make an exception.”

She snickered as he picked up his seat to place it adjacent to hers. Her greedy hands sought his to hold as she leaned over to rest her head against his shoulder, staring out at the last light of the day fading.

“This is nice.”

“I thought you might like this place.”

Biting into her lower lip and smudging the stain of color on her lips just a touch, Essätha tilted her head so her eyes could meet his. They were twinkling with the light of the stars, and the flame of the lanterns throughout the space.

“I… I meant this,” she clarified, her voice small as she squeezed his hand.

There was no mistaking his wide-eyed surprise. The shape of his pupils exploded within his iris.

“I…”

“Good evening, monsieur and misse- oh, m-my apologies-”

The pair of them instantly sat up straight, eyes snapping towards the red-faced waiter stepping through the thin curtains.

“I- I will be back I’m so sorry-”

“N-No that’s okay,” Essie rasped, her fingers still lingering in Amon’s grasp. “You can stay.”

The man’s face went from her, to presumably Amon’s. Too embarrassed to look back, she wondered what the nobleman’s face said to the man. Probably something impassive. He was good at covering his emotions, unlike her.

“Very well,” the gentleman squeaked, slowly approaching to offer out two identical sheets of fine parchment. It had very few items on it to choose from. “Can I get the two of you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc, thank you,” the nobleman requested hoarsely. Essätha’s lips pulled into a frown as she side-eyed the nobleman. He was very flush.

“Excellent choice sir, I’ll be right back,” the server replied, bowing quickly before he disappeared behind the veil.

Lord Amon cleared his throat, taking her hand from beneath the table to hold fondly. He looked mesmerized even through the pinkish blush on his face as he smiled adoringly back at her. “Now then. You were saying how much you enjoyed the view?” he teased.

Giddy laughter bubbled up in her chest, and she made a playful swatting motion towards him.

“I do. The atmosphere is… staggering, but I’m glad you’re here to keep me grounded. I’m happiest when you’re with me.”

His smile was downright goofy now. “As am I, when I’m with you.”

“Really?” she breathed, amusement dancing in her eyes as she insisted, “You’ve outdone yourself. This is a stunning location. The view reminds me a bit of a lodge I stayed at once. It was situated at the highest point in the town; made it an easy landmark for people to direct around that way, and it had some of the spectacular sunset horizons above the buildings and treetops…”

“Tell me more.”

She wasn’t sure who was more breathless, him, or her. Equally absorbed with only each other, as the rest of the chatter from the restaurant seemed so distant in their private space.

Beaming from ear to ear, she jumped right in to the story, finding it never easier than that moment to tell anyone about her past in her life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Huffing, Essie pushed aside the plate containing the remains of the chocolate lava cake. “Not another bite.”

“You? Turning down sweets?”

She scowled at the taunting curl of Amon’s smile. “You fed me too much food! If I eat another bite, I’ll explode.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He adjusted the shawl as it slipped, wrapping it delicately back into place. “Oh, here, let me just…”

She froze, confused as the nobleman lifted his napkin from his lap. She squinted her eyes as he dabbed at the corner of her lip.

“Ganache.”

“Thank you.” Oh dear. That was embarrassing. Not nearly as embarrassing as the idea of how she’d wished he’d taken it off though; her face inflamed at the thought.

Amon’s gaze lingered a moment too long on her mouth. His face turned a shade of beet red as he cleared his throat, scooting back his chair from the table and tossing the cloth upon it.

“We had better start walking, I’m afraid. We’ll be late for the play otherwise.”

“Oh… okay.”

Amon dug into his coinpurse, leaving a large handful of extra coins on the table. Before Essie could decide what to do; conflicted, the nobleman slowly drew her chair a bit from the table for her to slide out easier.

“Always a gentleman,” she remarked warmly, stroking his arm. Amon’s gaze followed her touch, and his throat jumped once more.

Timid once more, she drew her hand back to fiddle with her clutch.

As they stepped from behind the drapery, their server hurried over. Amon spoke quietly to the young man as her eyes scanned the main room, now bustling with even more bodies then when they’d entered.

A large, round table of boisterously laughing men near the doors to the kitchen looked their way.

Essätha looked away, but it was too late. Two of them had already gotten out of their chairs, and were headed over.

“Lord Amon? Is that you?”

“Oh… Hello.”

She winced in sympathy to the hollowness in Amon’s voice. Not everyone was aware of his stripped title.

“And who is this scrumptious treat you have here with you?” one of the men inquired, offering a respectful bow. He extended a hand towards her.

“Essätha Meduza, sir.” She placed her hand uncertainly in his. That’s what he wanted, right?

“Essätha? An exceptional name for a fine looking lady.”

As the man lifted her hand respectfully, his lips puckering, she quickly pulled it free of the man’s gentle grip. He seemed a bit surprised, but quickly corrected his composure.

Her eyes slipped towards Amon’s. She hadn’t done so terrible taboo, had she?

His jaw shifted like he was grinding his teeth. He had a narrowed gaze locked upon the man who’d touched her. If he’d known any sort of magic, she’d swear he was preparing to cast an inferno upon the wealthy looking gentleman.

“Found yourself a young lady willing to tolerate your time, aye Bearmaster?” The other man jested, passing a wink to Amon.

He smoothed out much of his expression, but she could still see the frosty annoyance beneath his eyes.

“I do hate to break a reunion short, but we’ve a play to get to-”

“Oh. Oh I- we- apologize, milord. We should get together though, sometime. Maybe a hunt. It’s been what, three years since I last saw you?” He nudged the other man with his eyes still taking in Essie’s face. “Let us leave these two to their night. It was nice to see you Amon, Miss Meduza. Enjoy your show.”

Confused, she inclined her head to the man politely. He grabbed the other by the arm, almost requiring to drag him to get him to take his eyes off her. She ventured her gaze, meanwhile, back towards the nobleman at her side. Amon stiffly tugged on his coat, trying to get it to lay flat again as he unbuttoned and buttoned it. She reached out, brushing her fingertips against his anxious hands.

He turned his eyes back up to her, slowing his movements to a crawl while staring into her eyes.

“Ahem, I…” Swallowing, Amon offered out his hand with a nervous smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Squeezing his hand, Essätha gave a short nod. “With you, m’lord Amon, of course.”

The rigidness in his shoulders relaxed. With a tender regard upon her, he steered them through the restaurant and out to the street. With the darkness settled in on the city like a chilled blanket, Essätha shivered as the night air struck her exposed arms, creating goosebumps.

Popping open the buttons he’d frustratingly just fixed, the nobleman dragged off his tailcoat to drape it across her shoulders as soon as she went to clutch herself, shivering.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He pulled the sides around her to block out the breeze with a smile. She stepped closer, sighing gratefully as he tentatively wrapped his arm around her waist. There was an open spot on his shoulder for her to rest her head against gratefully.

“I guess I should have had the caddy pick us up…”

“Don’t feel bad; this is fine.” She breathed in deeply, soaking in the scent of his fragrance that was in the coat.

He chuckled quietly after a moment, resting his cheek against the side of her head as they wandered down the cobblestone street.

“Let’s not waste any time though, I don’t want you to get a chill.”

She hummed in vague agreement, too focused on how good it his arm felt against her, and the heat of his jacket that felt like a permanent embrace of him hugging her, encircled all around. She was fine catching chill, and going slow, if it meant stealing a little more time, and a little more him, all to herself for just a while longer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon fished their admissions out from his pocket, and slid them across the table to the ticketmaster. With a nod after they examined the stiff pieces of paper, the manager motioned for them to enter into the parlor ahead.

Essie moved to shrug off the jacket and return it to the nobleman, but he shook his head gently. “Keep it a while longer; if you get too warm I’ll take it back.”

That suited her plenty. When he took her hand to guide her inside, she smothered her face discretely into the collar of his coat. The scent of his cologne made her insides feel warm, light, but lonely. It was a weird feeling that made little sense when he was right in front of her.

The venue entry was spectacular. Sofa arrangements were in the middle and around the sides of the room, allowing people to sit and converse during half-times and prior to the plays. Servers were wandering the floor, offering out drinks and small hors d’oeuvre’s. A large chandelier hung high in the middle of the room, with glass dangling off to send the candle flames dancing across the room. Smaller candelabra dotted around the room as well, and the carpeted floor had a fanciful looking golden pattern upon plush red.

Unlike the restaurant, where Essätha felt her clothes were a few tiers higher quality then most of the nice blouses, skirts, and dresses some women were wearing, she felt positively peasant-like here. Women were wearing dresses studded with gemstones, large pearl necklaces, colorful decorations and even a few exotic furs and feathers. Meanwhile she was in a single-tone gown, hiding beneath a coat too large for her that she wished could swallow the rest of her up.

“Would you care for some wine, Essie?”

“I’m okay, thank you m’lord. Help yourself though.”

There was a twinge of concern in the frown that tugged at his lips. As they stepped further into the room, his hand holding to her own, one of the waiters did approach.

“Can I get you two anything?”

“Water, please.”

The server raised their eyebrows, but made no objection. They bowed elegantly from the waist, replying, “Give me a moment, sir and madam, I will return with two glasses at once.”

Her eyes scanned the room, searching for some place less stuffy to stand. It smelled vaguely of alcohol and tobacco through the theater, although no one appeared to be smoking or chewing anything at the moment.

“Would you like to take a seat somewhere?” the Illiad heir inquired, licking his lips anxiously.

“I…” Her eyes moved around the room, pausing awkwardly on a woman staring directly at her. The lady smiled, and before Essie could decide which flight instinct to follow, she was already moving their way, tugging a man along with her.

“Well hello there! Lord Amon, is that you? Fancy seeing you here!”

The nobleman winced slightly, and turned to offer the woman a polite smile. “Lady Darcy, Lord Moreno a pleasure seeing you two as well.”

“Yes yes I know,” Darcy sang, ignoring him completely. She had her thousand watt exuberant smile aimed towards Essie, which was a touch on the overwhelming side.

“Who are you, sweet dear? Awful young to be seen out with an old dull man like this one.”

Amon’s face turned scarlet, and he looked torn between appalled and infuriated by the insult.

Uncomfortable in her own right, Essätha offered a poor courtesy. She refused to loosen her grasp on the coat as she introduced herself quietly, “Essätha Meduza, ma’am.”

“Meduza? I’ve never heard that house name…”

Essie’s smile grew tight. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Mmm. I see. Where are you from, dearie? And what in the God’s name is someone as youthful and with a face as pretty as yours doing with the Bearmaster of all folk? Now I have a nice son-”

“Darcy.”

“Oh but honey I’m only kidding!”

“I’m so sorry Miss,” her husband muttered, joining in on the congregation of blushing and humiliated individuals. “She’s got a poor sense of humor. Love her to death with or without it though. Don’t mind her trying to sell our boy off, she’s always trying to push him on any lass we meet.”

Pawing at her partner as though to silence him, Darcy leaned eagerly towards Essie. “Where did you say you were from, dear?”

“Ahem, Lady Darcy, though I hate to intervene, Essätha and I were going to take a moment to go find where our seats are going to be in the theater. If you don’t mind…”

“Oh, always a bore Amon. Yes, go, run away with her if you must.”

Nodding curtly, he gave the smallest tug on Essie’s hand to draw her attention. She obliged, murmuring a respectful ‘good evening’ as she trailed at Amon’s heels.

“She’s… interesting.”

Amon grunted. “Darcy is a… nice woman. Means well. She gets under people’s skin though.”

“I can see that a bit, yeah.”

The nobleman gave her a thin smile. She twined her fingers in through his, until the nervousness in his expression melted into one more genuine, and sincere.

“I guess we really should go check where our seats are…”

Spotting the server hurrying in their direction briskly, with two goblets, she leaned into the warmth of his side with a grateful sigh.

“I’m okay with that.”

She wondered if it was her imagination, but she could swear through the hitch of his breath, the noise, the lights, the laughter in the room, she could feel the sound of his pulse acutely against her wrist, jump erratically. It was a steady heartbeat; strong, confident, dare she think almost wishfully… beckoning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Listening to the drama unfold on the theater floor; actors shouting, singing, throwing their arms into the body language of their character, it was miraculous. A true character of showmanship. Parts were funny; parts were sad, other things made her question and ponder.

She rested her head on Amon’s shoulder; turned into a parenthesis curling against him. The arm of the chair prevented her from climbing into his lap, but only just. He found his own way to the edge of his seat; his cheek atop her head, his arm around her, rubbing heat into the coat. She wished his hand was beneath it. The thought of him any closer made her shiver; conflicted and yearning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The concession area was even more packed than before as the show cut into half-time. Those who showed up late, or went to seat early, all were huddling into the room for drinks and snacks, or hitting the bathrooms off to the left. There wasn’t enough seating for some, left so squat or shuffle if they didn’t go back to their seats; a lady or two taking up residence on their date’s lap here and there. Essie had to smile, catching two young women huddled in an embrace on the arm of a chair, oblivious to those around them to share quick pecks between words.

Her eyes moved to look up to Amon, and down to their unified hands. Nagging questions nipped at the back of her mind, and the ache in her heart seemed to intensify. She couldn’t put into words the solitude in her bones; the sense of homesickness in her veins when she looked at him. What did she possibly want? What did he have that some part of her needed; something beyond the wonderful friendship they shared?

Among the conversation and quiet chatter they picked up; between each other and some of the other guests, they sipped their glasses. Her own held a sweet dessert wine, while she was pretty sure his red was something dry. It smelled good though, on his breath. It made her curious how it tasted.

If her cheeks weren’t already a bit heated from the drink, they sure would be then from the mortifying thought. He wasn’t likely to share his drink. Shared backwash and all that. She tried to ignore the root of the thought; the true though, buried in the back of her mind. She’d not drank nearly enough to think in such a manner. Warm, soft lips…

“Oh milord, it’s been far too long.”

Essätha’s thoughts shattered, turning her attention to the blonde-haired woman that approached them. Her eyes were like seafoam, and there were pointed tips on her short ears. Half-elf, she’d assume.

Amon straightened against her; his spine going rigid. It made her go tense, too.

“Good to see you, Carmen.”

She offered her hand out. To Essie’s surprise, he tried not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash snapping his head to turn to the nearest server, and take a fresh glass.

The woman’s lips thinned, but she recovered to place her hand against her hip. “You still look quite regal in your outting clothes.”

“Thank you,” he grunted. His grip tightened against her side. Essie looked between them, her confusion only growing.

Carmen’s eyes darted over to her. Essätha could swear she saw the woman’s lip twitch, like someone resisting a sneer before she smiled wonderfully once more, reaching out to stroke Amon’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, casanova. Thought you might try reaching out to me again after a while.” She pouted. “At the very least, see if you needed someone to help you keep that shoulder loose and everything else… stiff.”

Oh. Oh no.

Mortified, she looked between this Carmen woman; her hourglass figure, seductress bedroom eyes, and to Amon, who was grinding his teeth and blushing deeply. She tried to unsee the way the woman looked at him, like she was undressing him with just a glance.

“My shoulder’s fine,” Amon reported in an impassive tone. His eyes darted over to meet hers. He looked nervous? She blinked, and he had shouldered off Carmen’s hand to angle himself more towards her.

“Carmen, this is Essätha.”

The half-elf woman forced a smile over towards her. “Nice to meet you! Are you Amon’s… secretary?”

“She is my friend, and my date for this evening,” Amon jumped in firmly.

“Oh! Oh a friend, I see. Well, we all must have plenty of those lying around, shouldn’t we? Never enough friends in the world.”

Essie’s smile grew less real the more her stomach twisted into knots as she stared back at the woman and her lethal cheeky grin. The woman was vile. She wore her jealousy shamelessly, and spat venom like a cobra.

But why did it hurt so terribly?

She looked off to the side, feeling a rift crack through her. She just wanted to go home.

As Carmen turned her proud smirk back to Amon, Essie glanced up to him, hopefully.

He was still looking at her, concern in his eyes and a soft smile.

She flickered his glance towards his ex-lover, and back to him. He ignored the woman’s ramblings. He seemed to be waiting on something. Or looking for something?

Whatever it was Lord Amon searched for from her expression, he must not have found it. He looked even more worried, and gently took hold of the Carmen’s wrist as she flamboyantly flung her hand in the air. She grew silent. There was fire in her eyes. Victory. Desire that was more than hunger.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmen. Perhaps you should go see if your own escort is looking for you?”

As though she had been slapped, the half-elf recoiled; her cheeks pink. “I…” She snapped her gaze down at Essie. She was livid; and barely managing to conceal it.

Amon overlooked the wounded, angry look in Carmen’s face; jaw hanging open, to pull Essätha closer. He smiled down at her, muscles taut but otherwise, calm. Focused. He kept his composure, and his attention, on her.

“Let’s see if we can’t stop another server; your drink’s getting low.”

“Amon?” Carmen weakly murmured.

He raised his brows questioningly to the woman. Her mouth worked, but no words escaped her.

Essätha looked between the pair of them. He shut her down without hesitation. Turned her away without a second thought. She still wanted something from him; but he wasn’t looking back he was looking… forward.

His puzzled gaze darted over to meet hers.

I choose you.

Now she was certain no drink could ever make her face feel as hot as it did now. She had to be glowing.

Between the women who knew him who knew him how long enough; still hanging on for hope, still flirting with him, teasing him, yearning. He was turning down a woman who clearly held some kind of status that had been hoping to catch his eye again, all these years, to spend his time with her. Her, who came from nothing; escaping herself and a place thousands of miles away, staring at her like she brought out all the stars in the night sky.

He must really think the world of her, to give up an open invitation to spend the remainder of the night with her.

She could almost scoff at herself. And to think, she’d been frightened and intimidated by the woman. Carmen was about as much a threat to their time and happiness together as a fly was; obnoxious, but easily disregarded.

“M’lord Amon,” Essie piped up, winding his arm around her shoulders. “I can get the drink myself, if you’d like to finish your discussion?” She held her head up confidently; pretending that the half-elf’s dagger-eyes were bouncing off metaphorical armor.

“No, we’re already done here, right Carmen?”

The woman faltered. “I-I…”

“Wonderful. Again, charming to see you,” Amon remarked, dipping his head. His arm tightened around Essie’s shoulders. “Lead the way.”

Essätha passed the woman a smile. It truly said what she could not; that she wished her all the best.

She looked defeated, and dejected.

Her heart pitied the half-elf. She tried to picture being in her shoes, and shuddered. Maybe it would be easier to consider if it was any other man other than Amon shunning her, but that image…

Just to check. Just to verify the fearful stab her soul took, she peeked up at the nobleman.

He was still all warm, enchanted grin and dark eyes unwavering upon her. All her energy felt zapped and gained all at once. She wanted to collapse, but at the same time she never felt taller, braver, and more empowered.

He picked her in that moment. Wearing her most giddy, ridiculous smile, she felt as though she’d won everything she’d ever wanted, or needed. Even if it only lasted a little while, right now, she had it all.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Moving through the corridors of the palace, Essie couldn’t shake the events of the night out of her head. She wrapped up Amon’s tailcoat like a blanket, his arm around her, it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was the liquor talking but it really had felt a lot like a… date. All that careful planning, just the two of them. The special spot for them to dine, the seats close to the front to see the play, the way he stood up for her; held to her most of the date.

As the nobleman opened the door to their bedroom, her brow knitted as she stepped inside. The gears were turning over and over. The rented carriage ride throughout. The walk to the theater, where she could see other’s; couples, making their way in a similar manner to the theater. Even recalling the ride back; how she’d rested, leaning into his chest and his arms around her, the heat of his breath tickling her neck, the steadiness of his hands warming her and their legs tangled.

As Amon stepped into the room, closing the door, she turned to look up at him.

“M’lord, why did you only ask me to go out with you tonight?”

He startled, and staggered. She hoped all that wine wasn’t getting to him, too. Making him see things… feel things…

Scratching the back of his head, he exhaled loudly. “… I thought it would be nice, just the two of us. Did you… not enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” she affirmed quickly. “I… I enjoyed myself immensely. I’m just… trying to process. You didn’t ask anyone else, did you?”

He shook his head, wide-eyed and breathing heavy. What was he acting so shaken up about?

Reaching up, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. She’d forgotten about the waterfall braids; tangling her fingers through some of them. A curse tumbled out of her, and Amon stepped closer. He murmured something; she was too flustered to really hear, and helped her remove her fingers from her hair.

Gods he was close. He looked more than just flush from when they’d left the play. It hadn’t been cold out enough to warrant him looking quite this red. How much had he drank? No more then her, and she was pretty sure she was still mostly clear-headed…

Their fingers were still wrapped around each other, and she was lost in his eyes. She breathed in; breathed out, mumbling, “Why me?”

“Why not you?”

“Why only me?”

The demanding note in her voice slurred a bit. His smile crept up further; grew more handsome and made her entire body ache. She wanted that joy more then anything. She wanted his happiness like she wanted air, or water. It was so fulfilling; so beautiful and so perfect. She wanted that for him, always; and she wanted to give it to him.

“I like spending time with you,” he explained sheepishly; the red wine still on his breath. He held her hand close to his chest. “You make every occasion better, and brighter. I like how you make me feel. I like how you make the world feel. I only asked you because… I didn’t want to split my concentration. And I didn’t want you to split yours,” he admitted, almost guilty; shameful.

“So… you wanted me all to yourself?”

His gaze was strangely piercing. “Does that upset you?”

Her heart fluttered. “… No. No I… I like being all yours.”

Amon smiled. It was dangerous. It did things she couldn’t explain inside her.

“I’ll let you use the bathroom to get ready for bed first,” he whispered.

She nodded, numb and aware she was doing so. “Okay.”

There was indecisiveness in his stance. He teetered for a moment in place. The blackness of his pupil was an eclipse, and it was washing over her.

He leaned in, and brushed his lips in a kiss against her cheek she barely felt.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, Essätha.”

He was too warm, and too close. The deep, raspy huskiness of his whisper made her knees turn to jelly.

Suddenly afraid she was going to do something stupid and irrational, like throw herself at him, she turned her burning gaze and cherry-red face away. “It was my pleasure, m’lord,” she crooned softly. How her feet found locomotion to move towards the bathroom door, she’d never know. Perhaps she had a bit more power left in her then she thought.

As soon as she was inside the restroom, she closed the door behind herself, and placed her back to it. Sure enough, she slid down; her jelly-legs unable to support her weight until she sagged to sit upon her rear on the bathroom floor.

Placing her face in her hands, Essätha breathed raggedly. The whirlwind in her chest had turned into a hurricane; throwing her world out of balance. An incredible first date; unexpected, denied up until the very end but… She knew what she wanted; what she needed, what her wanton heart longed for.

Him. Every road, every yearning, every happy thought and plan for the future, it all lead back to him. Her nobleman.

She groaned into her palms, grinning so hard it hurt. She was in love with Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.

She wondered if he was in love with her, too.

[moonlightchess]

a mood:

You’re a professional chess player visiting a country not your own for a tournament. Disappointingly, you are soundly defeated by your scheduled opponent, a grandmaster who belongs neither to this country nor yours, the two of you strangers in a strange land here in this quiet, snow-packed place. Your only consolation is to retreat to the city’s enormous library for scholars, historians, and readers all, where you find a beautiful book on the art and culture of the city and settle in by the enormous picture window taking up the entire wall to your left as a dense white snow begins to fall heavily by the milky moonlight. The library stays open quite late, but most are gone thanks to the snow and the hour, so you settle in with tea from the cafe on the first floor. An hour later, you’re interrupted by soft footsteps approaching, those of your opponent of course.

“You too, then.” Because there’s a book under their arm and a mug of tea in their hands as well, and despite your irritation at having been thoroughly trounced across the chess board earlier in the day, you can’t help but smile at the realization that you two are apparently kindred spirits. Both introverts, readers, chess players and tea drinkers, gravitating to a library to spend a snowy night. 

You wave a hand, inviting them to sit across from you in a mimicry of your positions from that morning. It’s a relief that they’re not much of a talker and seem to be comfortable with companionable silence - again, like you - and the two of you sink into it for nearly an hour before the urgent need overcomes you and you blurt out, “Show me how you did it. Please.”

An arched eyebrow and an unzipping of a brown leather satchel later, and there’s a chessboard unpacked and set up between you. A lilting accent and a pair of elegant hands gently explain and demonstrate how you were checkmated, and you lean in, frowning over the board and distracted by their soft, steady voice. When their genius blooms across the board and becomes clear to you, you sigh with a kind of aching satisfaction. “Okay, but what if I’d done this,” you present, and soon the passing minutes turn it into a real game, this time with you causing your opponent far more trouble than you had earlier. They’re surprised enough to sit up with wide eyes when you declare “checkmate” over an hour later, but then they laugh.

“You were just nervous this morning. You’re better than you let on.”

“You won’t get so lucky next time,” you promise, but you’re both smiling. They yawn, stand up to stretch their arms over their head, and take your hand to say goodnight. As they walk away, it becomes evident that they’ve tucked one of their glass chess pieces into your hand, curling your fingers around it - a knight, heavier than it looks and cool against your palm. The snowfall has lessened slightly and your flight leaves early in the morning, but you linger a little longer in the stillness once they’re gone. Chess is an insular world of obsessed geniuses and eager students, the game available to all but its ecosystem of elite players largely closed off to the outside world, and your real life back home is calling. Still, you’ve always wanted to travel more, and the name of your opponent’s home city, where the knight was made, is stamped into the black velvet lining of its bottom. It might not be too late to switch your plane ticket, after all.