#Gilt Bar

[brailsthesmolgurl]

"Pretty thing, isn't she?"

Preview: LnDs boys reacting to other guys hitting on you.

SYLUS

You stood in front of the heavy wooden doors covered in gilt, a gateway exuberating luxury and inviting only the top 1% of the N109's population, which of course, includes Sylus. You had yet to be used to attending such fancy events but Sylus had managed to convince you by being apart of such events, you would be able to establish your name within the N109 zone quicker and that people would learn not to mess with you as much anymore. Perhaps you were not having a clear mind during then but here you stood now, in the middle of a huge banquet hall, in a maroon red dress that makes you feel naked due to how cocooned you feel within the fit.

"Breathe, then maybe you may not feel so nervous." Sylus slipped an arm around you and started to lead you into the highly ornated hall. You could tell that nobody here belonged to the 'average' class as their manners, demeanours and even body languages rotated around the word demure. Escorted to a standing bar table, your partner leaned down just enough for his lips to hover over the side of your ear and you could feel his hot breath tickled against your lobes. "Stay here, I will get us some drinks." And off he went, his tall figure blending into the crowds of dancing participants.

Sylus strutted over towards the bar and casually leaned against it. One good thing about events as such is other than the free flow of alcohol, waiters are built to be more attentive and aware of their surroundings as they do hold a split image of the host of the event. "One whiskey and a glass of lemon soda." The waiter nodded and immediately started to get to work. Sylus then turned around, his eyes scanning the crowds of people and landing on you, the lady in red still standing at the table alone, awaiting for him.

"Eyeing the bird I see?" A voice chimed out of the blue, laced with a thick British accent that any lady would have been charmed over. Sylus's crimson eyes glanced over and caught sight of a man in a tailored suit, brunette hair slicked back and eyes the shade of ocean. "I wonder if she would be pleased to have company for the night." The hint of tease in his voice got the lover of yours quirking an eyebrow, expressing amusement at the man's confidence.

"You can give it a shot." He snarked, one side of his lips tilted upwards to form a smirk. "She does not seem to be the type to let in so easily." The clink of glass onto the table top got Sylus to turn over, grabbing his glass smoothly and tasting the whiskey. "How does a bet sound?"

"Whoever gets her by the end of the night shall be crowned winner then?" The young man downed his vodka shot in one go and he stood straight, adjusting his outfit and shooting his head back to Sylus, who is still smirking in his direction. "It's on, then."

Watching the man walking over to you, each step radiating manly confidence nearly got Sylus laughing, if only the man knew how hard it was for Sylus to get you to just stay with him. "She may be pretty, but she ain't stupid that's for sure." Picking up her glass of lemon soda, he too, started walking towards the table. Seeing you talking to the British man, slightly chuckling got Sylus feeling an ick at the back of his throat and it did not taste good. He made his presence known by loudly clinking the glass of lemon soda onto the table.

You gulped when you saw Sylus had returned, and accepted the glass of lemon soda he had gotten for you. You boyfriend turned over to the British lad and smiled a bit too politely for his usual manners before he spoke. "The moment you had picked her to be your target, is the moment I already knew I won the bet." His eyes gleamed murder under the shine of the crystal chandeliers. "If I were you, I would scamper off immediately before I hunt you down."

XAVIER

It has been a while since you had been on a hotpot date with your lover. Ever since Captain Jenna had assigned him on a mission, it has been hard to match up both of your timings to plan for a date. Hence, once you received the text from your boyfriend stating that his mission had finally met the end of it's trail, you could not hide your excitement and went ahead to book for a hotpot store that had recently opened up just a few streets down. Your sole motivation of booking the store was hearing Tara's praises over the services offered there. She claimed that anyone who goes in would surely come out feeling refreshed and that was what got you sold on making a reservation.

Perhaps, just maybe, the way Tara had phrased that got you picturing a whole different scenario; where an otherworldly hotpot experience was what you were anticipating, with fastidious services and amazing food and offers you a new kind of service. Yet, here you sat, in the middle of a table with tons of half naked men walking around you, serving hotpot dishes. So this was Tara's definition of feeling refreshed. Palming yourself on the forehead, you were figuring why did you bother asking for a hotpot recommendation from one of your girl friends who happens to be single.

"May I help you with something?" A young man, wrapped in biker shorts and an apron approached you and you gulped, eyes immediately avoiding whatever skin he has to show. Seeing your reaction, a chuckled rolled out of his lips and he took a seat beside you, unaware that you already have a boyfriend as Xavier would be slightly late due to an unexpected traffic jam. "Would you like me to give you a massage to ease your tension hmm?"

You gave an awkward chuckle, hands waving back and forth while rejecting his oncoming offer. "I have a boyfriend and I am not interested. I would like to get a menu please." Just by talking to the guy, it left a bitter taste in your mouth, it felt like you were cheating on Xavier although you were barely doing anything. The weight on the couch shifted and you heard a soft thud, seeing the shadow beside you disappearing out of the corner of your eye.

The waiter that had initially served you headed back towards the counter, his other colleagues wriggling their eyebrows at him. "How's it going with that chick, Ken? You manage to ask for her wechat yet?" One of the guys asked, his pearly whites flashing. But Ken shrugged and muttered something about her having a boyfriend. "Well adding her on wechat is not exactly a crime. No harm in storing a cute girl's number in your phone anyways."

A figure walked past them, stopped mid way and approached them. This figure was leaner, taller, and looked more elegant than the other men adorning aprons and biker shorts within the restaurant. "Which girl?" His voice chimed in and Ken responded without much thought, thinking it was one of his colleagues asking for the target. He pointed exactly at you and the stranger's cerulean blue orbs caught yours and his lips pulled into a warm smile. Seeing you being so uneasy within a crowd of half-naked men amuses him. "Easy. If I get her number, does this mean I get to keep her?"

Ken then noticed the source of the voice, a man dressed up in a wool hoodie, with sandy blond hair and dreamy blue eyes and an innocent smile. He holds very effiminate features for a man. Given that the store was not opened for that long, Ken thought he may be one of the newcomers coming for an interview. "Sure buddy, if you get it, I guess you can keep it. But she does have a boyfriend, she said it herself." Xavier chuckled and casually shrugged his shoulders and sauntered over to you. The men stood by the counter and watched intently.

Watching Xavier talking to you and getting you to smile got the men to exchange glances at one another. Maybe they are missing something, or maybe it did hurt their small ego a little. But the moment Xavier got you by the hand and started to lead you out of the restaurant, the men were shocked, eyes widened and jaws slacked at how Xavier could easily get you to comply. Walking past Ken, Xavier stopped to say. "Next time, if you want to lay a bet, don't be such an airhead and at least lay it with someone who does not have a boyfriend already."

RAFAYEL

Getting stuck in a foreign city with little to no guidance is not that rare of an occurrence as Rafayel does enjoy being 'lost' with you. "That is how you can truly get to enjoy a city." Is what he would usually use to comfort you. However, that sentence of his may only work if the both of you are not entirely soaked under the heavy rain. Shivering, hungry and worn out. "Shall we head in there for some shelter?" Rafayel suggested, slender index finger pointed towards the building ahead of the both of you.

With a slight nod, he led you towards the building. It turned out to be a bustling bar within the small town. Locals filled to the brim, chattering in their own mothertongue while enjoying each other's company. "Stay here, I will get us some drinks." Rafayel informed you and headed off after pressing a small kiss onto your left cheek. The both of your arrival certainly did alerted a couple of the locals. Seeing a drenched couple within a bar is a good sign for them to know that you guys are far from home.

Perched against a standing bar table, you studied the crowd that were occupying the dance floor. The crowd are drenched in the bask of neon glow emitted by the LED lights that hung high above the ceilings. Some of them had drinks in their hand as they swayed to the beat while some others were clearly in their own world, striking dance moves that are attracting a spectacle. "Hey!" A voice called out to you and you turned your head, landing your sight on a tall male figure, with hair that are akin to the sunset and with milky pale skin. Upon approaching you, you caught sight of his emerald eyes that sparkled like eccentric jewels under the dim lights. "You dropped this?!"

Looking down at his palm, he held out your phone to you. The music is probably too loud for you to even notice that your phone had fell out of your pocket and landed onto the floor with a thud. "Yeah!" You responded with the volume that hopefully reaches his ears. The ginger haired man smiled and stood next to you and he started striking a conversation with you, asking if you were alone and if you happen to be a local as well. "Oh, I am from Linkon City and I am not here alone!" You smiled awkwardly but also responded out of a polite manner.

A hand that landed at your back made you jumped slightly and you retreated from the guy's vicinity when you realised he was trying to get close to you. "What's wrong?" Feigning shock, he only closed in on you, a smirk creeping its way onto his face. He looked nothing different than a wolf that is ready to pounce whenever he finds the chance to. "Whatever happens in here, stays in here." His statement got your voice stuck in your throat, your chest tightening when you realised that you are about to get jumped by a 'kind' stranger.

"You have to try so hard to get her to pay attention to you?" A mocking voice came from behind you and your heart sighed in relief when Rafayel towered behind you, two glasses in hand and a genuine amused smile stamped onto his features. "I didn't even have to try to get her to come on this trip with me." Rafayel casually handed you your drink and he took up the space in front of you, his height on par with the guy whom had tried to hit on you. Rafayel's eyes gleamed a shade of striking electric blue when he leaned in towards the guy, his demeanour taking a turn towards being protective and establishinig dominance.

This side of Rafayel got your heart lurching for a moment. Seeing such a nonchalant and charming individual taking a turn towards being protective over you got the butterflies in your stomach blindly colliding with the walls of your insides. "Touch her one more time, I dare you." Snapping his finger, the flames of his evol came alive and the guy muttered curses, stepping aback. "I might not be able to guarantee you would be able to leave here in one piece."

ZAYNE

The cardiac surgeon's off day is spent on paying you a surprise visit during your demonstration day. This day in specific is held annually at the Linkon City Hall, where the public are informed about the roles of a deepspace hunter and it is also a day for the organisation to recruit potential new hunters for their task forces. He remembered that day as you stood in front of him, with a brochure shoved into his arms before you sprinted off like a whimpering fox. The piece of paper featured your face on it, posing with your guns, with a huge title pasted above your head that is promoting 'Hunter's Showdown Performance'. Zayne could not help his lips from tugging into a small smile as he stared blankly at your wannabe serious face on the piece of paper.

You stood at the back of the stage, isolating yourself from the rest of the crew as you quietly rehearsed your steps. You were only given a month to prepare for this demonstration and knowing that you are not able to strike to wanderer actors makes it all the more tedious for you to rehearse your steps. Every movement, every swing of the guns and every shot has to be precise and realistic, minus the actual damage to be taken by the other actors. Executing a full 360 turn, you came to a halt when your name was hollered out by someone in the background. "Y/n!" You turned your head and your partner came up to you, his smile wide. "Hey, you rehearsing for your part?"

Upon nodding your head, he proceeded to ask if it would be alright for him to rehearse his part with you. On usual notes, hunters are usually dispatched in pairs and since Tara is not around, hence Captain Jenna decided to pair you up with Christopher. The rehearse took around 15 minutes till he paused, patting you on your shoulder encouragingly. "You got anyone coming over to watch you?" You opened your mouth to speak but a voice chimed in before you could even say anything else.

"Yes." Zayne stood behind you, his features darkened at the sight of the hand of a stranger's on your shoulder. Christopher coughed slightly and retreated his touch, feeling guilty instantly. You were of course, shocked, that Zayne had managed to make time to come and see this silly demonstration of yours. When you gave him the brochure, you were certainly not expecting him to appear in person. You figured he might just watch it via the online link from his office if he happened to not any surgeries scheduled for the day. You were totally wronged.

"You...uhm...never told me you had a boyfriend." Christopher chuckled awkwardly, his hand lightly tapping and rubbing the back of his neck to somewhat soothe himself from the tense stare he was getting from a pair of unfamiliar emerald orbs.

Zayne took this chance to stand beside you and he extended a hand towards the guy, expression still indifferent. "I am Zayne, y/n's boyfriend, it is nice to meet you." Christopher did shook his hand out of respect but did not took long to stay, muttering that he has to get his makeup done and off he went. You could somehow feel dark clouds crowding in above your head, a storm lingering in the back of Zayne's gaze. "Was that the guy that you were supposed to perform with?" His voice was gentle, but he awaits for your answer.

"Yeah...Tara could not make it during this event, hence Captain Jenna got him to pair up with me for the demonstration." Your voice was slightly quivering, thinking that Zayne might be upset with you not openly telling your colleagues that you are already in a relationship. But you came from his standpoint, as Zayne is someone who cares about his privacy, you figured he might not appreciate you going on yapping about you being in a relationship and would much rather keep it low-key and only between the two of you. "I'm sorry I never mentioned about you to any of my colleagues as I thought you would like to keep our relationship private and confidential."

Zayne's eyes caught yours and he smiled warmly, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead. You froze, knowing that at this point you would be receiving tons of stares from your surrounding colleagues. "Y/n, as much as I would like to keep our relationship private, I would not like it if someone were to try to take advantage on you just because they think they could." His palm smoothed the baby hairs atop of your head, his smile still evident as he continued speaking softly to you. "If you find it hard to tell your colleagues about us because of me, I will just let my actions show them what we are."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s your first time wearing that skirt. You’ve had it in your closet for two years. At least. You’re not really a skirt person but it’s cute. The floral on black with the zipper up the front. It drapes nicely enough though you’re not used to wearing anything so short. You have a trusty pair of shorts on just in case. 

You don’t go out either. Definitely not to places like this. You keep an arm across your middle, gripping your other as the hordes of people make you dizzy. The shining gold accoutrement of the decor along with the waft of low music over the noise of tables and voices add to your vertigo. 

The casino is busy and bright and loud. You stay close to your sister as she leads you across the carpet; ivory with golden curliques patterned across them. You’re no gambler either but you’re not there to play cards.  

“I think it’s upstairs,” Roxie says as she looks at the tickets in her hand. “Gala Room B.” 

“Oh, right,” you murmur and smile at her, “what’s the band again?” 

��Don’t worry about it the tickets were free,” she chirps as you look up at her. You feel even more a child beside her; your height often adds to your inferiority complex. Historically, you think, those characteristics have been often intertwined. 

“No, but--” 

“You need to get out of mom’s place more,” she chides, “I could’ve brought Katie instead, but I chose you, sis.” 

“I know, er, thanks,” you run your hand up to your shoulder and rub it nervously. 

“Show doesn’t start for another hour. Let’s get a drink,” she insists and turns, strutting towards the long bar at the other side of the grand space. You trail after her, shrinking down even further. She turns back to you as she leans on a tall stool, “what d’ya want?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t really...” 

“I know, it’s one drink, how about a vodka-cran?” She suggests, “you love cranberry.” 

“Um, sure, if you think that’s good.” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s the wild one, not you. You know you bore her and since your parents’ divorce, years ago, you haven’t really hung out together. She went with your dad and you with your mom, since then, it’s all been a bit fuzzy. 

She orders as you stand back, not wanting to get in the way of the people all around you. You lean back, rocking nervously as you glance around. You feel underdressed as you see women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. Even your sister is a stark contrast to your overly casual attire; your favourite purple cardigan and the skirt you’ve never worn. 

Your eyes scan the room, admiring the golden sconces of bulbs that resemble candelabras and the gilt trim all along the wall. The more you look around, the less you belong. You don’t even know why you said yes. Well, your mom pushed you into it. Just like your sister, she keeps saying you need to get out more. 

You rub your lips together and feel around your small tassled purse. It’s used, like most of your things. The thrift store is as much as your mom can afford and you still haven’t found a solid job. You worked at the grocery for a summer before they laid off half of you then did a one-day stint at a polling centre for the last municipal election. Even if you wanted to go out, you don’t have the money for it. 

You pull out your chapstick and smear it around your chafed lips as you sway back the other direction. You stop short as you nearly slam into another body and you stumble out of the way of the man in his black-and-white suit. Embarrassment creeps hotly up your cheeks and you cap your lip balm and stand out of his path. 

He’s taller than you. Well, everyone is. But to you, he seems huge. His suit is finely tailored to his figure though his hair seems to clash with the refined style. It’s almost to his collar but neatly parted, a shank falling forward to frame his sharp cheekbone. His square jaw is trimmed thickly with a dark beard, peppered with strands of silver and patch along the dimple of his chin. You’ve never seen anything as blue as his eyes, they are almost inhumanly vivid. 

“Sorry, doll,” he touches your arm as he passes and smirks, swiftly turning his sights ahead of him. 

You gulp as your shoulder hits someone else. You spin to face your sister as she offers you a glass. You take the red concoction with the short black straw sticking out over the ice cubes. You thank her as the chill seeps into your hand. 

“Oof, look at him,” she leans to watch after the man in his dark suit, “damn.” You frown and look in the other direction. She scoffs and nudges you, “come on. That guy is totally stunning. Even you can see that.” 

“I don’t wanna gawk at him,” you mutter, “he’s a stranger.” 

“Oh, whatever, not like he’d notice,” she snips. 

You scrunch up your lip and tuck your chapstick away as you peer toward the man. He goes up to a table, sliding in next to a taller woman with honey-blond hair and a shimmery dress. He rests his hand along her lower back as he chatters to her and the rest of the players around the leather trim. 

“Sheesh, he’s fine,” she puts a twang on the last word, “mmph. If I wasn’t with Tom...” 

“Right,” you look down at the drink and sip from the straw. You make a face and cough. 

“It’s not that strong,” she slaps your back, “don’t be dramatic.” 

“I know,” you clear your throat, “I just wasn’t expecting the taste.” 

“Let’s go upstairs,” she points above. 

“Uh, okay,” you agree to her sudden diversion. You suppose you really are boring. 

You follow her up the curved stairs and along the railing that overlooks the lower casino room. Arched windows let in the night and the glow of the facade. You lean on the polished wood and peer down at the first floor; it looks even more resplendent from there. You sister puts her elbow on the railing as she looks around. 

“We could stick around after, lose some money,” she says. 

“I don’t... mom only gave me a twenty and I owe you for the drink.” 

“Pfft, whatever, I’ll spot ya. Tom gave me some extra with the tickets,” she trills, “it’ll be fun. Play some black jack. It’ll be an experience. You could say you’ve actually done something.” 

You smile, closed-lipped and tight. She isn’t wrong. It’s your first concert, for some cover band, and your first time at a casino. It’s not an exaggeration to say this is the height of your life experience. 

Your eyes wander down and meet another pair. You wince. It’s that same man. He walks towards you, a certain swagger in his stride. As he peers up at you, his cheeks dimple and he winks. You wrinkle your brow and look behind you. When you turn back, he’s gone. Right, you’re imagining things. 

Roxie slurps as her straw turns hollow. She’s already drained her cocktail, meanwhile you’ve barely taken a sip. She stirs the ice and hums. 

“Wait here, I’m gonna get a refill,” she raises her glass. 

“Oh, I can come with you--” 

“Nah, just stand here,” she insists. “You’ll just slow me down.” 

“Sure, uh, okay.” 

You curl your shoulders inward as she walks away. Great. All alone. You avoid looking anywhere but your glass. You face the railing again and balance your drink on it. It’s not bad, tarter than you’re used to and a little burny.  

You play with the black bracelet around your wrist, the band they stuck around it when they scanned your ID at the door. You suppose it’s a good idea but they wouldn’t be letting kids in here, would they? Oh yeah, the hotel is attached. 

As a kid, you never went on vacations like that. No hotels, no casinos, no shows. It seems like Roxie is catching up on all of that and you’re just there. The world is so much scarier when it’s all a mystery to you. 

“Excuse me,” a deep voice startles you. You ignore it, thinking it’s merely a passerby, “miss?” 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you barely save your cocktail from spilling over the edge. You clutch the glass with both hands and face the stranger. It’s that same man, with the suit and the long hair and the oceanic eyes. Something about him is familiar beyond your few earlier glances. 

“I think you dropped this?” He holds up a chip with a golden 100 on it. You blink and shake your head. 

“No,” you scrape out of your throat, “I don’t-- I didn’t--” 

“I swear I saw it fall out of your bag,” he looks down at your purse. 

“Really, I’m not... I don’t gamble.” 

“Ah, well, if it’s just hanging around, might as well use it, huh?” He keeps his hand out, “maybe it’s your lucky day.” 

“I couldn’t. If someone lost it...” your voice doesn’t want to go and he leans in to hear you, adding to the heat spreading through your chest. Is it the alcohol or him? 

“You’re sweet, keep it,” he shoves the chip toward you. 

“Please, I... I... can’t...” you wipe a hand on your skirt and clutch the fabric. 

“Doll, I can’t hear you,” he says as he grabs your hand and dislodges it from your skirt, “here.” 

He presses the chip into your palm. You stare at his tie then look down at the white chip with gold detailing. His hand brushes yours before he rescinds his touch. 

“Erm...” you murmur dumbly and shake your head. 

“My treat,” he growls. 

“But...” 

“Like the skirt, by the way,” he surprises you as he pinches a fold, “cute on you.” 

Just as quickly as he appeared, he strides away, leaving you blankly staring after him. His broad shoulders move beyond a thick marble pillar as you hold up your drink and the chip. You just look between them. 

“Hey,” Roxie approaches again, “oh, what’s that?” 

“A chip...” you state plainly. 

“Duh, I know. Where’d you get it?” 

You look at the floor. Would she even believe you? “The floor.” 

“Ooo,” she plucks it from your fingers, “awesome, “now we’re definitely having some fun tonight.” 

“Rox,” you swallow and look up at her, “we should hand it in. It’s a lot of money. If someone lost it--” 

“If they lost it, they can afford it,” she bobs her neck as she speaks, “live a little,” she sneers and taps your glass, “and finish your drink. Maybe that’ll loosen you up.” 

You nod and recede into yourself, cradling the glass again with both hands. You put your lips to the straw and drink until you can’t anymore. She gulps straight from the brim of her glass and sighs, wiggling as she peers around. 

“I almost don’t even want to see these old men play music,” she snickers as she takes in the expanse of tables flashing lights. 

“Oh?” 

“Relax, we’re going to see the show. You’re a horrible liar and mom will see right through you,” she sneers, “besides, I told her I wouldn’t get you in too much trouble.” 

[tiarascrowns]

Late Victorian Opal and Diamond Tiara

"A late Victorian opal and diamond tiara/necklace, consisting of seven knife-edge gold bars graduating from the centre, each set with two round cabochon-cut opals and an old-cut diamond in-between, the bars connected with six diamond-set arches each arch with a diamond-trefoil and a round cabochon-cut opal within, terminating on each side with a small diamond and opal trefoil motif, the diamonds estimated to weigh 2.9 carats in total, all mounted in gold and silver, attached to silver-gilt tiara frame and accompanied by gold chain back section to convert to a necklace, circa 1890, measuring 4 x 14.5cm, gross weight 36.4 grams."

- 1st Dibs

[loquaciousquark]

I got a ton of prompts last week; thank you! It turns out crawling all over Hawaii's Big Island doesn't leave a huge amount of time for writing in the evenings. The airport sure does, however!

This is the first of two fills I managed to complete. I'm still plucking away at a few more, but considering both of these ended up much longer than I expected, they may take a bit as well. All will be posted on AO3 once I'm finished.

For @liliactrees, "china aster: jealousy." 2600 words, set about a week post-game.

--

Torches in silver sconces blazed merrily on either side of the fine carved doors. They called to passersby in crackling welcome, as did the cultured cheers and calls of laughter within which burst out at every entering patron. Every now and then the doors opened to reveal glimpses of diners in glittering gowns and robes, two glass chandeliers a trifle large for the space, and the scent of beautifully cooked meat.

Tav, who had a new rent in her cloak and a still-damp mudstain down her entire left leg, would just as soon have gone back to the Elfsong for the evening; but a crew of rebuilding construction workers had at last taken on the inn’s shattered west wall, and all guests had been summarily displaced for the duration. Two days, they���d said. Three, if the Elder Brain’s death throes had fractured the foundation. Not much she could do there without taking up a hammer herself.

And besides, Astarion was here. It was a restaurant and auberge just to his taste: on the low side of the Upper City, grossly overpriced, staffed with obsequious parlor-maids and utterly choked with gilt candelabra. She’d as soon taken up at the Blushing Mermaid, but Astarion had made it clear washed sheets were a non-negotiable, and that had severely limited their options. 

Nothing to be done for it. She shook out the road-grit from her cloak, re-tied her hair more smoothly, and pushed open the door. A man in a starched white shirt leapt to pull it the rest of the way for her—unsettling enough even before he apologized for his lapse in attention—and Tav muttered some generic benediction before fleeing past him. 

The main room was fine, very large and very crowded. On the left side were two dozen tables, crammed with velvet-cushioned chairs and bedecked with platters of steaming fish and cut-crystal wineglasses. On the right was a small dance floor, overcrowded just like the rest of the room with men and women in full evening dress, a small string trio on a corner stage leading them through some swirling dance Tav didn’t know. 

Astarion would be at the bar, she knew. Tav kept her head down as she weaved through the crowd, avoiding the glances of curious diners at her leather armor, her bloodied gloves, the blasted mudstain down her leg. Bloody oozes. Bloody opportunistic looters without a goose’s sense among them, too foolish to understand that what they’d stolen from Sorcerous Sundries might in fact be very, very magical indeed—

There. The crowd parted enough she could make out Astarion’s white hair, and every ounce of tension melted out of her like oil off a hot pan. He was sitting at the bar on the back wall, one leg crossed over the other, his chin on his hand, his whole body turned toward the person sitting beside him. His eyes were lidded and unblinking and beautiful, and Tav wanted nothing more in the world than to walk straight into his arms and bury her face in his chest. 

Astarion’s neighbor said something, leaning towards him, and Astarion laughed. A conspiratorial laugh, low and inviting, and a smile afterwards that seemed full of promises. Tav stumbled to a halt. 

Who—a man. She didn’t know him. A little taller than her, she thought, and an elf, very slim, with tawny hair that fell in a straight sheet down his back. He was dressed in fine robes of orange and gold, and nearly every finger bore a jewel-studded ring. He leaned in towards Astarion again, and though she couldn’t hear the words from here, she could make out enough of his tone to know it was a question. 

Jealousy roared up the back of her throat like bile. Tav recoiled, shocked at her own vitriol—but a second wave crashed over her before the first had waned, and her fingers clenched around the hilt of her rapier. 

How dare he. How dare this man—this stranger—come to this overpriced hothouse of an inn and choose Astarion out of everyone, out of all the wretched jewel-encrusted gentry swirling around them to sink his soft unbloodied hands into—

And just as swiftly as it came, the jealousy vanished.

Why not? 

Why not Astarion? He was clearly the most handsome man in the room, apparently unattached and used to luxury, his fine white curls tumbling over his forehead, his eyes sharp as knives. He was dressed in her favorite black with red trim—the embroidery on this one was more subtle, less garish—and his long, elegant fingers played over the stem of his wineglass with careless grace. Even the silver threading on his shoes shone. He might have stepped down from a painting only moments ago, and she had blood on one cheek and sewer muck caked into the heels of her boots. 

What right did she have, after all? This man might be everything Astarion deserved. Self-assured, wealthy, able to keep him in fine clothes and carriages and company the way he ought to be kept. The diamond on the man’s thumb alone could buy half the Wide, Tav thought; surely someone like that could purchase Astarion safety from the sun. In her experience, the wealthy always knew people, or they knew people who knew people, and if nobody knew anybody then the money could always find someone for them instead. 

To Tav’s horror, her foot took a half-step backwards.  

Better this way, hissed a small voice in the back of her mind, one which sounded remarkably like her long-dead aunt. Better this way, you rotten lead weight. Fucking shackle, what good are you? Let go before you sink him too. 

Her foot took another step backwards, and then Astarion laughed. 

A beautiful sound on the face of it. Not that high giggle he gave when he was being shocking on purpose; not that punch of sound when he was surprised by his own amusement. It was a coaxing, persuasive sort of laugh, very musical, and to Tav’s ears—thin and fragile as a sheet of glass. 

Oh, gods. What was she doing? What was she doing? 

The fear released its hold on her feet as if she’d burst into flame. She strode forward, narrowly displacing a waiter with a tray of expensive-looking liqueurs, and split through a pair of cattily gossiping half-elves with matching feather fascinators. The mud was forgotten. The torn cloak was forgotten. The sideways glances and whispered asides as she passed—nothing at all. 

He loved her. How dare she forget? How dare she think such a precious thing might not be worth fighting for? 

She could practically hear his voice in her head. Little idiot!

She broke through the last of the crowd between them, and Astarion saw her. A shell fell away from his expression, so delicate and perfectly molded she’d hardly noticed it until it vanished, and then a warmth grew in his crimson eyes. Not some great blaze, not a raging fire that leapt from tree to tree; something smaller instead, quiet and very steady, the way one lit a candle at the door to welcome home a weary lover.

His smile was real. She thought she could survive a thousand years on that alone.

”Astarion,” Tav said as she reached him, and then she did what she’d longed to for hours and walked straight into his chest where he sat.

“Hello, darling,” he said to the top of her head, and his cool arm wrapped instantly around her shoulders. She shuddered in relief. “Gods below. Did you know you’re filthy?”

”It hadn’t completely escaped my notice,” she said, her words muffled in his collar. Despite every instinct she had telling her to curl up against him right here and sleep for a week, Tav forced herself to straighten. Astarion’s hand slid to the back of her neck, but he didn’t let her go, and he made no move to displace her from the cradle of his knees. “I see you’re very clean and pressed.”

”Volunteer less often for that nasty rebuilding effort, my dear, and you too can spend your days lounging on satin sheets and reading extremely awful poetry.” 

Tav laughed, and his eyes softened. She said, “I missed you.”

”Yes,” he said, as close as he ever ventured to such admissions in public. The string trio finished one set and began another; his thumb stroked up the line of her neck and down again.

The man beside Astarion abruptly cleared his throat. They both looked over; he lifted a manicured, arrogant brow. “You must excuse me,” the man said with the brassy air of one used to being obeyed. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

”Yes, Astarion, introduce me to your friend.”

Ah, he knew her too well. A wicked gleam flashed though his eyes, gone again before she could blink. “Of course. Good sir, this is the succinctly-named Tav, orphan of this fair city turned recently and disgustingly savior of the same. My love, this is…ah. Alexander.”

”Alahonder,” the man said, now decidedly icy. “My wife is Olara Hhune.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar,” Tav said, and she pulled her glove off with her teeth before extending her hand to shake. He took it for the briefest moment, his fingers limp as eels. “Have you two lived in Baldur’s Gate long?”

“Yes,” he said curtly. 

Astarion lifted his wineglass swiftly to his lips. Tav let him—his fingers were trembling with laughter against her neck—and rested an idle hand on Astarion’s knee. “How wonderful. You two must love each other very much.” 

Alahonder Hhune, who had one of the most infamously contentious marriages in the city’s history—who had, Tav knew, been thrown twice from his Upper City manse within the last three months by his furious wife—curled his impeccable elven lip. “Of course,” he said, even more glacial than before. Then he seemed to rally, and with a visible effort he gathered together the scraps of his composure and turned back to Astarion. “My dear boy,” he said, all coaxing honey now, “let me find you again later. Alone, I think. We could pick up right where we left off, hmm?”

”Of course,” Astarion said gleefully, and he brushed his free hand through the man’s tawny hair where it framed his face. “Come back tonight, near midnight. Don’t worry. I’ll find you.” 

“Oh,” the man said with a bloom of painfully obvious lust, and without another glance at Tav, he stood in a flourish of orange and gold robes and strode away into the crowd. They parted for him, then closed again behind him like water as if he’d never been. 

Astarion, who was still running his thumb over Tav’s neck, turned her face to his. “Well, hello,” he purred. “What curious timing you have, my dear.”

”Just lucky, I suppose,” she said, unable to keep the stupid smile from her face, and before she could succumb to the doubt she leaned up and kissed him. 

Astarion let out a low, surprised noise that made her wish to instantly spirit them both away to privacy, then slipped his hand into her hair and pulled her mouth properly against his. The kiss wasn’t long, but it was uncharacteristically tender, and when it was over he let out a little sigh that nearly took her to pieces. Against her mouth, he said, “You really are filthy, you know.” 

“And you’re impossible. Alahonder Hhune, really?”

He sat back, looking immensely self-satisfied. ”What can I say, darling? Had you felt a little less altruistic today, I would have been a little less alone, and a little less alluring to unhappily married second-rate oligarchs.”

”You could always—“ she began, but the memory of exactly why he couldn’t follow her to these daytime excursions flung itself hard against her, and she swallowed the rest of the sentence like glass. “Look less beautiful,” she said lamely instead.

Astarion smirked. “My poor little love. Jealous, are we?”

”Yes,” Tav said, defiant now, and she kissed him again. “Don’t leave me for a Hhune.”

”Certainly not. I’ll hold out for at least a Linnacker.”

”Hm. You could do even better.”

Irritation sparked briefly across Astarion’s face. ”I don’t want better,” he said, sharp enough the tiefling behind the bar glanced over at them. “I know you can be painfully dense, my dear, but let’s not pretend you’re amnesiac, too.” 

How stupid, that the more acidic he became the more her heart puddled in her chest. “Fine,” she said, leaning into him, and he wrapped his arm around her once more. “Let’s see it, then.”

Astarion laughed. He flicked out his wrist, then held up an earring: a polished amber pendant wrapped in heavy gold wire. He twisted the earring this way and that for her amusement, the room’s lavish candelabra flickering fire through the facets. Then he rippled his fingers in a little wave, and the earring vanished. 

“Very good.” 

Astarion laughed. “How smug you sound.” 

“I take my wins where I can get them,” Tav said, and she splayed her fingers to reveal three of Alahonder Hhune’s rings arrayed between her knuckles. Framed on either side by gold and rubies, the diamond worth half the Wide gleamed like cold fire.

Astarion’s smile widened toothily. There was delight there, she thought, and a certain novel pride; and under all of it that same slow-burning affection, richer than any basket of diamonds. How wonderful to be the reason for that fanged smile; how precious to feel her own proud delight in turn. That she’d failed to recognize the glassy-eyed mask earlier seemed the height of impossibility, especially against such a clear window into his heart. 

“You're wonderful,” she said at last, secreting the jewels back into the pouch at her waist, and she framed his face in both hands. “I’ve a confession to make.” 

“Oh, do tell.”

”I’ve gotten mud on your trousers.”

”Ah—ugh,” he said, with very real disgust, and he pulled her hands from his cheeks to examine the streak she’d left against his knee. “Why do I put up with you? Honestly.”

”Because you love me,” Tav said.

”Because I love you,” he repeated with tremendous longsuffering, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her carefully on the mouth. “I’ll love you more if you bathe and change.” 

“An easy heart to buy. Don’t you have a date later?”

“Yes, though it won’t be with any Hhunes or Linnackers.” His thumb slid to the vein of her throat and pressed there, carefully. “Dinner and a show, I think.” 

Tav laughed. A few of the patrons nearby cast her a glance, but it was swiftly followed by another whisper of her name and an unexpected summary of her recent erstwhile heroics, and then Tav stopped listening because it didn’t matter anyway, because Astarion was smiling at her and Astarion loved her and that was worth any shade of gossip the city could scrounge up. The strings launched into a sprightly minuet, and a new crop of glittering men and women swept onto the floor in a seamless tide.

”I’m glad you’re here, Astarion,” Tav said, meaning it. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” 

Astarion stood, eyes serious, and looked down at her. “I am, as well,” he said at last, and then he shook off the mood like a cat jumping from a bath. “Come on, let’s go. Before this nauseating sentimentality makes me do something I’ll regret.” 

Tav laughed, and when he put his hand to the small of her back she let him guide her towards the stairs. Halfway up the stairs their fingers brushed; he’d gone for the rings at the same moment she’d reached for his pilfered earring. She laughed again; he snorted, and they settled for taking each other’s hands instead.

—

end.

[specialsituationsgroup]

Lego Discworld - Patrician's Palace

Patrician's palace exterior with Ankh-Morpork coat of arms. Giant beehive / pidgeon roost / clack's tower on roof. Statue of old Stoneface and hoho in front. City catacombs under the surface.

Palace interior with secret passage. Palace garden with lilac bush and BS Johnson's exploding fountain. Ginger tom and unprofitable butterfly.

Patrician's palace, closed, front.

Havelock Vetinari, Wuffles and Igor in the puke green room. Includes candle stub on nightstand and candle stick hidden in the chest of drawers.

Mr Pump in Vetinari's study. Incudes a crossword puzzle/thud board, music sheet and the manuscript of The Servant.

Leonard of Quirm, Sybil Ramkin, Erol and Rufus Drumknott in Leonard's atelier. Includes the model of the Kite, device for removing mountains, internal combustion kettle, scultping and painting equipment, and Vetinari's portrait.

Library / secret passage. Includes Oswald, modle of the disc and a death mask / head for young Vetinari.

The low king of Dwarves in the Oblong office. Includes Vetinari's and Drumknott's desks, "world's best boss" mug, and dog biscuit.

Commander Vimes, Angua von Uberwald and lord Rust in the Rat's chamber. Includes sprig of lilac, old Stoneface's axe, and Angua's collar / stygium ring.

Otto Chirk and palace guard in the waitng room / entrance / throne room / ball room. Inclues Vetinari's clock and the gilded throne of Ankh.

Palace Cook / Glenda Sugerbean / Grace Speaker / Interchangable Emma and food taster / Young Sam in the Kitchen. Includes bread, water and hardboiled egg. Roasting salmon, caviar and goblet of blood. Wine, cheese and a spoon.

Foul ole Ron and Rincewind in the treasury. Includes snake and scorpion. Paper money, Agatean gold coin and a head of cabage.

Tears of the mushtoom and Detritus in the saferoom / bathroom. Includes matress and shaving equipment. Bathtub, chamber pot with nightsoil, and shoft lavatory paper.

Moist in the janitor's closet / botomless pit. Includes trap door and chain for mimes. Stoker Blake's shovel and the Sweeper's broom.

Death / mime and death of rats / rat spy in the dungeon. Includes barred door, Dwarven locks, and a plaque inscribed learn the words.

Possible minifig permutations, with acessories:

Charlie, assasin Vetinari, Patrician Vetinari, Stoker Blake

Drumknott, Vetinari, Adora Dearheart, Albert Spangler.

Vimes under the Summoning Dark, young constable Vimes, Commander Vimes, Sargent Keel, Sir Samuel the duke of Anhk.

BLT Sybil, Dragonbreeder Sybil, dwarf opera Sybil.

Buggy Swires, Nobby Nobs, Fred Colon, Angua von Uberwald, Carrot Ironfounderson. Commander Vimes, Reg Shoe, Cuddy, Cherry.

Groat, Moist, Stanley

Ponder Stibbons, Mustrum Ridcully and Rincewind

Mrs Rosie Palm, lady Sybil Ramkin, madam Roberta Mersole

Otto Chirk, Margolata von Ubervald, dragon king of arms

Dragon king of arms, lord Rust, mr Pin and mr Tulip, Reacher Gilt, mr Slant, lord Downey

Low king of dwarves, Bashful Bashfullson, Cuddy, Cherry

Buggy Swires, Tears of the Musroom, Of the lathe the swarf

[tenderjock]

a thousand words

OR, eight photographs Director Carter has in her office.

ONE | Steve.

TWO | A group shot of the Howling Commandos, with a scrawl across the top corner in red pen that reads Howlies in [CROSSED OUT], Feb 1944. There's not much background to speak of; the gaggle of armed, muddy men take up the entire photograph. Captain America is standing dead center, smiling with just the corners of his mouth, Sgt. Barnes to his right hand with a cavalier angle to his head. A row of men kneels in a line in front of him, and more line up on each side.

One of the men kneeling is visibly smaller, less muscular, than the rest, and suspiciously clean-shaven although no less covered in mud. She's grinning with all her teeth at the camera and holding a MP40 with casual grace.

THREE | A gilt-framed photograph of her brother, Michael, in his military uniform, taken before his first death.

FOUR | Technically a clipping from a newspaper: Angie at the opening night curtain call of her first real on-Broadway show, holding a bouquet of dark roses and smiling ear to ear.

FIVE | It's a candid, really, taken in the booth of a bar somewhere in Manhattan near SHIELD's original New York headquarters. They're all outrageously drunk. Jack's slouching in his seat, an arm thrown around the back of the booth and bracketing Peggy's shoulders. He's giving someone behind the camera the what-for, and Daniel is laughing, open-mouthed and crinkle-eyed, at whatever he's saying.

Peggy is staring directly into the camera's lens, drawn up with her spine perfectly straight and a stern expression on her face. It's somewhat marred by the fact that she's wearing a man's hat that is too big for her and has tipped down over one ear.

SIX | A Miss Carter in her mid-forties, gray streaking her dark hair and a fashionably appropriate evening gown adorning her body. Miss Carter is posing for the camera, tipping her glass in a toast to Ana Jarvis, who is winking gayly at her. Half a dozen familiar faces litter the background of the shot, all invitees to Howard Stark's wedding - which happens to be both his first wedding and his last.

SEVEN | A color photograph, this one, taken for LIFE magazine, of Barbara Thompson and Director Carter pouring over a map of the United States. Nothing of the documents they're looking at is visible, but Mrs. Thompson is gesturing, one hip leaned against the table. Carter is looking up at her, red lips slightly pursed. To Carter's right, slightly out of focus, Agent Fury is standing with his hands on his hips, listening as well.

EIGHT | Aunt Peggy, well into her seventies, with her hands on Sharon's shoulders. They're at a gun range; both of them have on protective headsets and goggles. Sharon's holding a loaded pistol and wearing an apprehensive expression. Peggy is smiling, sly and knowing.

[nanamikentoseyebags]

pairing: kento nanami x f!reader

content: just two grumps being grumpy together, alcohol consumption, pathetically self ship coded!!

wc: ~ 1.3k

a/n: my poor lil attempt to write something again, don't judge too hard, i just needed to feel some comfort

Whoever is in charge of the event has terrible taste in music, Kento Nanami mentally remarks, taking a small sip of the way more disgusting whiskey and placing the glass on the bar with an audible "clink". He wearily surveys the room, running his eyes over the expensive gilt-framed paintings, the elaborately inlaid furniture, and the huge elephant in the room in form of a grand black piano, that most definitely hasn't felt a human touch in at least a couple decades.

Myriads of stars are scattered across the ceiling in intricate patterns, like fluttering moths surrounding a lonely chandelier, decorated with what looks like tiny diamond droplets. It radiates a soft glow that seems to make even the faces of these people look pleasant somehow. He hates this place, or rather he has to hate it, because now it has become a nest of the most poisonous snakes - a reception for the richest, most prominent, most influential people in the city: the owners of the biggest financial companies that seem to own the whole world in their heads. Kento frowns, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly and cursing his boss for obliging him to attend it.

A quiet “Ughhhh, that’s disgusting,” snaps Nanami out of his thoughts, drawing him to turn in your direction, watching curiously as you spit out one of the appetizers and wrap it in a napkin. "This is a real culinary crime! Who the hell would think of ruining food so cruelly? Ugh, I should sue them for the moral damage this appetizer just did to me". Reaching for your glass, you took a couple sips and held it out to your boyfriend, cringing, "and serving people champagne like that is a crime too. I thought everything was top notch at these receptions," you paused, "you know I'm going to say this, but I'll say it anyways, here: I could have done it better...God, I need something to wash this disgusting taste down with."

"Of course you would, darling," Kento chuckles, "And I don't think there's anything edible here at all," he sets your glass on a tray of a passing waiter, "I'm afraid you're the only sweet thing here."

A death stare, that's what he sees, turning to you again. "Very funny," you roll your eyes playfully, nudging him lightly in the side, "I always wonder…how do they do that?" you motion your hand to the groups of people talking amongst themselves.

"Do what?" his tilts his head to the side, leaning closer to you, his arm goes around your waist, slowly stroking the curve of your hip.

"Pretending to like everything, from terrible food to engaging into conversations with people they can't stand. Sometimes I think their faces are about to crack from those strained smiles."

“Long years of practice, I think. I doubt they'd be much good at it if they didn't know how to cast fake smiles at every partner and then ruin their firms with the same grin."

"Atrocious," you give a dismissive glance to another pair of presumably millionaires fluffing up their feathers and parading like male birds in front of a couple of women.

"Sorry for bringing you here, I-" he doesn't have time to finish the sentence, feeling your arms tightly circle his torso.

"I don't mind at all, I might even enjoy standing here with you all grumpy and dissatisfied with everything and everyone. It's more fun together," you wink at him, stroking his back.

“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t want anyone else to be grumpy with,” he pauses, looking at your perplexed expression, “okay…” with a sigh he continues, “in my defense I might just say that it sounded less cheesy in my head”. You giggle, watching the tips of his ears turning red. “On the other note,” Kento’s hand flies up to gently caress the apple of your cheek with his thumb, “I know I’ve said it like a thousand times today but you look absolutely divine.”

And he means it, as much as he hates to be here, he thinks you are made for this. You are made to be surrounded by this splendor he believes he fails to give you. As if you'd stepped out of one of those ornate paintings, in that ethereal silk dress of yours and hairdo, you really do look like a deity to him, walking around your chambers.

And before he even gets a chance to tell you this, a loud “Nanamiiiiii,” thunders across the whole space, the approaching steps of his boss reverberate tenfold in Kento’s head, as he reluctantly lets go off you and turns to face the horror in the flesh.

"Our most reticent Nanami has finally shown the world his gorgeous chosen one," the nearly bald, stocky man approaches you two with a broad smile, plastered on his face, exposing his porcelain teeth. His wrinkled face is adorned with a pathetically thin mustache, with gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on his nose. He smells of expensive alcohol and cheap cologne, you have time to notice a pair of huge rings on his fingers when he, without a second's hesitation, takes your hand and brings it to his lips. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Y/n, Nanami doesn't spread himself too widely about his life, but your name almost never leaves his lips."

"Y/n, this is my boss, Mr...."

"I'm just Steve to you," he blurts out in a half-drunk grin, still not letting go of your hand. Kento’s eyes roll to the back of his head, as he rubs his temple tiredly, struggling to keep his cool.

"Nice to meet you...Steve," looking absolutely unimpressed, you gently pull your hand out of his iron grip, taking your now speechless with anger boyfriend, under his arm, and smiling with feigned gentleness, "Kento has told me a lot about you, thank you for inviting us to this wonderful dinner."

“Nah, that’s the best decision I’ve ever made,” he chuckles, “you should try to convince your man to go out more often, especially with such a beauty by his side, it should be a real pleasure. He has a great future, my dear, a great future,” he wagged his finger right in front of your face, “okay, lovebirds, I have to go… I have to go, I have to cheer up a couple of losers, whose careers I will destroy tomorrow.” And he bursts in an almost inhuman laugh that seems to make everyone in the room but him uncomfortable. “But I'll see you soon," and once again taking your hand in his leaves another loud, wet kiss on your palm before retreating to another direction.

“Ugh, what an asshole”, you wipe your hand on the soft fabric of your dress, "'so, did I get to act all happy? It was quite hard since I was affected by the sight of his awful mustache.”

Hearing no reply, you raised your head to meet the two agates that had been staring back at you for a long time, gleaming adoringly. Kento's face is playing with the brightest smile you've seen this evening.

“What?” you frown, not sure where the sudden burst of amusement is coming from.

“Nothing”, he smiles wider, “just glad I'm here with you. Speaking of which, why don't we sneak out of here right now?” he holds out his hand to you.

“I thought you'd never ask”, you let out a sigh of relief, intertwining your fingers, as you quietly head for the exit. Away from the lying people and cruel games, quietly grumbling about various little things along the way. He carries a pair of your uncomfortable heels in one hand as you walk beside him in your evening dress and favorite sneakers, clinging to him tighter and thinking that the world isn't so bad when you have someone to be grumpy with.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A stunning Black woman with a large afro, a short red dress, retro wedge heels, a tattooed on her right shoulder and a pair of earrings in the shape of a rifle sight. Other sights appear all around her as she kneels in front of the Earth, holding a smoking pistol with a ridiculously long barrel. Text reads, “57, Nefertiti Smith, Travel Agent .006 ~ The Small God of Seeing the Sights”]

• • • • • •

Velvet curtains cover the windows.  Velvet tapestries drape the walls. The overall result is like walking into a bordello, or the heart of a teddy bear the size of a Titan.  It’s easy enough to imagine this opulent space, dripping as it is with crystal chandeliers and golden gilt, as a playground for children too large to be contained by any structure sized for humanoid bipeds.

The idea that all intelligent life must follow the basic blueprint of Earth is quaint and so outdated as to have become antiquated, and most people with any sense of adventure have long since abandoned it.  Those who haven’t are likely to find themselves swallowed by the sapient slimes of Rigel IV, who don’t much care for being so casually dismissed.  Have your right to sapience challenged one time too many, learn the delights of human flesh, as Professor Winchell always used to say.  Or not.  Some species never turn to man-eating, and choose instead to block humanity’s expansions into greater space.  They have no time for small-minded bigots, they say, and no one who’s met many humans can really argue with them.

But people who’ve me the right humans can sometimes make a decent case for allowing them to expand.

She steps into the club like she owns the place, like the party has been waiting for her arrival before truly getting started.  She doesn’t walk; she dances, every step a perfect extension of the one before.  Her dress is a shade of red subtly different from the curtains.  It should clash.  Instead, it makes her look all the more valuable, against a backdrop of suddenly cheapened velvet.  Her heels are tall; so is her hair.  She is the best of what humanity has to offer, and if far too few of her admirers understand her divinity, that’s fine.  She knows she’s a goddess.  She’s the only one who matters here.

Belly up to the bar, Nefertiti Smith flags down a server, a smile on her gilded lips.  “Tell Dave I’m here,” she instructs.

There’s always a Dave.  Boston to Betelgeuse, there’s always a Dave.  And he always knows her, and he’s always happy when she arrives.

Tourists are good for business, after all.

• • • • • •

Artist Lee Moyer (Trident of Aurelia, 13th Age) and author Seanan McGuire (Wayward Children, October Daye & InCryptid series) sincerely appreciate you, whether or not you're a Dave.

[because-hayden-said-so]

At Gilt Bar

"Don't sit there. That seat is not for you." He grumbled.

[ossifer]

i think most of you will recall the 'is judith deuteros butch' poll and the ensuing trend of polls it caused. i wish to pour some gasoline on the embers so that we may stay warm during alecto pause by calling attention to some excellent tags left by @butchcraftmacncheese that answer the eponymous question

great tags, my favourite answer to that question tbh. as we see in gtn, judith and marta affect much the same appearance, barring one detail...

They both affected the same tightly braided hairstyle and abundance of gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression. They were only distinct because one wore a rapier and the other quite a lot of pips at her collar.

rapier means cavalier. cavaliers get keyrings at canaan house. rapier is carabiner allegory. i rest my case.

lyctorhood? integration of cavalier's soul and sword skills into necromancer. necromancer gains rapier. successful lyctorhood makes you butch. i rest my case.

and that, my friends, is why ianthe became a tower prince. i rest my case.

[ltwilliammowett]

Ship Captain’s liquor chest ( or great cabin portable mini bar) Contains 11 gilt-decorated bottles and an upper tray with a small tumbler, two small faceted bottles and two port glasses. 18th century

[houserosaire]

Prompt #24: Bar

A man with golden eyes watched him from the shadows. Silvaineaux could feel his presence as much as he could see him, a dark shape pacing slowly around him. They paced around each other for a moment, circling like a pair of unfriendly cats, or like a pair of hawks with their eyes fixed on the same prey. “Who are you to bar my way?” The man asked, his voice a low and venomous hiss.

“Who are you at all?” Silvaineaux snarled in return. “Nobody.”

“You wish I were that.”

“I do.”

Another shadow loomed beside him, he was aware of it as he stepped carefully around the other. This one  was large, hovering great and square at the edge of his sight until gradually he knew what it was even before he looked at it. 

He kept his eyes fixed on his opponent and stepped again. 

The man with the golden eyes was gone. 

He was in the fine sitting room of a house and now it was books that circled him. They flew around him in a tornado of heavy bindings, their pages filling the air with a sound like a thousand wings. He ducked as the first one flew  -at- him. It slammed into his  shoulder, then another came and another. Until the shelf seemed to have hurled its entire contents at him. Yet one book remained unmoved in the center of the room. The cloud washed afternoon sun caught in the gilt on its leather cover.

He took a single step toward it. Afternoon light was suddenly the blue of evening, the dust and frost had vanished and every book sat once again in place upon a shelf save that one. 

A man came into the room, his movements furtive, hurried. Silvaineaux did not know him and the man moved past him in his unerring path toward the book as if he was not there at all. 

And so he merely watched as the man hastily tugged the book open. Silvaineaux recognized it then for a holy book. Yet the man sought no prayers. Instead he looked up hastily toward the doorway by which he’d entered and then drew his knife.

Hastily he worked the blade beneath the fine colored endpapers at the back, working it loose a little at a time. Every few moments he looked up again, not at Silvaineaux who watched him but at the empty doorway. 

After several moments the man made a soft sound of satisfaction. He tugged a paper out of his jacket. The sheet was folded once so that Silvaineaux only had the briefest impression of closely packed words showing a little through the paper. The man shoved the paper hastily into the space he’d made under the endpaper, then slammed the book shut.

The sound of it made both of them jump.

The man looked up again at the doorway, but this time there was someone there. He took a hasty step back from the book and then turned toward the door.

A lady stood there.

The lady with her red hair and her enormous blue-grey eyes. This time Silvaineaux thought she was not yet a ghost. And yet.

“There’s someone at the gates.” She said quietly, setting her small hand on the man’s arm.

“Who?” He asked, covering that hand with his.

“I do not know, but I am afraid.”

“I promise you do not need to fear.” He said. “I will not let anything harm you, no matter what it costs me.”

Silvaineaux looked from the man to the book and then back again. The man gently drew away from the lady. “I will go and send them off.” He said.

Silvaineaux watched him leave the room.

When he looked up again the lady was looking at him. She smiled as she caught his eyes.

Silvaineaux jerked awake. It took him just a moment to place the familiar shapes and hues of his own bed hangings. He scrubbed his hands over his face and drew in a heavy breath. The unease of the dream hung over him like a cloud. “I didn’t even drink that much  at the bar last night.” He whispered to the empty room, just to break its silence.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Marlon - When dreams grow up

OMG I only came to this book threw @dwkinternational and looked it up the description and the cover was (for me atleast) promising and I'm so hyped to see what Masannek made of his masterpiece and the ,,sequel". Since I wrote a fic that has a little time skip and I can't wait to read it and how he did things.

It will be published on 14.5.2024.

Summary under the cut

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Beschreibung

Was machen die Wilden Kerle heute? 20 Jahre nach dem Spiel gegen den Dicken Michi + + +  18 Jahre nach Gonzo Gonzales + + +  17 Jahre nach den Biestigen Biestern + + +  16 Jahre nach Ragnarök + + +  15 Jahre nach ihrer Reise ans Ende der Welt? Berlin.>Berlin. Heute. Die Wilden Kerle gibt es nicht mehr. Das Schicksal hat sie in alle Himmelsrichtungen verstreut. Keiner weiß, wo der andere ist. Leon gilt sogar als tot und Marlon, der heute Musiker ist, will die Vergangenheit vergessen. Er nennt sich jetzt Sparrow. Spatz. Er streift allein durch die Stadt. Er will unsichtbar sein. Doch wenn ihn seine Musik dazu zwingt, wenn er irgendwo in dem Meer aus Bars und Clubs auftaucht und auftritt, zieht er die Menschen in seinen Bann. Er verzaubert sie mit seiner Sehnsucht nach Freiheit, Leben, Liebe und mehr. Doch jede Nacht zwischen drei und vier Uhr holt Marlon die Vergangenheit ein. Ein Alptraum verfolgt ihn und dieser Alptraum wird Wirklichkeit, als der charismatische Angel Investor Tom Shepherd aus Dublin nach Berlin kommt. Shepherd, der Marlons totem Bruder Leon so gleicht wie ein Zwilling, der aber trotzdem so anders ist: gefährlich anders. 

Marlon ahnt nicht, dass aus dem Kindertraum von damals eine Kraft entwachsen ist, die die Ordnung der Welt, in der wir in Zukunft leben, in der unsere Kinder leben sollen, mehr als bedroht. Eine Zukunft, die Shepherd für uns gestalten und aus der er alles, was die Wilden Kerle jemals verkörpert haben, verbannen will. Marlon muss sich entscheiden: Ob er seine Vergangenheit für immer vergisst, oder ob er sie wieder aufleben lässt, auch wenn er dafür mit seinem Leben bezahlt. Doch es geht nicht um ihn. Es geht um die Zukunft von Nessie, der zwölfjährigen, rebellischen Fußball-Ballerina, ihrer Freunde Tippkick und Coke und der Zukunft des Jungen, in den sich Nessie verliebt. 

-----------------

Description

What are the Wild Bunch doing today? 20 years after the game against Fat Michi + + + 18 years after Gonzo Gonzales + + + 17 years after the Beastly Beasts + + + 16 years after Ragnarök + + + 15 years after their journey to the end of the world? Berlin >Berlin. Today. The Wild Bunch are no more. Fate has scattered them in all directions. No one knows where the others are. Leon is even presumed dead and Marlon, who is now a musician, wants to forget the past. He now calls himself Sparrow. Sparrow. He roams the city alone. He wants to be invisible. But when his music forces him to do so, when he appears somewhere in the sea of bars and clubs and performs, he casts a spell over people. He enchants them with his longing for freedom, life, love and more. But every night between three and four o'clock, Marlon's past catches up with him. A nightmare haunts him and this nightmare becomes reality when the charismatic angel investor Tom Shepherd comes to Berlin from Dublin. Shepherd, who resembles Marlon's dead brother Leon like a twin, but who is nevertheless so different: dangerously different.

Marlon has no idea that the childhood dream of yesteryear has grown into a force that more than threatens the order of the world in which we will live in the future, in which our children should live. A future that Shepherd wants to shape for us and from which he wants to banish everything that the Wild Bunch have ever embodied. Marlon must decide: Whether to forget his past forever, or whether to resurrect it, even if he pays for it with his life. But it's not about him. It's about the future of Nessie, the twelve-year-old rebellious soccer ballerina, her friends Tippkick and Coke and the future of the boy Nessie falls in love with.

Forever Wild.

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[uwmspeccoll]

Milestone Monday

On this day, April 3 in 1895, the trial in the libel case brought by Oscar Wilde began, ultimately resulting in his imprisonment on charges of homosexuality. Wilde brought the suit against the Marquess of Queensberry who, angered by Wilde’s apparent ongoing homosexual relationship with the Marquess’s son Alfred Douglas, had publicly accused Wilde of sodomy. Wilde dropped the suit, however, after being confronted by the possibility of witnesses who could potentially prove the Marquess’s accusation. After winning a counterclaim against Wilde that left the writer bankrupt, the Marquess of Queensberry then presented evidence against him, and on April 6, 1895 Wilde was arrested on charges of "gross indecency," a coded term for homosexual acts. He was convicted on May 25, 1895 and sentenced to two years hard labor. Much of his sentence was spent at Reading Gaol, where he was addressed and identified only as "C.3.3" – the occupant of the third cell on the third floor of C ward. The harsh incarceration broke his health and eventually led to his death in 1900.

After his release, Wilde wrote the long poem The Ballad of Reading Gaol, which was published in London by Leonard Smithers on February 13,1898 under the name "C.3.3." While in prison, Wilde wrote a long letter to Alfred Douglas that was not delivered. It recounts their relationship and extravagant lifestyle, as well as Wilde’s spiritual transformation during his imprisonment. Wilde entrusted the manuscript to his loyal friend and sometimes-lover Robert Ross, who had it published after Wilde’s death by Methuen and Co. in 1905, giving it the title "De Profundis" (”Out of the depths”) from Psalm 130.

To commemorate this milestone, we present the title page from our first edition copy of The Ballad of Reading Gaol, limited to an edition of 800 copies on handmade paper; the title page and cover of our first edition of De Profundis, with the gilt device of a bird leaving a circle of bars designed by Wilde’s friend Charles Ricketts; and illustrations by the designer and artist John Vassos for an illustrated edition of The Ballad of Reading Gaol published in New York by E. P. Dutton & Co. in 1928.

View more posts of works by Oscar Wilde.

View more Milestone Monday posts.

[leserreise-vietnam]

Ein langer Flug in eine andere Welt

Über 24 Stunden waren wir unterwegs, bis wir endlich in Hanoi unsere Füße auf vietnamesischen Boden gesetzt haben. Und wie das beim Reisen eben so ist: Da steigt man in Südtirol in einen Bus ein – und befindet sich (viele) Stunden später im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes in einer anderen Welt.

Unser Reiseleiter durch das Abenteuer Vietnam heißt Quang, ist 48 Jahre alt und stammt aus dem Süden des Landes. Wie ich aus familiären Gründen bereits weiß, spricht man vietnamesische Namen selten so aus wie man sie schreibt, und das gilt auch für Quang. Im Grunde verschluckt man das Q am Beginn, aber irgendwie klingt es doch ganz anders. Quang hat aber für uns gleich einen Vorschlag parat: „Solange ihr das mit der Aussprache nicht so gut hinkriegt, nennt mich einfach Lukas.“ „Quang“ bedeute nämlich so viel wie „Licht“, und auf Deutsch passe dazu ja der Name Luzius, also Lukas … Naja, wir versuchen es doch lieber mit der halbwegs richtigen Aussprache …

Auf der Fahrt in die Innenstadt von Hanoi stellt uns Quang kurz sein Land und dessen Hauptstadt vor. Hanoi liegt am Roten Fluss, einem der beiden großen Ströme des Landes. Die Stadt ist über 1000 Jahre alt und zählt heute über zehn Millionen Einwohner.   

Spätestens bei der Fahrt vom Flughafen in die Hauptstadt Hanoi merken wir erste Anzeichen für das ganz normale vietnamesische Durcheinander. In der Stadt selbst reiben wir uns dann die Augen, wie reibungslos Verkehrschaos ablaufen kann. Hunderte Mopeds kreuzen die Fahrspuren und teilen sie sich mit Autos, Taxis, Fußgängern und Bussen. Wie viele Fahrspuren es eigentlich auf den Straßen gibt, ist für den unwissenden Touristen ein mittelgroßes Wunder, ebenso, wie dieses Chaos ohne Unfälle ablaufen kann. Auch diese Eigenheit bringt Quang mit einem passenden Vergleich auf den Punkt: „Der Verkehr ist wie das Wasser. Wo es Platz findet, fließt es einfach durch …“

Quang erzählt uns auch vom großen Nationalhelden Ho Chi Minh, der als Begründer des heute noch von einer sozialistischen Einheitspartei regierten Vietnam gilt. Erst gründete er 1945 die Demokratische Republik Vietnam, die dem späteren Nordvietnam entsprach. Nach dem Ende des Vietnamkrieges Mitte der 1970er-Jahre übertrug sich der Heldenstatus von Ho Chi Minh auch auf den südlichen Landesteil. Dort wurde die größte Stadt des Landes, das eigentlich ehemalige und doch auch heute noch oft so genannte Saigon, nach ihm benannt. Diese Stadt werden wir später auf unserer Reise noch kennenlernen.

Ansonsten steht noch ein wenig Sightseeing auf dem Programm. Wir besichtigen das Mausoleum von Ho Chi Minh – einen Betonklotz, der angeblich eine Lotusblüte darstellen soll – und seinen Wohnkomplex. Danach besuchen wir den Literaturtempel, der als erste Universität Vietnams gilt, und in dem auch heute noch zahlreiche Studentinnen und Studenten vor schwierigen Prüfungen bei Konfuzius Rat und Hilfe suchen.

Nach einem köstlichen vietnamesischen Abendessen sucht etwa die Hälfte von uns das Bett auf. Die andere Hälfte macht noch einen Abstecher in ein modernes Wahrzeichen der Hauptstadt, die wiederum hervorragend zum Thema Verkehrschaos passt. Durch die „Train Street“, eine schmale, von zahlreichen Bars gesäumte Gasse führt ein Gleis. Und auf diesem fährt tatsächlich mehrmals am Tag ein Zug. Wer das nicht mit eigenen Augen gesehen hat, der mag es kaum glauben …

Damit geht unser erster Tag in Vietnam zu Ende, und wir fallen alle glücklich und zufrieden in unsere Hotelbetten. Morgen schauen uns an, was dieses Land landwirtschaftlich zu bieten hat …

[druidx]

Bourdain's Restaurant

Bourdain's of Goldneedle Street is a high-class, fine dining establishment situated not far from the Theater-Church of Olidammara. It offers views across the Northern Canal Trunk and a taste of the exotic, as well as dishes of reimagined local flavour.

Situated within Toreguard's second ring, its patrons are majoritively the wealthy who frequent the Theater, and powerful politicians who utilize it's ballroom.

The ground floor of Bourdain's, with stairs running down to the kitchens and up to subsequent dining floors and the ballroom.

The dining area takes up three floors, and is comprised of on-street dining, general dining rooms, and several private function rooms. The decor is lavish featuring: magicly lit chandeliers; gold, ivory, and pearlescent motifs and mouldings; giant mirrors, enchanted to add sparkle to the rooms; and elaborate, elven- and dwarven-crafted dining ware.

The fourth floor, with its generous views of the city from the balcony, is taken up by the ballroom and bar. The ballroom is Bourdain's crowning jewel. Created, in the same manner as the Council Tower, of marble and gilt, it has floating chandeliers and a magnificent stained-glass barback. It has, this scribe has been told, the best acoustics for orative use, as well as an ideal dancing floor.

In addition to the luxurious outfitting, diners can be entertained by the best musicians, or Rhapsode bards as they are known, to graduate from the Theater of Olidammara. And it should go without saying that the food is prepared by the finest chefs in the city using the most prodigious of ingredients.

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@aquadestinyswriting

(Photo credits in tags)