#Mezzanine Plan

[smithstructure]

Smith Structure| Jack Beam Elevating Structural Support

Smith Structure introduces jack beams structural component used in construction for temporary or permanent support of floors, roofs, or load-bearing elements

[supercantaloupe]

screaming you went to see here lies love? How was it?

OH no no i haven't, i don't think it's even open yet. playbill recently posted an article about/photos showing the stage/theater design for the broadway production; i think it looks crummy. i am not paying any real actual money to go see that show lol

[weirdcharacter]

I'm so happy, my house is coming together nicely and I'm also working on the dino-park, hopefully I'll be done with the first step by next week or in two weeks time 🤗

[napleonsolo]

Living Room Loft-Style London Mid-sized trendy loft-style living room photo with white walls

[miirohs]

écoute chérie [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Assistant!Reader wc: 3.2k cw: assult, possesive behavior (standard for a mob au at this point), bro straight up kills someone, dubcon (again icarus?), shitty french an: i absolutely cannot write but anyways if this flops i'm deleting it and then crying!!! also do you guys ever just write y/n and put her in predicaments and then go womp womp as if you didn't just do that to her? yeah.

It was fairly obvious from the subtle twitch in his jaw, to the shadow cast over his eyes by strands of his hair falling in front, that he wasn’t happy. From the moment you both had left the guarded gates of his mansion, his face has been set in a stony silence.

You’d seen him glance over at you multiple times during the length of the car ride, and it was becoming harder to ignore his erratic behavior.

Just as he looked away you reached for him, startling him from his distracted state as you moved to fix his suit, readjusting his crooked tie and straightening out the collar of his suit. Immediately you snapped back up to him looking at you, a curious look on his face.

“You should be more careful with your suits.” You chastised softly, snapping back to your seat as the heat rose to your face. “Tossing and turning around like that will probably make it wrinkle up.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the smallest smile he could muster. You could still see the upset in his eyes as he looked at you, and you came to a slow realization of what might’ve been upsetting him.

“Are you mad with me for coming along with you?”

His smile faded a little, the frustration in his eyes visible. He never wanted this for you, but he knew he couldn’t stop you from coming along, so he resorted to simply reminding you why he didn’t want to bring you.

“Mon coeur, I’m not mad at you at all. I'm just hesitant because I know what my people are like.”

You sighed, readjusting the straps of your dress as you looked at him. “Yes Charles, you’ve made that exceptionally clear but i don’t think you quite had a choice. Carlos didn’t even want to talk about going with you.” 

He winced at your tone, tilting his head at you as he bent his own head down to your level. “I know I keep saying this, but you don’t know them like I do. I don't want you leaving my side, not to anywhere I cannot see you chérie. Do you understand?”

You took one of his hands in yours, nodding along to keep his anxiety in check. “Fine, I wasn’t planning on going just anywhere, I came with you because that's my job.”

“And your job is?”

“To be with you, twenty-four seven, whenever you need me.” You said teasingly as a cheeky smile graced his face once again, slightly more genuine than the last.

The car came to a stop, and you looked at each other, turning to the door of the car. 

“Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him, obliging to climb out first as the door opened.

Your jaw dropped as you looked up to the entrance of the building. You didn’t think you were quite aware this level of grandeur could be possible, and you were honestly expecting something more inconspicuous.

Linking up his arm in yours, Charles bent down a little as you started walking, whispering into your ear.

“You look surprised. I bet you weren’t expecting this, huh?”

“Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s gorgeous.”

“Wait till you see the inside.”

You continued with him, eyes growing wider at the inside.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, intricate detailing all over the grand foyer as you surveyed the walls.

Charles walked with you through corridors, once again tensing up, evident in the tightness of his grip on your arm. You could see an ornate set of doors at the end of the hall, approaching them slower and slower.

You paused at the door, looking up to him as he inhaled deeply.

“Are you-”

“Ready? Of course I am.” He didn’t look at you, but you gave no further thought to his words as the doors opened, the crowds of people gathered visible from the mezzanine you both stood on. The ballroom almost glittered, light bouncing off almost every corner of the room.

“Char, if i had known this was going to be fancy, i would’ve dressed up better.” You said, aghast as he shook his head, looking at you with a hint of affection in his smile.

“You’re dazzling no matter what, mon coeur. There’s no need to worry, you’ll be just fine.”

“I- Alright.” You agreed hesitantly, arm slipping from his as you followed him down the stairs.

There were so many bodies on the floor you had a hard time following him, resorting to holding onto his sleeves to navigate through the crowds. He greeted people, and you did the same in his stead, unsure where exactly you were headed. Suddenly, Charles came to a stop in front of you, and you slammed into him, stumbling back slightly. 

“Charles, what just happened, I...” You paused as he stood motionless, stepping to peer from behind him.

Another man stood there, head tilted as you curiously as you moved to Charles side. He wore all black, jacket embroidered with flowers and a necklace that resembled a thorn necklace. He seemed fancy, but something about the way he looked at you made it feel like you were being microanalyzed by him.

“Lewis.”

“Charles. A pleasure seeing you again.”

He nodded, relaxing slightly as the man took his hand, shaking it firmly.

“And who might this be?”

You waved, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I’m-”

“She’s my assistant.”

“Char, calm down.” You chided, ignoring how his tone almost instantly seemed to become sharp, nose flaring slightly. Clearly Lewis noticed as well, raising his eyebrow at how his tone seemed to change so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, my name is Y/n. I’m his assistant, as he mentioned before.” He took your hand, offering you a kiss to the knuckles with a smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/n. Are you new or…?”

“This is her first social event with me.” Charles butt in, arms crossed over as Lewis grinned at him. “Hm, I figured half as much. I haven’t seen much of her around, you should bring her more often. She seems pleasant.”

“Wonderful. Now is there anything else you want?” Charles answered, tone short and clipped as you frowned at his sudden defensiveness. Lewis hummed knowingly, sparing you a glance before he went back to talking to Charles.

“The negotiations are upstairs. We were just waiting for you to start, and I think Carlos got here maybe twenty minutes before you?”

He nodded curtly in response, taking your hand as he started moving.

Lewis looked down at him though as he shook his head, pointing to your hands.

“Sorry to break it to you mate, but she can’t come with us.”

“Why not?” Charles snapped, clearly annoyed by his sudden announcement.

“It’d be better for the both of you. I doubt you want her in on the grizzly details, it would only put her at risk, more so than working for you. Leave one of your guards with her if you want to, although I promise she’ll be just fine here.” He knew he couldn’t argue with that, it was apparent in the way his face fell at the realization.

“I have to go now, but we'll be waiting for you upstairs.” Lewis said as he waved goodbye to you, turning on his heel to leave the both of you alone to the side.

Charles sighed, glowering at the man's back as he turned to you.

“Écoute chérie (listen darling), it seems like Lewis has a point.” He started, reluctance written all over his expression. “So I'm leaving you here with one of the guards. I don't want you to put yourself in any unnecessary danger, so please keep them with you and talk instantly if anything happens.”

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t disappointed, but it did make sense to you. "I understand, Char, I'll be here when you come back."

He visibly relaxed, though there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. "Thank you, chérie. I promise I won't be long."

You gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

With a short squeeze of your hand, Charles reluctantly left your side, disappearing into the crowd once more. 

Left alone with the guard that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, you took a deep breath, turning around to him.

"Looks like it's just you and me for now," you said, trying to break the ice with the bodyguard, who simply blinked at you.

“Not one to talk much, huh?” He cleared his throat, bashfully turning his eyes away from you.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but i'm pretty sure Mr. Leclerc wouldn’t like me looking at you.” You stifled a sigh, simply flashing a smile at him.

“Would you like to have a drink with me then…?”

“Ollie.” He finished, even more bashful than before as scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “And I'm sorry ma’am. I don’t think I'm allowed to drink on the job, Mr. Leclerc would kill me if something happened to you.”

Awkward silence filled the air as you sighed, looking around the ballroom.

You didn’t think there was anyone you could talk to other than him, so you were stuck with him for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t half bad either, but he followed you quite closely, almost as if carefully noting every single thing you were doing. Even as you made minor convos, he stood beside you, too close for it to be comfortable for either of you. He took his job seriously, a little too seriously, you thought.

At some point, you paused, turning around to him with your hands crossed over your chest.

"Ollie, do you have orders to stand so close? It's making me feel a bit claustrophobic."

He blinked, obviously taken aback by your directness. "I'm sorry miss. I was just told to keep an eye on you, Mr. Leclerc's orders."

You nodded, slight frustration rising up as he mentioned Charles' name. "I appreciate your dedication, but I promise I won't just wander off.”

He hesitated, yet still nodded to your request. "Is there anything I can do then?"

A lightbulb seemed to go off in your head as he asked, a grin stretching across your face as you looked at him.

"I think I'll go get a drink. Would you mind keeping an eye on things here until I come back?"

he relented with a nod, albeit with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Alright, but please don't wander too far. I'll be right here waiting for you to get back."

You nodded sweetly, yet as soon as you left his field of vision, you grabbed a glass off a tray, pushing gently through the crowds.

You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but there was rarely ever a time where you drank because of your job.

Before you knew it, you’d finished off the glass, abandoning it on the buffet table and grabbing another one as you made your way back into the crowd.

At some point you saw Ollie again, distracted as he talked to two other boys of his same age. You decided not to interrupt, walking past them and slipping through the open doors on the opposite end of the hall.

The air was cool, fragrant from all the flowers planted around the place. As you wandered along the winding paths, you observed the little statues and carefully trimmed hedges, detailing meticulously crafted to fit the vibes of the garden.

But your peace was short-lived, as the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder. Turning around, you were met with the leering faces of a group of men, their laughter echoing through the night air as they drunkenly stumbled through the hedges. They were creating a ruckus loud enough to attract a crowd.

You froze, not a sound escaping your lips as you looked at them.

Clearly they hadn’t noticed you, so you took a step back, hoping to get away.

Something snapped under your heel and they all stopped acting buck wild, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Ouh, Qui est cette femme, juste là (ooh, who's that woman right there)?”

Shock ran through your veins as the one who spoke pointed to you, eyes turning towards you in a moment. A couple laughed, one of them whistled, all of them looking you up and down like a piece of meat.

“I think she might be one of those escort people they hire at parties y’know… you think we should greet her?”

Their leering gazes made your skin crawl. 

Quickly you turned on your heel, heading in the opposite direction, hoping to lose them quickly as you attempted to get back. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued, their drunken roasts getting farther from you. You still felt paranoid, but you were pretty sure you had lost them.

As you turned around, a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing hold of your wrist harshly. You were whirled around to face your assailant, one of the men from the group you’d seen earlier, one of the ones who had whistled at you.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" he sneered, drunken breath hot against your face as he sneered at you, a wicked grin on his face. 

He had you cornered against one of the hedges, and you had nowhere to run as he got closer, trying to grab your other hand.

“You’re cute, you think the boss would like it if we sent him back a little present like you-”

You panicked, kicking wildly until you landed a kick to his nuts, breaking free from his grip around your wrists as he staggered back in pain.

“You bitch-!”

The sound of a warning shot silenced his swears of pain, the only thing you could hear now being the buzzing in your ear.

You turned your head, Charles saying something, but you couldn’t exactly hear it as he approached, an angry yet relieved loon on his face.

“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?!”

You didn’t respond and he knew why, turning to look across from you at the man who glared at the both of you in anger.

"We'll discuss this later," he said, tone softer this time as he turned his attention back to you, helping you up onto a cold stone bench.

“You. Get lost. Don’t let me see you here ever again.”

"Or what?" The man spat, voice dripping with contempt at Charles' order. "You think you can scare me off with your empty threats?"

“I don’t think it’ll be so empty if i-,” He pulled out his gun from the waistband of his pants, aiming it at the mans groin, then moving to his head, “-happen to give you a demonstration of what exactly happens when you fuck with something of mine.”

The color drained from the man's face. Maybe he had just come to realize who he was fucking with.

“She was yours? I’m sorry, I didn't know!” 

“Save it.” He hissed, cocking the gun and aiming it directly at his head. “I’ll make sure that you les fils de putes never see the light of day again.”

It was over in the blink of an eye, with just the sound of a gun being fired, followed by the thumping of a body.

You hadn’t even realized it when he came to you, wrapping his jacket around you as he picked you up, allowing to you bury your face in his neck.

"I've got you," he whispered. "You'll be fine now."

As he turned to exit, Lewis had finally shown up, standing at the entrance with an eyebrow raised at the dead body then you.

“Do i get to ask-”

“No.” Charles answered stonily. voice clearly agitated as he responded to Lewis. “Make sure those creeps get taken care of. I already had the pleasure of taking care of one of them.”

“Duly noted. It was nice seeing you, and you must be busy with… her, so I’ll be off to take care of the others then.” He said, as he signaled to his bodyguards to comb through the area. 

“Thank you.” He said begrudgingly as he lifted you up once again.

You could feel him retracing his steps, motion blurred until you stopped at the entrance once more, in front of his car.

Gently, he set you down and you still clung to him, shaking slightly as you climbed into the seat. 

He followed after you, directing the man in french as he put an arm around you, pulling you somewhat closer.

“Wh.. what happened to Ollie?”

The look of concern turned to a look of slight annoyance, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“Even now you’re thinking of someone else, mon coeur. What am i going to do with you?”

You stumbled over your words, yet you were resolute in what you wanted to say.

“Please don’t punish him, i was the one who left him.”

“Don’t worry, no one is getting punished. But you, however-”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the barrelage of words to hit you, yet nothing did. Instead, one of his hands came up to hold your face, thumb gently stroking your jaw.

“Mon petit coeur, m'écoutes-tu parfois (sweetheart, do you ever listen to me)?”

You opened your eyes, looking at him.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was? That I thought another man took you from me? I warned you what would happen, and yet you still came. See what happened?” His grip on your jaw tightened slightly, tilting your head upwards so you were looking him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You have nothing to apologize for, mon coeur. In fact, it should be me who apologizes." he murmured, his voice soothing compared to his actions.

“But then why…?”

“Je t'aime (I love you). It’s because I love you, I want you. More than anything.”

Charles's lips met yours in a kiss, overpowering the adrenaline in your veins as he titled his head, pushing deeper into the kiss. You could feel his overwhelming warmth as he pulled you closer, body to body in the back of the car.

As you broke it off, the heat rose to your face at the string of saliva connecting you both. You tried to pull away but he only seemed to get closer, eye to eye with you.

"Charles?" you breathed, longing erupting like your heart, beating against the cage of your ribs.

“Listen to me chérie, I should’ve never let you go like that. You’re going to be mine now, that way I can keep you safe, Is that clear?” He murmured against your lips, voice dark yet pleading. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes, lovesick and blinded by adoration.

With a soft sigh, you leaned into him, forehead against his as you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his embrace.

There was no escaping him. You were his as he was yours. You could never escape, now that he had you like this.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: When the god of the Winter needed a messenger, he had chosen you. Yet your elders wanted you dead. But John Price, the god of the Winter, had other plans for his devotee. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Leaving this here, then backing away slowly. If you like, please comment and reblog. Special thanks to @itsagrimm for editing, even though you aren't into the type of writing. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for your beautiful dividers that I use in literally everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, brief mention of suicide, brief mention of hypothetical pregnancy because what is John Price without a breeding kink? Voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, elements of paranoia, and mindreader elements.

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

You had been abandoned. Sent aimlessly into the east by your deceiving elders to find the oh-so-benevolent god of Winter. Your people had discarded you, and perhaps, you had now been forsaken by the Holy One. Under the new winter moon, you had no bearing in these strange woods. You were lost and without hope. Stumbling into a thicket, you paused, catching your breath. Once your village elders cut your binds and removed the blade from your still bleeding throat, you ran. You had three options now: find the Winter God John Price and beg for mercy, return home to your village to die by your elder’s blade, or finally, die by a frozen death.

 

Yanking down the sleeves of your dress, you shivered. Only a fool would think the thin lace would be enough to fight the cold. You hadn’t bothered to ask for a cape when you would be dead come dawn by the blade of your elders or the mercy of winter’s chill. Besides, if the elders thought it could help entice the winter god closer to you, you welcomed the possibility. The god liked fine things- the fragility of ice coating sleeping trees, the nuanced tendrils that composed a snowflake, the finespun embroidery on an altar cloth. Perhaps the gossamer lace of your gown would make you look as alluring as snow?

 

Your village worshiped the god of the East along with his three other seasonal counterparts. In the winter, the altar faced east for John. In the spring, it faced north for Kyle. In the summer, the altar faced west for Johnny, followed by facing south in the Autumn for the one they called Ghost. You traversed the mezzanine of the aged temple as if it was your birthing ground, dedicating yourself to the unknown and to what divine vexed within. 

 

A creature howled in the far distance, three more joining in the call. You wished you had a blade for protection, but the foolish  elders would not allow it after the last messenger sent to find the God of Winter killed himself. He died from fear of the gods with his body left for the animals starved for winter scraps according to the elders. The collapsed skull and bloodied rock meant otherwise. You would become like the warrior- murdered- if you didn’t keep moving.

 

At least you’d be dead if you stopped moving, and wasn’t that something to rejoice over for the elders? They wanted you gone the moment you opened your mouth, defending the holy temples in a burning righteousness against their infidelity. The elders mocked your faith, staging a spectacle to rejoice in their perceived standings with the holy gods, to enshroud their continued greed of village resources, and holy temple offerings while preventing you from stepping foot inside the sacred temple. 

 

All you wanted was to worship your gods in peace and for your village to know that peace. 

 

A branch snapped in the distance. Setting your foot down ever so quietly, you glared into the darkness of the night. In your chest, your lungs froze as if a tiny breath could lead starving beasts toward you, but your heart tapped a wild rhythm against your bones like a war drum urging warriors forward in battle. Between the bones of the trees, a figure raised from the ground. Dirt quaked in its path, fearing the disturbance as flashes of odd whites and black wove into a tall, hulking beast emerging like smoke. The vaporous monster inhaled. It was as if he sucked the forest in with his expanding breath, the conductor of the skeletal structure of the land. The one who assembled appendages of bone like armor and crown, marking his distinct otherness to any creature known before. Opening his eyes, bright gold light flared from its eye sockets, a perpetual fire, locked on burning you alive.

 

You ran. Barreling through the underbrush, thorns cut and tore at your dress, slowing you down. Pushing deeper into the woods, you dared not glimpse back at the monstrous shape. The gods, you prayed, would give one last indulgence by sparing your life. Dodging fallen trees and saplings, you heaved for a breath. Your toe caught on something sending you tumbling forward, down the hill, to be stopped by a mangled stump. There was little to be felt from the roar in your mind and blood careening to endure, to run, to survive.

 

Looking up, the terrifying haint peered down at you with its head tilted to the side, lazily biding his time hunting you. Fleeing, you made way towards the river that supplied the village with water. The monsters couldn’t cross the running water at the bottom of the ravine. Everybody knew that. Your breath created puffs of smoke with each gasp of air, streaming from your lips like a dragon’s purr.

 

Down at the river, you paused, cursing at your luck. The river was frozen over, but how deep the ice went was beyond you. You had to cross, fighting for a chance at life and to find John Price to appeal for assistance proving your claims. Taking a deep breath, you ventured on the ice, straining your ears for cracking and shifting sounds. Freedom sang like a siren from the other side of the waters with the promise of faith delivering you into her hands. On the other side was an assurance of one more day in your beloved temples with the beloved gods, of life, and of being free from the elders.

 

Without the freedom to roam the holy grounds of faith, what would be left for you?

 

You slipped with a screech, flailing until you caught your balance. Your hands trembled as breath fogged the air. Crossing was the only option, regardless of death prowling down to find you. The thought of the being sent shivers down your spine, and you squeezed your eyes shut as if it would banish the evil and push you across the waters.

 

“Stop!” A man bellowed like thunder echoing in the ravine. You jumped, slipping on the ice. With an assured crack, the ice broke, plunging you into the icy waters.

 

You gasped, choking on river water. Kicking to the surface, you were met with a ceiling of ice. You hit the ice with your hand to no prevail until the bubbles from your nose dissipated and a film of darkness descended upon your peripherals. In the gloom, eyes of golden fire shimmered at you, refracted by the ice, illuminated by the flash of lightning. 

It smelled like oak and spices as you inhaled. The bed you laid in was spacious, a soft luxury you sunk greedily into. Moments of time slowly returned to you as you stirred, until a tapestry unfolded, painting what had occurred in the woods to you. How you had survived drowning or hypothermia was beyond you, feeling none of it, now. Cocooned tightly in thick blankets, albeit naked as the day you were born, sleep still called in the comfort of the home. A warm crackle of a fireplace and the deep mutterings of men speaking filled your ears as you blinked. In your nest, you buried further in, savoring the needed heat with a sigh with your eyes peeking over the cover.

 

The two men, seated in the corner, had stopped conversing to stare at you. One was slim but muscular, with dark skin and shining brown eyes. He wore a grin both authentic and sly as if mischief personified, waiting for his time to strike and laugh at your mild misfortune. 

 

The other man was a bear. Thick, burly, legs with sizable thighs spread to consume room; it seemed all he did was call attention to himself. The cocky spread of his legs to the icy blues of his eyes; your neck burned as he smirked, having caught you staring.

 

“Hello, Fawn,” The bear rumbled, intentionally softening his voice and leaning down as if afraid to spook you like the little deer.

 

“Ghost found you,” injected the younger one. “It took him and Soap to pull you from the ice and bring you home. That was pretty stupid; getting on the ice like that. Haven’t people told you not to do that?”

 

Getting on the ice was stupid, but letting yourself get consumed and murdered by a beast was even worse. You had half a mind to tell the younger man your thoughts on the matter, but here you were, naked in a stranger's bed… alive. While grateful, you needed to leave. The task to find John and plead for his assistance in clearing the village of your awful elders still loomed, as did the precarious nature of being nude in a room of two strong men. 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” You mumbled. “I had no choice.”

 

“I know,” The older man hummed before speaking your name like a whisper of wind on your ear. 

 

The God of Winter . Your spine went straight before you bolted upright, clinging the blankets to your chest. These men were not men at all but your four holy gods. There was half a mind to shuck off the blankets and fall to your knees in reverence. You had offered prayers while bathing before; was this any different? As you shifted, apologized, and begged for pardons on the tip of your lips, John shook his head and stood.

 

“Gaz, go let Soap and Ghost know our fawn is all right,” John said, clasping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz promptly left the room, closing the wooden door behind him, not before offering you one final comforting grin.

 

“I am sorry. I had to find you. The elders sent me to the woods to murder me. And… I didn’t know what else to do but to seek your help. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. The elders are murdering anyone who dares question them. Nobody believes me even though I have proof! The village will not survive the winter because of our elder’s theft from them and of the temple and I need your help. I have done nothing wrong except be loyal to you, John,” You rushed out in a single breath. “Please, help me. Help us .”

 

John set his hand on your cheek, running his thumb over your warming cheeks. A violent shiver sprung through your body, encouraging you closer to the god. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his palm, lulled by the smell of spices and the alluringness of being physically held by him. Finally, you had removed the burden of secrecy and responsibility and John took it lightly with his hands soothing the ache from your skin with the glide of his fingers. 

 

“Love, you’re being too harsh. There is no reason to apologize,” He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “The fault lies with your elders. You have done all I have asked of you and more. Do not agonize yourself over the stubbornness of others. It will get you nowhere.”

 

You closed your mouth and held his wrist, keeping him to you. You thought of all your nights spent praying to the god of Winter when sleep evaded you. When you screamed or cried your prayers in agony, begging the divine god of winter to make himself known to you so that your faith was not in vain and your people could be free from the elders. 

 

But what of your people? What choice would they make? The old gods were worshiped only in tradition and the elders had slowly pushed your people further from the gods as the temple began to deteriorate. 

 

You were always dedicated to the divine in odd ways. Observant gifts of John’s favorite flowers and drinks were left on your homemade altar—prayers written on little papers in a box. Spare time spent tending to the aged temple and cleaning it, preparing it for worship. Devotion in wearing John’s favorite color as a ribbon around your wrist, bearing his color like a mark of ownership over you. 

 

It was… your stomach clenched as you remembered bathing in his favorite fragrances, the soap trailing between your breasts, water falling as gracefully as the curves of your skin, for his solstice day. Later that night, deciding to offer John an orgasm on a lust-induced whim. When you came down from your high, you swore you could feel the divine by your knees, looking down at the mess you had made, dribbling into the sheets. The idea of him voyeuring into your bedroom made you leak, reaching a bold hand down to part your lips for him to see your swollen clit.

 

“What you want from us, little Fawn,” John tilted his chin to look you in the eyes as his warm toned voice dipped between your thighs to make them clench. “Comes at a high cost for you.”

 

“And let my people suffer from the elder’s greed? Surely, you understand how harsh winter can be! And to let the gods lay waste when this is proof you still are near has to be blasphemy. I don’t want to die, but I’d rather try dying than be left bystanding in silence, rotting away-”

 

John took your neck in hand and hulled you to your feet. Your words died on your tongue as his nose pressed into your cheek. Chests pressed together, his human form radiated heat and softness protecting layers of muscle and power. You wondered briefly if his divine form would look more bear or beast, unleashing the thrum of calculated energy pulsing inside the god.

 

“Fawn, martyrdom is for suicidal fools. Not even the martyrs ask for their portion, they stumble upon it trying to uphold the will of the gods which threatens the portions and powers that be in your mortal world,” John shook your head ever so slightly, pressing closer until you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. Dark as ice, they pierced into you flickering from your eyes to your mouth, the urgency he held you with inching into territories you were unsure of but eager to explore. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and you shivered at your exposure, pressing your face into his neck as if to hide. “You will stay the night but come dawn, you must return home to live for us.” John instructed, pushing your hair from your neck. Leaning down, he nipped the bottom of your ear playfully, kissing along your neck.

 

You hummed, offering your neck to his lips. It didn’t matter if you had laid with a million other people before or none at all. You yearned for the assured solidity of the gods, and now you had it. They could have your body, the works of your hands, the words of your mouth, the paths of your feet. You only wanted to be near John, safe, nestled into his side, even if for a little while. To be welcomed into the god of winter’s bed for even a night? The idea made your thighs slickened with want, heat pooling in your stomach.

 

Everything in your bones wanted to please him, to let him have his fill of you, to honor him with the best of your skin and body. You’d get on your knees for him. Suck his cock until you are panting, with his cum on your tongue. You wanted to be good . You let out a little whine, a soft vibration in your throat. John chuckled, coming up from your throat to kiss you properly, all while moving you on the bed.

 

He kissed down your throat, gently touching your chest with the hints of friction making you squirm, tangling your fingers in his hair.

 

“I want you to soak my fingers and cock with this pretty cunt tonight, Fawn” John decidedly spoke. You eagerly nodded, humming as his hand squeezed the fat of your stomach. 

 

You opened your thighs as he descended between them, grinning as he knelt before you. You could have laughed at his eagerness if it wasn’t for the gentle, inquiring sweep of his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. A sigh fell from your lips as he played with your cunt, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as your legs found a home on his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, scratching the short hairs there.

    

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy since you showed her to me,” John growled, thumb swirling on your clit just as you had when you played yourself for him. Your knees bent, pushing your pelvis to catch the angle just right . “Offered me use of your body, a delicacy, to use as I please. Perfect little human for me to fuck whenever,” He growled before putting his mouth to work, sucking on your clit.

 

You keened, bucking your cunt into his face. John devoured you whole, feasted on you, your head in the clouds, floating with nothing to tether you but his mouth. The god of winter’s fingers prodded your entrance, slipping in with a slight stretch. His fucking hands, reaching depths you could never achieve on your own, made you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. From below your stomach, John was fully committed, eyes closed, grunting against your cunt.

 

John fought against your legs, drawing out the pulsing waves of pleasure until your ears were ringing, vision white, cresting into a beautiful brainless hum as your body went limp. 

 

“Fuck, John, I can’t,” You whimpered, pushing his forehead back. Your chest heaved, hands grasping for anything you could reach until he slid his hand in yours, anchoring you to him. He moved, and you closed your sticky thighs, clenching at the slick dribbling down. John reverently kissed your collarbone, hands brushing over your scalp, lulling you from the cloudy space.

 

His lips kissed along your neck and chest as his hands wandered along your hips and thighs, rough fingers tickling the sensitive skin of your ass. Your eyes opened, greeted by his gentle gaze as he hovered over you. His mouth had been pinkened by your cunt, hair mused by your thighs and hands. 

 

Grabbing his hand, you kissed his palm before licking the fingers that had been inside of you moments before. Something was intoxicating about the way you tasted, strong and delicious. Taking his fingers in your mouth, you hummed, thinking about how much thicker his cock would feel. John swore, pushing his fingers against your tongue, stilling your control. You moaned, letting your eyes close and legs fall open. Holding his arm, you could feel how your tits were pressed together by your biceps, making you not only a sight but a spectacle .

 

“Want my cock that bad, little fawn?” John teased. Opening your eyes, you nodded, nudging him closer with your foot. Removing his fingers, he drug his hand down your centerline, leaving a cold trail of your spit down your body. He slowly entered you, grunting with his eyes glued to the way you sucked him in.

 

“Fuck, John,” You whimpered, panting at the fullness pressing you open. His thumb rubbed your clit, lulling you back to another orgasm. Spreading your legs, he placed a knee on the bed as he began to thrust, covering his cock in your frothy slick.

 

It was hot and so, so full as he reached parts of you that had you gasping for air and tearing up. There was no pinch, only a subtle burn from the stretch, soothed by his cooing in your ear and thumb working wonders on your clit. Shifting his hips, he fed you more of his cock, making your vision go frayed around the edges. If your brain could leak away, it would slowly leak out with the wetness of your cunt.

 

“Just like that, fawn,” John encouraged, making you clench around him. “My little offering to take as I want, letting me use you like a good girl,” John grunted as you clenched around him, his hands falling to your stomach and hip, selfishly grasping at the plush skin to pull and drag you off his cock with.

 

“I’m,” You whined, clawing at the god’s massive arms, rippling with movement. “Please, John! Feels so good, filled up,” You babbled, trying to run closer and further with each thrust.

 

His other hand laid over the base of your throat, curling possessively around, forcing your eyes to his, forehead to forehead, as he pressed and pressed into your cunt, stretching you wide and filling you perfectly.

 

“Pretty wet cunt, dripping for me,” John’s lips brushed your ear, moaning into it. He reached a hand to gently pinch your nipple, making you gasp. “Rub yourself for me. Let me see you soak my cock.”

 

You slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your clit, spreading your lips wider, feeling fully exposed, unable to help the moan and the chasing buck of your hips, humping the tight heat pooling in your stomach.

 

“Cum, love. Cum for me.”

 

You listened, you always did, a perfect little offering for him to use. You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, body convulsing, to show him what he had made you into. But when your fingers became too sharp, the pleasant hum of blood in your head turning into a sharp ringing, you went limp, thighs covered in slick cum as John took his final thrusts. Ropes filled you as his hand lovingly smoothed over your lower stomach. He rested his forehead on yours, panting as he lazily kissed you, his cock twitching as you warmed him. 

 

“You okay?” John whispered from his place between your breasts as you scratched the back of his head.

 

“Sore,” You hissed as he slipped from you but was quickly scooped into his arms and laid across his chest. “M’tired,” You confessed, closing your eyes with a soft sigh.

 

You would be content to lie on his chest for the rest of time, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, wrapped in the warmth of his broad arms. Everything about you felt small compared to him; the way his hands engulfed yours, the way your calves had laid over his shoulder, the ripple of muscles and fat as he had fucked you. 

 

“I need to clean up,” You mumbled, fingers following the lines of his pectorals. 

 

“In a moment, darling. We’ll both clean up.” John kissed the top of your head, reaching for a glass of water for you to drink from before he took a few sips.

 

The god of Winter leaned down and kissed you so gently, soothing the aches with gentle hands against your thighs. Though, you felt it was more an excuse to touch your thighs more, but you didn’t mind. After cleaning up, you fell asleep swiftly, draped over his chest as his fingers traced dainty traces of snowflakes along your spine, tended to and protected. 

In the morning, you woke in your own bed, dressed in the robes of a high priestess, as someone pounded on your door. As you rose, you felt the phantom aches of the previous night between your thighs. Quickly hiding the robes, you caught the white scars of John’s handprint over your womb, etched like silver ice into your skin.

 

“One second!” You yelled, dressing. Once you were decent, you threw open your door and gawked.

 

“There’s been a war party! They burnt the elder’s homes and the wheat stores! We need help!” The man took you by the arm and pulled you into the fray of dark smoke against the blooming pink winter sky. It was snowing, melting into water that slid down your arm and into the frosted grounds.

[lenle-g]

From Serious Moments by @mariashades

This year, it was just after two in the morning when Virgil rolled out of bed and went looking for Scott. He’d been roused from a restless sleep when, informed by some subconscious awareness or instinct, he’d sensed Scott leaving his room. Padding quietly through the dimly lit house on bare feet, Virgil found the eldest on the mezzanine floor above the lounge, his tall frame curled up and wearing the old university tee shirt and sweatpants he usually slept in. Scott didn’t look up as Virgil approached, his eyes fixed on his watch and scarcely daring to blink as the numbers ticked over, a large open bottle of something dark in his other hand. Not even Virgil crouching beside the chair got a reaction. “Scott?” Virgil asked carefully, already planning how to get the bottle off his eldest brother. This was not a coping mechanism that he wanted to chance becoming a habit. “...I’m officially older than Mom,” was the reply, and Virgil felt his gut twist at the utter heartbreak in the words.

[upinteriors]

Casa Vargem Grande by Juliana Ayako and Zebulun Arquitetura

Casa Vargem Grande deals with topography through the creation of a continuous spatiality that unfolds over the slope of the land.

The house is divided into 5 staggered slabs connected by a continuous and open staircase-corridor that guarantees the maintenance of the view that crosses the land from the front to the back, where there is the condominium's forest reserve. The views vary along the percouse throughout the staggering slabs, unfolding at times towards the base of the valley, at times towards the reserve, and at times towards the peak of the mountains.

The module of the BTC brick and the slope of the terrain determined the size of the slabs and the difference in elevation between them. In this way, the project was measured through rows and blocks instead of centimeters and meters.

The lateral facades are blind and structural in BTC brick - with the exception of a small window - creating an axis that connects the reserve at the back of the house to the valley located in front. These plans guarantee the creation of an interior courtyard which the house faces, closing off the dense context on its sides.

To generate the feeling of a single-story staggered house, a lightweight metal roof rests on the structural BTC walls of the side facades and the round metal pillars of the front and back facades. This continuous roof makes an inflection in the height of the third slab, opening the view towards the top of the valley and creating a mezzanine.

The direct dialogue between the house and the topography and the use of concrete and BTC blocks reflect the weight of the work. The building is placed on the ground, rests on it and ensures that all bedrooms, living room and kitchen have access to the patio and external areas. At the bottom of each slab, the construction touches the ground where the continuous beams-columns meet. Its front, always elevated, guarantees the downward flow of water, avoids major cuts in the land and allows the passage of some small animals that move between the houses.

Design: Juliana Ayako, Zebulun Arquitetura Location: Teresópolis, State of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Year: 2023 Photography: Federico Cairoli

[glowcircuit]

I built a miniature Va11 Hall-A Bar inside of my PC!!

Va11 Hall-A PC Parts & Build list

PC:

CPU : Intel I9 14900k

GPU: Intel Arc A770 16gb

Ram: Corsair Dominator 64gb 5600

Mobo: Maxsun Terminator Z790 D5 wifi

Hard drives M.2: Samsung 990 pro 2tb, Samsung 970 evo plus 1tb, CT 1tb,                                 Adata 500gb

PSU: ROG Thor 850 P2

Cables: Cablemod.com custom shortened and sleeved

Water loop distro : EKWB FLT 120 reservoir + D5 pump

Water loop cpu block: ThermalTake Pacific Mx2 Ultra 

Water loop radiators: Alphacool HPE 20 x 2

Water loop hardware: 15 Alphacool, 3 EKWB, 2 Alphacool soft, 2 granzon    

Water loop tubes: EKWB Acrylic tube 14mm, Alphacool 13/10 soft

Air Cooling : ThermalTake Toughfan 120mm x 3  + Controller

Air Cooling : Noctua 40mm pwm server fan x 2 (non visible)

Additional RGB Control : Coolermaster controller

Case:

Lian Li PC V600, left side mount, released in 2006, I acquired it in 2015 from PC Recycle in sodo Seattle.

I had to track down a new foot, one had been missing since I acquired the case (ebay)

Mods:These are the case mods I did personally

Cut a hole for the cpu mounts in the Motherboard mount plate as this case was designed for older hardware 

Cut two 120mm blowholes and added aluminum covers (Dremel)

Cut Front and rear windows into side panels (Dremel Max)

Moved PSU from vertical placement in the lower right side of the case in front of the CPU  to horizontal placement in the top left in old drive bays. 

The PSU bracket had to be cut to show the OLED on the side. 

Modded the side panel rail slide to accommodate the PSU, I used the original aluminum stand the psu was on, cut in half and epoxied with JB weld. 

Changed and moved Power/ Reset switch to the back of the case, shortened and spliced the cable

I cut and bent my own 14mm acrylic tubes (hobby miter, heat gun). 

Cut and made two way mirror for the front panel

Plastic "truss" is both functional and aesthetic. It came from a Gunpla accessory kit and has two cables passing through it and it acts as the GPU support. I could only get red and had to paint it.

Notice that some logos are missing/ covered, I dislike having a case as an advertisement. The Rog eye on the PSU is mostly covered but iykyk, most of the word "Intel" on the ARC GPU, Two of the Thermaltake logos on the fan edges, the Paint on the Thermaltake Mx2 Ultra and Maxsun terminator heatsink. (I will eventually cover the visible SSD with a heat sink, cover the fan info on the rear and work a cover for the word "dominator"). the one logo explicitly unchanged is the LianLi case badge, if I think of a perfect replacement, maybe then.

Mod I did not do:

I did NOT shorten and sleeve my own cables, I used cable-mod.com. I am not confident in my ability to do this.

BAR:

"Bar Tiny" Re-ment sets from Japan, 17 sets involved. 

 I customized the color of the bar and chairs and shortened one table for the mezzanine. The whole bar, minus barback- is on a removable 7 inch piece of black acrylic for cleaning.

Jill Stingray Nendoroid

Jils Cat, it sleeps on the GPU

Jill Stool: Jill is glued to a cute doll stool to see over the bar

Jill Accessories non-Nendoroid: cellphone, purse, coat (ebay)

Dorothy Haze Nendoroid

will be added on release.

Bar Back:I made this myself

Black acrylic sheet, and frosted acrylic rods.

Doll Light power kit: 8 Led lights, 4 incandescent lights

USB Doll light power strip

Other Bar Accessories:

Overhead Hanging farmhouse light

trash, mop, broom, pan, mop bucket, 

2 blue fuzzy chairs 

Miniature plants

Miniature Microphone

Mini bottle Dom Perignon, an xmas gift from my friend nemo, it's

 on the top shelf 

Problems and changes:

1. ARGB, pretty pretty pain in the ass. 4 pieces of software........

2. The water loop was changed extensively as hardware came in and space limitations were discovered. The biggest change is that I originally planned to have one radiator on the front of the case, the tubes running over Jills head and to light the tubes as lighting for the bar, to do this the fan would have been in the case proper pushing the whole bar to far into the mobo, it didn't work, so the loop was moved to the top of the case and caused me to have one complex bent tube 

 Second, I had planned the loop to use one sideport on the distro, but space limitation moved both ports to the top causing the complex fittings setup in that corner.   

3. The MOBO, sigh. This has been clearly the most challenging choice I made in this build, I really wanted it to work perfectly too, but I rolled those dice because: Aesthetic+function, the board I wanted (https://en.colorful.cn/en/home/product?mid=84&id=400d19bc-5655-49e1-b391-df00b60935ef) was to great a risk for the cost. This was a silver medal. 

I generally dislike the design options I had in the Z790 series of the big board makers (I  HATE big logos), especially the full ATX, there was one M that interested me, I should have picked it . This board has potential, but the BIOS is underdeveloped and compatibility has been problematic, I had to do a tricky outdated style BIOS update right from the box, and have had to reset the cmos a couple times. It skips BIOS on general boot and though stable, it will have to be addressed eventually, it doesn't have a proper sleep because of some issue between uefi & legacy. It may end up replaced, which will require a full build teardown.

the Turbo fan built into the board doesn't seem to function

Alos, the two argb connections on the mobo dont work, or I can't get them to recognize anything, necessitating the Coolermaster controller for the PSU and Distro. it is shoved behind the distro along with a Noctua 40mm

[smithstructure]

Smith Structure| Staircase Solutions Enhancing Accessibility

Smith Structure offers precision engineering & premium materials staircase solutions, focusing on safety, design,& quality to enhance architectural & functional

[hometoursandotherstuff]

An Culu, this 1990 Gothic style castle in Kenmare, Co Kerry, Ireland was put on the market in 2007, for €15m and sold 13 yrs. later “at a price close to the asking figure of €4.5 million.” ($4.89M)

When the original owner bought the 4.5 acre land, he couldn't decide what to build on it, until the planners said, "You've got to build a castle."

Cozy sitting room with a massive fireplace and mezzanines above. The new owner intends to spend a large part of the year at An Culu “where he plans to entertain overseas guests and business associates as well as being able to appreciate some down time in this luxurious haven.”

Look at the living room (the original owner and his family lived here full time until the kids grew up and it was too big).

Love this sun room.

The large kitchen is modern.

The stairs are very grand.

The primary bedroom is suitable for royalty.

But, look at the grotto style pool in the basement rec room.

There's a nice big patio on the water.

Amazing that it took 13 years to sell.

[underdark-dreams]

Hi! I love your Rolan fics so much!! If you’re still accepting ideas, may I request one where Rolan & Tav slow dance together? The two of them just finding their own little corner away from everyone and enjoying a close moment together. Thank you! 😊

Rolan x fem!Tav

Starlight

"Happiness suits you." Sometimes a moment alone is all you need. After the Battle of Baldur's Gate is past and the dust has settled, Rolan and Tav find the steps forward.

Tags: Slow Dance, Fluff, Mutual Pining | Word Count: 3.5k [Read on AO3]

The high society of Baldur's Gate had its own kind of dance, and Rolan found that the steps came quite naturally to him.

He had always been made for nights like these: the main floor of Ramazith’s Tower filled with lords and ladies of the partriar families, a sea of color and chatter and pure power in one room. All of them here at his invitation.

Rolan had scarcely gotten a moment alone the entire evening. He’d expected curiosity about the new Master of the Tower, but the sheer quantity of it took him aback.

For all their influence across Baldur’s Gate and beyond, it had come as a surprise just how little these people knew about Ramazith’s Tower and its various inhabitants. Evidently many wizards were territorial creatures who hoarded their lives and their knowledge far away from prying eyes. His previous master certainly had been—even with his own student. Ramazith’s reputation was even worse somehow.

It was a legacy Rolan had no interest in continuing. Knowledge had its own kind of magic; when shared, it only multiplied. To his mind, it was also a misstep to ignore the influence that came along with the role of archwizard. He had just as much of a role in Baldurian politics as he would have to research and educate in the arcane.

Once the dust settled after the great battle for Baldur’s Gate, Rolan put his plans into action. Tonight was the first step toward change. Gathering the high families, opening up the Tower to those outside the magical arts—it was at least a start.

Yet even Rolan found himself tiring of it all after several hours of introductions and political discussions. He had retreated with wine in hand to watch the fete continue from the upper mezzanine. There was only one person left in the room who he really wished to speak with, and he found it challenging to get the timing right. 

For the umpteenth time this evening, Rolan found himself searching the floor for Tav. Even in this sea of people her figure drew his eyes as if she had him enchanted.

After months of only knowing her dressed for combat, it was unexpectedly charming to see her dressed in finery. It suited her. Her dress was cut in a simple but elegant shape, with a high neckline that flowed all the way down to the hem brushing the tops of her feet. 

The dramatic detail was in the back: a large keyhole opening which displayed a very generous glimpse of skin from her shoulder blades down to the curve of her lower back.

Rolan found himself continuously distracted by that patch of bare flesh. Throughout the evening, occasionally in the middle of conversation with a council member, his eyes had been drawn to Tav from across the room. He felt it every time she turned her back to him, and he wondered whether she had any idea what she was doing.

But she was in even higher demand than himself this evening. Unsurprising to anyone who knew her role in saving their city from the precipice of disaster. So far he’d only managed to exchange a few glances with her from across the room, though each time she had offered him a warm smile.

Rolan’s fingers nervously adjusted his own lapel. He’d changed his dress for the evening as well; his new robes were light, fine silk stitched with gold trim. Fitting attire for his new station in life.

It was an odd sensation to finally be free of the metal apprentice’s mantel that used to rest over his shoulders. He felt lighter, less encumbered—and strangely exposed because of it.

“Itchy, right?” 

Cal appeared at his shoulder, tugging on the collar of his own dress tunic. He must have interpreted Rolan’s fussing as discomfort rather than nerves. A misunderstanding Rolan was content to let him continue in.

“Enjoying yourself?” Rolan asked dryly. From Cal’s squirming, he’d already guessed the answer.

“Hardly,” Cal muttered. He gave up with his shirt and took a long drink from his goblet instead. “I barely know any of these people. Well, there’s Alfie, but she told me off for trying to talk to her.”

Rolan glanced to the small platform along the far wall below. Alfira had been almost unbearably gleeful when he’d asked to hire her musical talents for this evening. But to her credit, Rolan had to admit that she was the picture of professionalism where she stood. The gentle stylings of her lute floated to fill the spacious room around them.

“Of course she did,” Rolan told his brother. “Tonight’s important for her too, you know. Rich people always have children who need music lessons.”

Cal let out a sigh. “I guess. It’s just weird having things change so much. Tav’s still okay, though,” he added.

To Rolan’s annoyance, his brother prodded an elbow into his side. “She looks nice, right?”

“Fine. Quit it—” Rolan shooed the arm away with an irritable hand.

“Have you talked to her yet?”

“Too busy,” Rolan replied. It wasn’t quite a lie. Despite himself, he cast another glance around the faces below. Tav’s was currently absent from the crowd—he hoped she hadn’t left for the night.

“Sure,” Cal replied knowingly from beside him. But he only drained the last of his wine and turned to leave. “Just don’t wait too long, yeah? You might be busy forever.”

Rolan didn’t deign that with a response as the younger man made his way back down to the party. Cal was right, and he found there was an anxious buzzing between his ears because of it. With Tav currently nowhere to be found, Rolan decided it may be best to gather his head while he could. 

Quietly enough to not attract attention, he slipped up the stairs and out onto the wide circular balcony. A welcome breeze ruffled through his clothing as he stepped out into the starry evening. Passing through the vaulted doorway was like entering a connected but distinct new realm; the sea of voices behind him faded to a soft hum. Only Alfira’s music carried clearly outdoors and into the night. 

Rolan leaned his free hand on the cool stone railing. The peaceful air soothed his mind—he hadn’t realized that a headache had been steadily building behind his skull from hours in a room full of echoing voices. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for the invite tonight.”

Just as he’d relaxed, Tav’s voice made Rolan start. He finally caught sight of her leaning against a stone pillar to his right—her dark gown must have camouflaged her. Rolan hoped the low light had made his fluster just as unnoticeable. 

Gathering himself, he lifted his wine in her direction. “I’d be remiss to leave out the hero of Baldur’s Gate from such an event.”

Tav pulled a face at the name, but she approached with her own goblet in hand to join him at the railing. “Don’t you start,” she warned playfully. “I got enough of that inside. Had to come out here for a rest from it.”

“Not much I can do to help on that score, I’m afraid. A lot of people will be grateful to you for a long time.” Rolan watched as she settled beside him, then turned with her to look down at the cityscape below. 

From this height, the lamp flames formed strings of luminous pearls through the streets and alleys of the city. A flock of distant white sails waved in the harbor; trade ships waiting like slumbering giants for the return of first light.

“Nice view,” Tav remarked in approval.

Rolan glanced sideways at her face. For one insane moment, he considered parrying that into a compliment on her appearance. She certainly deserved one tonight. But he maintained his grip on sanity, and resisted.

“So—” Tav tilted her head to meet his eye. “How’s life in the Upper City?”

Rolan knew Tav’s expressions well enough by now to suspect she was teasing a bit. “Busy,” he answered truthfully. “So much more than I expected.”

“Everyone’s certainly curious about you,” she agreed. “If there’s one thing lords and ladies can’t resist, it’s a new face in society. This was genius, by the way—” Tav gestured her wine glass back at the gathering inside.

“Is it?” Rolan was skeptical. “It seems like the obvious move to me.” 

Tav grinned at him. “That’s what makes it so genius.”

The conversation lulled for a moment as they stood looking out over the quiet city. Rolan found that his initial nerves at being alone with her like this were melting away. Speaking with Tav was comfortable; even silence with her was comfortable somehow. Rolan was the first to break it.

“What about you? What will you do now?”

She sighed down at the view below. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’d like to stay in Baldur’s Gate if I can. Too many friends here to think about leaving.”

During the pause that followed, Rolan wondered if she counted him among them. He found it was very important to him that she did. Before he could decide whether to ask, Tav continued.

“I did get a few promising job offers tonight, if you can believe it. Including one from Lord Jannath to join his private council. Or maybe that was a euphemism,” she added.

“He’s a cad,” Rolan said immediately.

“Oh, I’m well aware of Raylen Jannath’s reputation. And I’m sure it’s entirely deserved.” Tav looked over at him with a glint in her eye. “Don’t worry. I’m no wide-eyed babe.”

“No, you’re not,” Rolan agreed. His jaw clenched with annoyance nevertheless. “But you care about doing good. Some people will always try to take advantage of that.”

“I’ll just refer them to my friend the powerful archwizard, shall I?”

Rolan exhaled a sharp breath of laughter and tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at her choice of words.

“You’re always welcome in this tower,” he told her. “If nothing else, I hope you know that.”

Tav regarded him for a moment. The hand holding her goblet swirled the liquid inside in a thoughtful motion. “You’ve changed a lot, you know.”

He was curious what made her say such a thing. “Have I?”

“Sure you have.” Tav’s eyes still moved pensively over his face. “Back when we first met, you didn’t seem…” She searched for the word. “Well. Interested in most of the others from Elturel. And now look at the community you’ve built. Alfira tonight, helping Dannis and Bex get their teashop funded. Even Dammon says you gave him an open contract for any metalwork anywhere in the whole Tower.” 

“You’ve been talking with Lia too much.” Rolan heard the defensiveness in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. Something about the way Tav was looking at him made his face warm.

“I’m just saying it’s nice,” she finished with a gentle smile. “I always thought you had a bigger heart than you let on.”

“Yes, yes,” Rolan drawled as he raised his goblet. Tav gave thought to his heart—that revelation required wine.

“Remember that night at the Grove?”

Rolan looked at her over the edge of his cup. “That party at your camp, you mean?”

So casual, so unpracticed—as if he didn’t think of that night often.

“Alfira played this song,” she continued.

Rolan had to pause for a moment to focus on the melody floating out to where they stood. When his ear caught the tune, he shifted on his feet. “Ah.”

He knew where she was going with this, but Tav still went on. “Danis and Bex started pairing people up, and I’d already had far too much wine…so I went on and asked you for a dance. Remember?”

“Yes.” Rolan felt a sudden urge to hang his head. 

Tav’s eyes were shining with amusement. She gestured her glass toward him in an expectant motion, as if giving him his cue. Rolan let out a very reluctant sigh.

“And I told you I wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in such an uncivilized place,” he finished.

“I believe the term you used was ‘common,’” she chuckled. “You always did have a way with words.” But then she glanced down to the drink between her hands. “Actually…it was a bit disappointing at the time.”

Rolan’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Tav looked back up at him as though he’d grown another pair of horns. “Because I wanted to dance with you, Rolan. Why else?” She shook her head as she turned back to the view. “Wizards, I swear…not everything is a riddle.”

Rolan considered her words, considered Tav where she stood beside him. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were reaching for the wine glass in her near hand. She allowed him to pluck it carefully from her grip; her face was a mask of puzzlement as she watched him set their drinks aside on the flat of the stone railing.

Rolan turned back to her. “Let me make it up to you, then.” He extended a hand toward her palm-up.

Tav cocked her head at him. The corners of her mouth twitched as if she thought this might be some kind of joke. For a moment Rolan felt every bit the fool, standing here with his empty hand outstretched. 

Then her fingers raised to brush across his. “Deal.”

He almost certainly had this backwards—weren’t the hands supposed to be the other way around? But there was no time to think about that now. 

Tav took a step closer, her long skirt swinging against his legs. She clasped Rolan’s forearm where it hung at his side, guided it around behind her waist, and then laid her other hand against his shoulder.

The cutout in the back of her dress resulted in Rolan’s skin meeting hers a second time. His mind had somehow neglected to prepare for that; for a few seconds it took all of his concentration to keep his movements smooth and controlled.

Tav began swaying in time with the distant music, just a gentle step side to side and back again. Rolan followed her lead. 

“Is this right?” Tav asked. With her face upturned to him under starlight, she looked somehow younger than her years and experience.

“I don’t know,” Rolan admitted. His head was too full of other things—the softness of Tav’s hand in his, the disorienting curve of her back under his palm, not to mention trying like hells not to step on her. “I’ve honestly never done this before.” 

“Oh, come on.” Tav’s expression relaxed again as they swayed back and forth together. “No sweethearts back in Elturel? I find that hard to believe.”

When was the last time you touched someone like this? Unwelcome, embarrassing, the thought nevertheless sprang to Rolan’s mind. It was certainly longer ago than he cared to admit. Then again, maybe he’d never touched someone quite like this.

“No one like you,” he decided.

At that Tav only chewed the inside of her lip and gave a thoughtful hum. Whether she sensed his discomfort or whether he’d embarrassed her himself, she didn’t ask for details. He was relieved as the subject drifted away, replaced by the distant lute song and the soft rustle of her skirt as they moved. 

After another quiet moment, he felt compelled to speak up again. “You were right before, you know. I have changed.”

“Oh?” Tav looked up at him with curiosity. But she waited patiently for him to continue. Rolan was grateful for it; finding the right words took some thought.

“I suppose I've learned that pride and arrogance aren’t the same thing. Lorroakan taught me to see the difference. As did you,” he added. He swallowed against the discomfort of vulnerability. “I was so damn arrogant then…but I wasn't proud of myself. Not really. You helped me find how to be.”

Tav’s eyes moved back and forth between his as she listened. “Then I’m glad for it. You have a lot to be proud of, Rolan.” 

An odd mixture of feelings rose in his throat; he felt humbled and pleased with himself all at once. It was impossible to put into words. Rolan only bowed his head slightly to her, and the space between them lapsed into a comfortable silence once more.

After a while, the dance relaxed into something more casual. Alfira’s lute had taken up a different tune back in the main hall. Their steps no longer kept time with the music now, drifting along with each other in a new rhythm instead. Her hand had migrated from the side of his shoulder to let her wrist hang limp by his collar. 

As they swayed together in silence, Rolan felt her fingers carding absently through the ends of his hair.

When he caught her eye, Tav’s hand stilled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he told her. “It’s not unpleasant.”

For some reason that made Tav laugh. “There you go again. ‘Not unpleasant.’ Can’t you just say something’s pleasant and have done with it?”

Though their stance was still a bit awkward, something about having her in his arms made Rolan bold. He looked straight into her face. “Then allow me to try again. You look very beautiful tonight.”

Tav’s lips parted in surprise for a moment. Then she glanced away to the side, and Rolan saw a flush of color rise to her cheek.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “So do you. Handsome, that is,” she added in a rush. “Happiness suits you.”

She had a knack for saying the most perceptive things. Right now, finding himself abruptly launched to the peak of his life’s dream, with the people he cared for safe and provided for, Rolan supposed that he was happy. All the more for the person holding his hand.

“Are you happy, Tav?”

She turned back to him slowly. As she did, her fingers happened to brush against his neck again, sending a shiver up Rolan’s spine that had nothing to do with the evening breeze around them. 

“I am,” she murmured. “Right now…very.”

For the first time tonight, Rolan became aware of just how near her face was. It was tilted slightly up to meet his, and the angle happened to leave a clear path to her mouth. It would take only the smallest movement to close the distance.

And without thinking—just for once in his life—he did. 

As he tilted his head toward her, Rolan felt Tav’s hand curl behind his neck to pull him gently forward. Their lips brushed together soft as a whisper, but the sensation ran through him clear as the ring of a bell. His fingers splayed against the warmth of her lower back, pressing her figure in closer against his own— 

“Rolan, we’ve been looking ev—”

The two of them broke apart as if jolted by electricity. Tav wheeled away, face entirely hidden and one hand clasped up to her mouth. Rolan rounded on the doorway.

“What?” He blurted out.

Cal stood there frozen in place, mouth agape, his eyes flicking back and forth between Rolan and Tav. The air between the three of them was filled with enough raw awkwardness as to make Rolan’s skin crawl.

“Nevermind,” Cal said hoarsely. “It’s—they—nevermind.”

He swiftly turned on his heel and retreated without another word, leaving the two of them standing alone again on their balcony.

But the comfortable atmosphere was gone. Rolan had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He squeezed eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing a guttural sound to rise straight from the depths of his chest.

“We’ve been alone out here for half an hour—” A few steps away, Tav’s voice was choked with laughter behind her hand. “And the second we even try to—”

Rolan worked his eyes open to glance at her. Her shoulders were shaking with amusement, causing the end of her statement to dissolve helplessly.

“This isn’t funny,” he told her weakly, even as she turned back to him and wiped tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.

“No,” she said, biting her lip against a fresh burst of laughter. “It’s absolutely hilarious.”

Rolan passed a hand over his face with a groan. “Once, just once, I wanted things to go right with us.”

Something in the phrase quieted Tav’s laughter. Rolan met her eye then, sure she must see how mortified he was—but found a look of delight spreading across her features.

“Us?” She raised her eyebrows at him with a smile.

Rolan could only let out a defeated sigh. “Do I have to say it?”

Tav tried to look like she was seriously considering things, but she couldn’t quite fight back her smile all the way. “Not tonight,” she allowed. “I think you’ve suffered enough.”

“Thank you,” was all Rolan could say. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs from the most confusing swirl of feelings.

They looked at each other for another long moment, communicating a dozen different things without a word.

“Well…” Tav moved forward once more to loop her arm through his. Close beside him, the starlight shone in her eyes. “Shall we go in then, Rolan?”

[charliesarchivee]

SPOILERS FOR CABARET 2024 I LITERALLY AM DESCRIBING THE ENTIRE SHOW

this is my initial rundown of cabaret scene by scene I just needed to get this off my chest then I can be normal again and have normal thoughts and be a cats fan on main

Willkommen: A celebration!!! Eddie redmayne is a delight on stage and Gayle rankin walking through the mezzanine is so cool

Train: the emcee freezes in a tableau of playing with a toy train on the rotating stage which is delightful. Also, I saw the understudy for Clifford Bradshaw (he was AMAZING.) and his hat fell off of his suitcase and kept rotating around and I think at one point somebody picked it up bcos it disappeared!

So what: Bebe Neuwirth is a legend. A legend. That is all. Also Frauline Kost was HILARIOUS

telephone song: yes I know it’s not REALLY the telephone song but emcee hanging off a pillar (there were four pillars around the round stage) and reaching for Cliff as the whole cast echoes (and I mean it they had echoes on their mics) WELCOME TO BERLIN… FAMOUS NOVELIST… sent chills down my spine and to my toes like I think that gave me more chills than Alan cumming standing on top of the set with his head up and his chest out as if he was possessed

Don’t tell Mama: at one point she flopped on her back and kicked her feet up and went WAA WAA I WANT MY MAMAAA and I wept this was so funny and some lucky gal in the front row got her stage cigarette that she threw into the audience. Also when she said the convent part she was like “yea i know right” and the France part she went “haugh haugh haugh” like French laughter

cliff and Sally telephone: cliff was like “and somejwere men are laughing and somewhere childrenshoutbutthereisnojoyinmudvillemightycaseyhasstruckout” which is SO canon and was SO funny. And Sally’s face dropping as she deadpans “oh you’re American.” elicited like lots of laugjter

mein herr: SLOW AND SCARY MEIN HERR SAVE ME SLOW AND SCARY MEIN HERR PLZZZ

outside the klub: Sally just undresses right in front of him which was funny. At my performance there was a laundry hamper behind her and she threw her don’t tell mama dress out behind her and it did not land in the basket which, planned or not, made everyone laugh. Also, when Bobby kissed cliff, someone in the opposite mezz screamed “YEAAAA!!” Which like truth

Perfectly marvelous: Sally came in with this GIANT pink floral suitcase which she pulls articles of clothing out to put on cliff which was rly funny and fresh. Also- WERE HER PRAIRIE OYSTERS REAL?? Her recacrion seemed so genuine omfg.. also she buried herself under his coat for “nearly invisible perfectly marvelous girl” which was so cute and yes canon. Also I noticed she hugs his knees a lot in this show so cute

Two ladies: YES!! and they invited everybody to jump out of Sally’s big suitcase and just love!! It was so good!! During the dance break everyone was rotating around just getting it up and Herman (there’s nothing funny about Herman) was just on stage with a deadpan look and a mop, going back and forth to the beat, literally going under people’s legs, etc. one of my fav moments that I noticed cos I was just mesmerized by his mop was that someone came around jacking off to a book and then they held out their hand to Herman and he just wiped it with the mop disgustedly. SO FUNNY. Also Eddie redmaynes tights had little eyes on them so even wjen his pants r pulled down you know he’s always watching eek. Also now would be a good time to mention that the people sitting at the tables near the stage had little tea lights that would turn on during the Kit Kat limbo stuff (like two ladies and if you could see her) and they would turn off if we were in the apartment or the street or whatnot. A lovely little touch that my dad noticed! Also also when he credits the Kit Kat girls he says “rose lulu frenchie texas fritzie and My Helga!!” And he seems to really take a liking to Helga which is so canon and yes

It couldn’t please me more: she has this little headband on that I love. And also, I was gauging how many people would be shocked after If You Could See Her in this number. My hypothesis was if many people were pleasantly surprised/laughed at the pineapple reveal, then many people would have the bomb dropped on them during if you could see her. So I was paying attention! Anyway at the end he gave her the bag to put the pineapple back in and I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING but he slowly licked his two fingers, opened the bag, and slowly placed the pineapple inside very smoothly. Then they went their separate ways but on the orchestta button they turned around, smiled at each other, and she reached out her hand and he gleefully ran and took it and they exited together. SO cute. I love this staging. It is SO fresh after watching so many sam mendes recreations (not to say those are bad I love those too!)

Tomorrow belongs to me: when Eddie redmayne came out and started singing my first thought was “this can’t be right!!” I had only been accustomed to emcees sitting over a record player, or writers in the klub bursting out in song. I’ve only seen one production of cabaret have the emcee sing tbtm, and even then they had literal strings attached to them being pulled by uniformed men. So this was completely different for me! And also the arrangement of the song was beautiful if the song wasn’t an in universe Nazi song I would suggest it in choir it was really good sonically! And the mic echoes ATE. And SPOILER the cast had little plastic figures up to my thigh of little blonde boys that they placed in a perfect circle around the emcee (who was on a raised platform) and they were rotating around as the emcee looked around at everybody like “yeah look at what happens now..” and he TAKES OFF HIS RED WIG and literal GOOSEBUMPS UNDER MY SILVER TIGHTS.

Cliff and Sally apartment: they are so intimate makes me happy! Also the delivery of “a horrid little German infant with a mustache ordering us around” was superb and got audience laughter

maybe this time: literallt in her head voice because she’s UP IN HER HEAD like YES SLOW AND INTIMATE MAYBE THIS TIME SAVE ME SLOW AND INTIMATE MAYBE THIS TIME PLZ

Money: I have been predisposed to the money choreo being about prostitution, but this felt way different to me. I think in this song (bear with me) the emcee IS money. He’s dressed very bedazzled, rhinestones on his coat, sparkly long nails, but also scary, with a helmet and stark makeup, because money can be scary! Also, all of the dancers, dressed in uniform rags, were constantly following the emcee around and reaching for him, and he would often lightly brush or peck them, which makes me think thag he represents money in that song specifically! I asked my dad about it on the way home and he said that money is just another reason people have to bury their head in the sand when important shifts are happening in their world. I agreed.

married: at one point in the sneaking around scene, Herr Shultz comes out wearing a floral cardigan and runs back going “oh this isn’t mine! This isn’t mine!” And frauline kost (and the ajdience) had a laugh. Also this song was so sweet and tender. Great job everyone!

engagement party: SCORE THING: the underscoring switch from the beginning of maybe this time to if you could see her as the party comes up was CHILLING. there was no scene in between married and the engagement party, so frauline Schneider had an impressive on stage quick change into a dress! Also, Herr Schultz getting tipsy on schnapps was hilarious. I had another hypothesis too here which was If a lot of people gasp at Herr Ludwig’s reveal, then a lot of people will have a bomb dropped on them at the end of If You Could See Her. And in fact, a lot of people did gasp! I literally felt a chill just descend on everybody as the weight of this sank in.

tomorrow belongs to me (reprise): SCARY. The emcee comes up at the end on a small raised platform in his money outfit (here I think he represents power) and he has a baton and he’s conducting everybody!!! Also he conducted correctly in 3/4 I was so warmed to notice that he wasn’t just flailing about like he did that right thank you Eddie redmayne for doing it right

—

Entracte: I need to make a seperate post about the prologue and entracte performances. Oh my lord. Words cannot describe. Just chills.

kick line: YES. I love any production that adds the German counting and I loved how they transitioned into the march in this one! Like they started by (in a ripple may I add) reaching out all inviting and then dramatically pivoting around to reach all inviting to the other side and then it slowly turned into a salute and a goose step!! And then the emcee comes out the center with a CLOWN COSTUME AND A COMIC ORANGE GUN with a little swastika flag in it and then he hands it to the last person on line who marches away with it. V scary. Props.

married reprise: there is a heartbreaking moment where Herr Schultz asks “how much time do we”- and then he breaks off and cries. Oh my gosh. Also the emcee is doing very slow magic tricks in the corner like producing an orange. And producing a glass. And then he stands up and shows the audience he’s putting the glass in a napkin like he’s about to release a dove and at first I’m thinking “oh instead of a dove he’s gonna throw a brick right?” But NO. He excitedly puts the glass down.. and at the very last minute HE REARS BACK AND STAMPS ON IT (like at Jewish weddings!) AND THE STAGE GOES DARK. Theres screaminf and when the lights come back up, the entire stage is covered in little triangles of white paper like broken glass. Those remain for the rest of the show. The emcee then goes to the middle of the stage, looks Herr Schultz in the eyes, and drops the glass and towel down this seemingly bottomless pit and then Herr Schultz gets really scared and runs away and then the emcee closes it up with a wave of his hand. I think in that moment Herr Schultz was face to face with the gravity of his situation.

if you could see her: chilling because the gorilla isn’t even a gorilla in a dress. It’s practically a real animal. It walks on all fours the whole number and sits and like picks at its fur or whatever gorillas do. And the emcee is tempting it with a banana the whole time. Now i seriously prepared myself for the last line here I was ready for very hesitant applause and maybe even gasps but NO Eddie redmayne delivered it like a punchline (not his fault the Nazis are getting more and more powerful so this would be a joke) SO a couple people around me LAUGHED before realizing snd they like cleared their throats. Also they used the rotating stage in this one and when it turned on he said “oh we’re moving my little one!” Which was a nice touch but is also this song so

Cliff and Sally apartment 2: cliff gets like visibly upset when Sally wants to go back to the klub he’s like leaning on furniture which is a nice touch! Also after what would you do when he said “you’re going a lot further than the Kit Kat klub you’re going home. My home. America,” somebody in the audience went “YES!”

what would you do: LEGEND. Bebe Neuwirth was phenomenal. The platform rose her up too it was amazing. What would you do hits something in me that I didn’t know was there.

I don’t care much: everybody knows this is my favorite song to ever come out of cabaret. I LOVE this song and it’s just dear to me. When Eddie redmayne came on stage in a suit and he was NEWLY BLONDE I cried I was like no way. And when he went WOORDS SOUND FALSE he frantically tied to get the pieces of glass I was just in shambles. And then he GRABBED SALLY BY HER WRISTS and practically spat the last “I don’t care” in her face and then SUFFOCATED HER IN A HUG and I feel like in that moment he was still a reflection of a changing Berlin, beating on people like Sally. I have a whole analysis of this

Outside the klub 2: the emcee is leaning on a pole and Sally starts to walk toward him to enter tne klub and then cliff walks in and is like “DONT GO NEAR HIM SALLY!!” And I don’t think the emcee is the emcee in that moment tbh I think he’s a pimp but anyway. When cliff gets beaten by Nazis Sally is sitting deadpan on the end of the stage with her back to everything. She doesn’t even flinch. She physically turns her back on everything

cabaret: no words in any language can describe how remarkable this was. That is all. Also when the emcee introduces her he comes up and poses and nobody clapped cos this was kind of a dark moment and he was like “…thank you..thank you..” all small and shaky and I think that nearly killed me it really did

Cliff and Sally apartment 3: when herr Schultz was like “I’m leaving” someone said “NO!” Which liek truth. This scene was just heartbreaking. Cliff like raised his hand to hit her and literally broke down and I BROKE DOWN JUST WEEPING ALL OVER MY SEAT

finale: YIKES. When cliff started singing wilkommen I also wanted to scream “NO!!” As well but I did not. The emcee yelled where are your troubles now? Forgotten? Right at cliff which scared me. And he had a baton and was conducting everybody again! Also also the entire cast mirrored the first ever tomorrow belongs to me and stood in a perfect circle all dressed in brown and at the drumroll hit the lights darkened immediately on the emcee but stayed dim on the rotating circle like saying “THIS IS YOU!!” Also the bows didn’t have music and were very solemn.

ok danke merci thanks!

[a-forbidden-detective]

The further the manga goes, the more I have questions for Toto. Why is he so rich??? Like, I don't believe these apartments are cheap, especially considering how few there are and the owner's mansion is nearby. Moreover, the cookies that Toto bought for his Grandma were not cheap either. They are quite expensive, and only +/- reach people can buy them on a regular basis. Toto also bought A LOT OF souvenirs when he visited Kawasemi. So Toto, you are actually a rich??!

Heya!

During the first chapter, Toto admitted that his parents were too busy that they didn’t have any time for him, the reason his grandmother stepped up to raise him.

Of course it is not an indication that they are well-to-do, they might be working full time as office workers or factory employees that taking care of a child wasn’t a part of the plan. But I’m looking at his apartment. It suggests that he is living in a two-floor flat.

The usual cheap apartments (apāto) in Japan only have one floors. He has a second floor that goes to another room. I guess, his bedroom.

A typical apāto uses “an elevated mezzanine or loft as sleeping space.” Toto clearly has a second floor. So his pad is better than the others.

So yes, Toto, who can go abroad without qualms accompanying Ron, I cannot imagine that he’s without a lot of money that gives him the ability to take a break when needed. A member of the old rich.

He might be part of the Isshiki clan, whose ancestors were samurai and daimyo during the Sengoku Period. We will never know. Everything is possible.

[superficialdomina]

Missed connection Part 3

Summary: A drink, some smut, and a goodbye.

Part 1

Part 2

Warnings: RPF. 18+; smut. PIV, unprotected. Ethical-ish non-monogamy/infidelity. Mentions of alcohol. Language.

AN: Thank you all for waiting. It's so good to be writing again! This is the genuine final chapter. Promise.

As for part 2, this story is happening in a fictional AU where Tom is single, available and a little bit lonely - not his actual, and obviously joyful and satisfying, real life.

Word count: 5.1k (sorry...)

“Whoa.” The word fell from your mouth with a slow exhale, as you took in the beautiful, ancient building in front of you. The Palazzo Intimo. The Intimate Palace.

You glanced nervously down at the elegant, spidery writing on your own business card; needlessly, since you’d memorised the words casually scrawled there. Palazzo Intimo. 10pm.

*****

“I hope we’re not done,” you had murmured, fingertips seeking to pull him close. But even as he had leant in to kiss you softly, you’d felt his body pull away. Confused, you’d lifted your eyes to his face, where sweet concern was etched across a sad smile. …Wh…What?

He had bitten his lower lip, which still glistened with your body’s wetness. “I… I can’t stay, I’m afraid.” You had felt the glow of orgasm begin to fade like the heat of his body where he had moved away. “I’m sorry.”

Wait, what?

“I am… supposed to be somewhere,” he’d continued over your silent perplexion. “I’m already quite late -” so what’s another twenty minutes!? “- And I’d hate to - to rush away... Afterwards.”

Oh.

He had stood then, and, a sense of humiliation rising, you’d tried to straighten your tousled clothing to cover your naked lower half. But he’d laughed affectionately, drawn the loose edge of the bedcovers over you, and picked up the pen on your nightstand. A pile of your business cards, carelessly strewn after the final conference session, lay scattered there; he took one, and wrote in the small space above your name.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” He’d asked as he scribbled.

“I-" Tomorrow? "Yes,” you’d managed, breath coming a little fast, still not sure what was happening.

“Meet me,” he’d said, pinning the card back on the nightstand under your pen. His gaze held yours. “Please.”

You wanted to protest; this line was too fine for your clumsy feet. But he had smiled down at you - dazzlingly, beautifully, reassuringly. And so you’d nodded, and he’d kissed you again, and delicately brushed your face with his long, fine fingers. “Tomorrow, then,” he’d murmured.

You had watched him gracefully descend the mezzanine stairs to your kitchen. Watched him retrieve his discarded shirt from your floor, and his still-damp hoodie from the back of your chair. Turning the door handle, he'd looked back up to you, lying still on your barely-mussed sheets, and given you the tiniest wink. Then he was gone, and you were alone in the echoing silence, your skin still tingling from his touch.

He hadn't even taken his shoes off.

*****

Of course, you’d Googled the Palazzo Intimo immediately. "Padua's most romantic hotel". “Dignified, spacious and charming.” “Allegorical frescoes worthy of the Sistine chapel.” A grand, elegant building worthy of a grand, elegant man. A long way, metaphorically, from a tiny apartment above a bustling café.

And yet not, apparently, a long way in reality. The walk across the Old Town had been surprisingly short; you were a few minutes early. Which was fortunate, as your feet seemed to need a moment before they could carry you through the ornate front doors.

Now what? You berated yourself sternly. What’s the rest of your plan? Just walk up to the front desk and ask for him?

The night city was abuzz with energy and noise. Bright street lights illuminated the aged cobblestones, where throngs of pedestrians and bicycles maneuvered by one another in polite mayhem. Music spilling from several open-air restaurants mingled with chatter in a tuneless, though not-unpleasant, mess. The confusion made it hard to think.

It was one thing to invite him to your apartment on a whim, or to silently accept the pleasure he offered in the surreal heat of the moment. But this - arranging to meet him at his hotel room, knowing fully what you intended to do there. This was… deliberate.

Why was it bothering you so much? I am not breaking the rules! you repeated to yourself for the hundredth time.

But you remembered his vulnerability as he’d read you an obscure Ursula Le Guinn passage in a still, quiet train carriage; remembered the longing you’d felt after he’d left your apartment, which was heavier than just residual arousal. You caught sight of your reflection in one of the Palazzo’s large, dark windows, remembering how long you'd spent getting ready to come here. Am I?

The ancient bells of San Antonio’s church began to peel across the city. 10pm. Now or never. You stepped across the precipice into the dark and quiet of the Palazzo.

As you did so, you realised that you still didn’t have an answer to your earlier quandary. What DO I do next? He hadn’t given you a room number, and even if he had, you doubted you could simply walk up to his door. Surely you couldn't just ask at reception? They would laugh you out of the building.

Or maybe they wouldn't, a venomous voice whispered in your mind. Maybe he'd had "visitors" every night he'd been here.

Once again, you spotted him before he saw you, although this time you wondered if he had orchestrated it thus. His long, lean frame leant casually against the far wall, hands in pockets, face shadowed in the romantically low light. You stared at him, warmth humming between your thighs, lips parted shamelessly.

He was - there was no other way to describe it - dressed up. His well-tailored suit pants fit tight to his sculpted lower body. One foot, clad in a dark leather dress shoe, rested lightly against the wall; even at this distance, the solid outline of the quadriceps of his supporting leg was clearly visible through the fabric. His crisp, white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the deep dip of his jugular notch, with sleeves oh-so-casually rolled up to his elbows revealing long, sinewy forearms. Perfectly tousled curls tumbled gracefully across his forehead, and - oh Gods, it was kryptonite - grey reading glasses elegantly rested on his long, straight nose, as he gazed at the floor, lost in thought.

He was utterly, unbearably, beautiful.

Your heart raced as feelings of insecurity blossomed within you. The Palazzo seemed anything but intimate; the high ceiling and dark lighting felt like a cave, and you were small and insignificant in its ancient grandeur. You felt decidedly underdressed in your simple cotton dress and flat sandals. His shoes probably cost more than my entire outfit, that toxic voice whispered again. He hasn't seen me yet. I could still leave...

Maybe he heard your thudding heartbeat, or the snaking voice in your mind. Maybe he had simply heard the peeling of the bells across the city - whatever the cause, he raised his eyes, catching you on the verge of fleeing. He straightened, removing his hands from his pockets, and gracefully strode towards you.

"Hello," he smiled softly as he reached you. "I'm so glad you've come."

His affect was as different to the last time you had seen him as his outfit; decorous, controlled, composed, like a persona he'd put on as he'd buttoned his shirt. You searched his face for a hint of the wildly amorous man who had placed his hands on your hips in your small kitchen. He placed a gentlemanly hand on your upper arm, and leaned in to chastely kiss your cheek. As though his fingers had never been inside me, you thought.

You swallowed, searching for your voice. "Hi, Tom," you stammered, feeling your skin rise in goosebumps at his touch. His smile was easy, but genuine; the peek of his teeth below his top lip made your fizzing nerves begin to fade, replaced by a different low-belly effervescence. He reflexively pushed his glasses up his nose, and your breath caught.

Deliberate.

"Will you join me for a drink?" His hand still on your arm, he indicated a low archway to your left, beyond which you saw a carpeted staircase. You hesitated, confused. A drink? Aren't we here to... to...

"I - sure," you faltered again. He stepped back, his beautiful forearm gesturing you ahead, and you climbed the narrow stairs to a classic Paduan balcony overlooking the thronging street. A small table and chairs sat nestled between flower boxes and wooden shutters. The sounds of music and chatter rose to reach you, but you noted that you were out of the eyeline of anyone in the street itself. Unexpectedly secluded, you thought, with a touch of sarcasm. How romantic.

Angst found you again. This was not what you had anticipated. A quiet knock on a hotel door, whisked into his room before you could be seen; a quick fuck in expensive bed sheets and a hasty, anonymous exit. That was what this was meant to be - wasn't it? You weren't sure exactly what you had expected, you admitted to yourself, but it wasn't this. It wasn't a date.

Eying the flimsy balustrade, you considered how far it was to the cobblestones below, still wondering maniacally if you should attempt an escape.

"Il tuo solito, signore?" A stranger's voice in the open doorway you made you jump. It was a young man dressed all in black, not a hair out of place. Tom was clearly expecting him.

"Si, per favore, Marco," he said, familiarly. The young man turned to you expectantly.

"Ah - aperol spritz, per favore," you added, guessing at his unspoken question and grateful to the staff at your café for their daily language lessons. The waiter nodded politely, and vanished down the dark staircase, leaving the two of you alone. Tom gestured to the chair closest to you, and you nervously perched on the edge of it.

In contrast to your fluttering fears, Tom seemed to radiate confidence. He sat back deep in the wrought iron chair, almost slouching, elbows resting comfortably on its arms, his thighs splayed wide. His face displayed a knowing smile that was just-too-polite to be a smirk, eyes glinting. Player, you thought derisively; 'a perpetual escapee from emotional entanglement', you had once heard him describe himself. And yet, his comfort made you comfortable; in his easy presence, you felt your self relaxing. Maybe he was a player - but tonight he was playing you, and that was oddly exciting.

He was watching you with that familiar, intense gaze. "You look beautiful," he murmured, and you were surprised at how well his voice carried over the noise below; the balcony felt all the more intimate. You felt your cheeks heat, but you held his gaze. Don't look away, you thought. You were not normally coquettish with lovers, and you were determined to be authentic now.

"Thank you," you replied, and your voice was stronger than you expected. "You - you do, too." Ugh. Awkward. You swallowed, willing casual conversation to come to you but finding yourself without the words. Authenticity or not, you still seemed to have nothing to say to him.

Of course, in his easy, cleverly comfortable way, he came to your rescue again.

“Did you finish your book?” he asked you, his hand resting lightly on his chin. You pictured your Bernard Cornwell novel resting on your nightstand, bookmark triumphantly discarded beside it. Had he noticed it there, as he scribbled his invitation on your card?

“I did,” you smiled, not unmoved that he had remembered.

“And? Did you enjoy it any more by the end?”

“I…” You paused, reflecting before you answered. “I did, I think. Some of my favourite characters from earlier in the series returned, and… I guess their motivations became more… real. It was a good ending. I’m glad I stuck it out.”

As you spoke, he absently traced his fingers over his lips, then trailed them down his throat and over his collarbone. You watched, a little transfixed. He was so tactile. You wondered which part of him was enjoying the sensation more - the skin of his face and neck, or the pads of his fingers?

"What will you read next, now that you've finished it?"

"I don't know," you answered truthfully, surprised. "I didn't bring anything else with me. I guess I'll have to pick up something rubbish at the airport for the flight home."

He gave a look of distaste, but was interrupted before he could speak again. The young man - Marco - reappeared, placing a wine glass of blood-orange aperol in front of you, and a squat-sided tumbler before Tom. His glass contained three or four fingers of liquid; from the pale amber colour, you suspected whiskey and water.

"Grazie," you both said in unison; you butchered the pronunciation, while Tom rolled his "r" delightfully, prompting a vivid, unanticipated memory of your body thrashing wildly under his tongue. You felt your cheeks warm again, and the pleasant hum that had lain purring quietly between your legs rose to a gentle roar.

"I have been thinking about your question," Tom began tentatively as the young waiter left, sipping his drink and placing it back on the table.

You were puzzled. Did I ask a question?

"Maybe it wasn't a question," he continued, as though he had heard your thoughts. "But you made me wonder about my - my favourite words. Ever written." He seductively bit his lower lip. Whore, you thought lustily, arousal thudding through your most sensitive places.

But again, you found yourself surprised and touched that he had remembered your conversation.

"It was something you said," he rushed on, looking down at his hands, "about... About accepting our imperfections, that made me... It reminded me of something I read a long time ago that still resonated with me." His rambling was charming, delightful. Designed, no doubt, to enrapture you, and succeeding. He looked up at you, as though waiting for confirmation.

"Spit it out!" You laughed. "I'm on the edge of my seat."

He grinned, took another drink, and leaned back, gazing up at the night sky, and quoted.

"All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life, is made up of light and shadow."

You were thrown; the words were unfamiliar to you. He was looking at you again, willing you to respond, until your hesitation expanded uncomfortably between you.

"Tolstoy," he added, in explanation.

You shook your head, laughing at his surprised look. "Sorry," you added.

He stared at you, bemused. "You can quote The Dispossessed, but you've not read Anna Karenina?" You shook your head again. His disappointment was palpable.

"So tell me," you urged him, still chuckling. "What does it mean? Light and darkness... Like yin and yang? Two sides to every coin, all things opposite but... but complimentary?"

He smiled devilishly, disappointment fading, and you felt that you had fallen into some trap he had set - or at least, predicted. It was exhilarating.

"Not light and darkness," he corrected, leaning forward again with palms pressed eagerly into the table, eyes bright. "Light and shadow."

"I don't-"

"It is not simply that all things have equal and opposite parts." In his excitement to explain, he interrupted you. You didn't mind - there was such a thrill in watching him lose control. "It is that all things have shadow - all things create shadow." He watched you carefully for a reaction as you tried to understand his meaning. "The sun shines on me, and I cast a shadow - and that shadow is a result of my existence. Is proof of my existence."

There was so much passion in his voice as it rose and fell that he was almost singing as he spoke. Dramatist. But you thought you understood. "I think I see. Our darknesses - shadows - are not just an integral part of us, but exemplify our... our..." You hesitated, and he waited for you to finish your thought, eyes alight. "Our humanity."

"Yes!" he said eagerly. "Sorrow, shame, ego - these are the shadows that make us human. They are evidence of our light."

He sat back, smiling to himself, and picked up his glass again, following the slosh of the amber liquid as he swirled it vaguely. It was hypnotic, watching him, momentarily lost in thought. What are your shadows, Tom? you wondered into the silence between you. All dirt and rocks...

"Ah - a beautiful choice," you muttered awkwardly, realising you were staring. Then you laughed again as an idea came to you. "I really thought you were going to quote something from Shakespeare."

"Why?" he half-laughed, playfully. Then he paused, and you watched a mood transition across his face; playful turned to puzzled, then solemn. You felt the energy between you shift rapidly, but were unsure as to its direction. When he spoke, he did so quietly. "Why would you think that?"

Something in his tone gave you warning. Did I say something wrong? "I..." You swallowed, completely lost. "I... I'd just heard - heard you..." Your words froze in your throat as you realised that this was the first time since you'd met in the train carriage that either of you had alluded to... to his fame.

"I'm sorry," you offered. "I don't understand what... what I've said."

He met your eyes again, replacing his glass on the table with a shaky clink.

"No - no, it's me who should be sorry." He forced a small laugh. "I just... I forgot, briefly, who I was."

At last, understanding washed over you. All his veiled hints of sadness and regret. Of longing for something that had long ago been lost.

"It's a strange thing - fame," he continued hollowly, looking down at his hands. You had the sense that you were hearing words long thought, but spoken aloud for the first time. "There's a guilty pleasure in it, in being known. Being... adored. It's - it's addictive." You held your breath, fearful of interrupting his stream of thought. "But it's - hard, too. Keeping your head down. Remaining aloof. Pretending not to hear your name called in the street. It's almost like the more people say your name, the less you're... you're... there. The less I'm there."

He raised his face to you again. His smile was so deeply sorrowful that your heart broke for him. "For a moment, I felt... here."

You wanted to speak - to reassure him, to comfort him - but your voice remained firmly locked in your chest. What could you possibly say? You are here. I see you.

"The pathetic thing is," he said softly, his pretty, pale eyes full of self-mockery, "if I had the chance to walk away tomorrow - to disappear into obscurity - I'm not even sure I would take it."

His manner was so sincere and undefended, you felt an inordinate urge to... protect him. The hissing inner voice sent you an admonition: these waters are dangerously deep. You're getting swept away in the tide.

But he seemed to have reached a catharsis; having said the words, he seemed... lighter. Finally, you found what you wanted to say.

"Is that pathetic?" you asked. "It sounds... Well, human, to me. To regret something, resent it even, but still be unwilling to let it go. Needs are complicated things." His features began to relax; you pressed the small advantage. "It's not all bad," you added, gently flirtatious. "For the next twenty years, you get to be a generation's answer to the question, 'Who was your first celebrity crush?'."

He chuckled, blushing; stepping back from an invisible brink. Joining in your game, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Keanu - in The Matrix," you grinned. He pursed his lips, pretending to appraise your answer. "Go on then," you prompted.

"Christina Ricci," he laughed, then paused thoughtfully. "Or maybe Anna Kournikova".

That tracks, you thought, affectionately imagining him as an excitable teenager, roaming the outside courts at Wimbledon. How endearing.

As rapidly as it had descended, his mood lifted again. And something else had returned - something that had been absent since he'd kissed your cheek under the somber call of the San Antonio bells.

Swagger.

He downed the last of his whiskey, replacing the glass on the table - confidently, this time - then tucked his chin, so that he looked at you provocatively through the small gap between the rim of his glasses and his striking brow. His blue gaze was electric.

"Come with me," he said, rising from the table.

He led this time, not waiting to see if you would follow as he strode quickly back down the narrow staircase and across the cavernous Palazzo entrance room. Somewhere in the journey he had reached back and taken your hand, and you let him pull you along through the ancient corridors. If you had briefly forgotten the arousal coursing through you with his show of vulnerability, it screamed for attention again now; reignited by his pace and determination as his long legs left you to an ornately carved wooden door.

You saw a flash of the ceiling fresco in the semi-dark as he pulled you inside - renaissance depictions of full-figured, bare-breasted women - before his mouth was on yours, pressing you into the cool limestone wall.

He was wild and tumultuous, kissing you with a storm's urgency, the scent of him filling every heavy breath you sucked in. But he was tender, too - his long fingers tracing the skin of your arms were firm, but gentle. It was not the kiss of a stranger; not the hot-but-detached fucking you had anticipated before your arrival. It was - the word felt traitorous in your mind - affectionate.

His lips left yours and moved to your jawline, then your neck, his hands working over the rough cotton of your dress, his desperation fading into decisiveness. Your own hands were forfeit, gripping his strong, muscular hips, while the caged creature in your belly writhed, urging him onwards. Fuck, you thought, I'm going to come just from his touch.

Hands found the hem of the dress, pulling it up and over your curves, eventually tugging it from you altogether so that you stood, exposed, in nothing but simple lingerie. He stood back, and your heart began to thud hard as he appraised you hungrily.

"Am I... Is this...?" The anxious thoughts could not form a complete question before he interrupted you.

"You are exquisite," he breathed, eyes full of lust, devouring you.

When he touched you again it was slower, deliberate; the howling whirlwind of your initial kisses had passed, though what remained was no less powerful. He guided you through the open-plan apartment like it was a dance; you felt drunk on the thrill of him, and could only trust where he was taking you.

Eventually you tumbled backwards onto his bed, and he stepped back again - but this time it felt almost exhibitionistic on his part, as though he were giving you the opportunity to appraise him. You lifted your torso, resting on your elbows, staring. He kept his eyes on yours as he began to remove his once-crisp, white, shirt, now untucked and disheveled, then undid the buckle of the leather belt at his waist. Elegantly stepping out of his pants, he gave you a small, self-conscious grin.

"May I?" he asked politely.

You gave him what you hoped was a look of playful exasperation, but you were thrumming with exhilaration as he brought his perfect, naked body close to you; ran his soft hands over your curves; looped his fingers in the trim of your panties, slipping them from your skin. You pulled him close, letting your own fingertips trace the ropes of long, lean muscle of his torso as your lips met again.

He let his hands drift to your sex, where arousal had been pooling for hours; he stroked you, hot and wet, easing you apart, his clever fingers deftly playing the strings of your body. You gasped openly as pleasure and desire raged within you, loving his teasing, desperate for more. He gave it, generously, circling and massaging and dipping and stroking, and the precipice of orgasm loomed ahead of you, waiting for you to crash through. Not yet, you begged your body.

Your hands stroked his neck, his collarbone, mimicking the way he had run his fingers over his own skin earlier. Impatiently, you sought and found his hard cock, curving gloriously up towards you; you wrapped your hand around him, and he moaned wantonly into your mouth at your touch. Your breath caught as you noted his girth; your fingers did not meet around him. You moved, palm sliding along his satin-smooth length, as he involuntarily thrust against you; as desperate for release as I am, you thought.

With an abrupt growl, he rolled atop you, pinning you under his broad chest, intertwining his long legs with yours and using the torque to widen your hips. His face was so close that you could see the flecks in his irises; feel the moist breath from his parted lips. His hard length pressed into the crease of your thigh

"Is this alright?" he murmured, intently watching your face for approval. At your nod, he growled again, more ragged this time, and used his hands to guide himself to you. You felt his wide tip nudge at your entrance; you fought the urge to close your eyes as he slid inside you, sank into you, until he bottomed out deep in your channel. Every throbbing inch of him was bliss.

You could sense his urgency returning, and you hungrily pressed your mouth to his as he began to rock inside you. You groaned into his mouth, wordlessly begging him to fuck you harder, faster. He read your body like poetry.

"Please don't stop," you moaned sluttishly, not caring about propriety, lost now to anything but the pleasure of him.

"T--aagh, touch yourself," he grunted, and you let your fingertips toy through your slick folds to massage your clit. You were both losing control now, your bodies a mass of messy thrusts and heady groans as you fell towards release together. He threw his head back, eyes closed; but you pulled him back to you.

"Look at me," you half-begged, half-demanded. His eyes met yours, and he gave a sharp intake of breath.

With a guttural moan and a rush of pleasure, you came. You felt your body give up a fresh gush of wetness, and the flush of orgasm seemed to heat your blood to the tips of your toes. You slumped backwards onto his bed, but didn't take your eyes from him.

His thrusts became messy; eyes closed, mouth agape, filthy grunts falling from his mouth as he chased his own release above you.

"Y-yes. Fuck, yes-"

He came with a long cry, spilling his hot seed into you, his fingers gripping the bedsheet beside you, his face twisted in the agony of pleasure. He chest heaved as he breathed heavily into the afterglow, eyes still closed, hand seeking yours and gripping tightly when your fingers met.

When he eventually opened his eyes, they were full of boyish charm again. He grinned at you, slowly pulling his body off of yours.

"Will you stay?" he asked, fingers still entwined with yours.

"I..." you hesitated. Don't catch feelings. "If that's alright," you said, meekly.

He laughed, his contentment clear, and pulled your body close to his.

*****

You awoke to shafts of light penetrating the heavy bedroom curtains, and the sound of running water splashing off bathroom tile. Morning. You rose, finding your clothes in their discarded piles and pulling them on.

The water stopped, and after a moment, he appeared in the bedroom door, a lush white towel wrapped around him. His smile was as breathtaking as it had ever been

You took a deep, steadying breath.

"Good morning," he grinned at you. You could only offer a smile in reply; he began to re-dress while you watched, perched on the edge of his bed.

It would be so easy, you thought with regret, to fall for him.

"I wanted to ask you," he added, "when are you flying home?"

"Ah - tomorrow," you managed, "morning. Out of Venice."

He turned back to you, delighted. He was dressed now, and sat on the bed to put his shoes on. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?" he asked excitedly. "There is an operatic production of A Midsummer Nights' Dream at the Teatro del Veneto. We could dine on the waterfront beforehand-"

"Tom," you interrupted him quietly, and his sweet face fell at your tone. "I- I can't..." You willed words to come to you quickly - the look on his face was unbearable. "I - My husband and I - we have an... an arrangement. It works, but only if we follow the rules." He had composed his face into a polite smile; you stumbled on. "I - I'm afraid if I spend any more time with you, I will come dangerously close to... to breaking them."

He nodded, but didn't speak. Was he waiting for you to continue? There didn't seem to be much else to say.

It would be so easy...

"I - I'm sorry. I wish... I could..."

"Stop," he cut you off, smiling at you sadly. "You have nothing to apologise for."

Shoe laces tied, he stood.

"There is breakfast on the table; please stay as long as you need." He walked to the door, then turned to you, still smiling politely. "Thank you for your company, Y/N. It has been a pleasure."

You lifted your chin and swallowed. "Likewise," you said softly.

The door clicked behind him.

*****

The sun had barely risen on your last morning in Padua. You opened the little apartment mailbox to leave your AirBnB key, as instructed, and were surprised to find a small package with your name on it. You tentatively pulled it out. Inside was a gently used book, and a short note scrawled in now-familiar, spidery letters.

I hope this means you can avoid the airport garbage. T.

You turned the book over to read the cover; Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. You swallowed, touched, and not altogether surprised by the prickling in your eyes.

Finally, you turned back to the street, ready for one last walk through the barely-awake city to the train station. It would be a long journey home.

Italian phrases:

Il tuo solito, signore - your usual, sir?

Si, per favore, Marco - yes, please, Marco.

Grazie - thank you.

Tagging some people who enjoyed the first two parts:

@acidcasualties @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokischambermaid @peaches1958 @thomase1 @tomlugirl @vickie5446 @vbecker10 @chantsdemarins @lokixryss @wolfsmom1 @laprofesoratinacita @cabingrlandrandomcrap @hyperlokilover @siriusly--gay @dangertoozmanykids101 @villainousshakespeare @huntress-artemiss @viv-annelore @so-easy-to-love-me @ladymischief11 @kats72 @chokemedaddyloki @cerynas @lokisfavtoy @sititran @faesimps

[mariaofdoranelle]

Mistletinder

Masterlist

Merry Christmas/Yulemas, @writtenonreceipts! I hope this fic finds you well. I was so happy when I got you in the draw because I admire you so much, and I hope you have as much fun reading your gift as I had writing it ❤️

@rowaelinscourt thank you for organizing the secret Santa!

Warnings: moderate alcohol intake

Words: 4,7k

“This is gonna bite you in the ass someday, you know?” Sellene reproached from behind the steering wheel. Her friend couldn’t see what Aelin was doing on her phone, but somehow she knew.

“Shh!” Aelin looked behind her to check on the girls, but they were still sound asleep. At the age of four, if they listened to any curse word, it’d be forever until they stopped repeating it over and over again. At least, from what she was told, the Whitethorn family was used to small children and their demands. It was the whole reason why she was spending Yulemas with them, after all.

Aelin and Maisie were on their own now, and when Sellene all but dragged them to her family’s farm because of all the kids and animals, it was hard to argue. After the year from hell they had, a nice Yulemas was the least she could do for Maisie.

“You’re avoiding the subject,” Sellene insisted.

“Yes. Because I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But you sure seem to want to keep doing it, huh?”

When you’re broke after your divorce and your business isn’t thriving, ain’t it funny what you’ll do?

On one drunken night amidst her separation, Aelin downloaded Tinder and scheduled a date on the bookstore café she owned. But when she freaked out and canceled right after the guy—Archer—arrived, she could only watch from her mezzanine office, amazed, as he stuffed his face with baked goods and left with two books.

After that, luring people from Tinder into Fireheart Books & Cafe was just a small part of her marketing plan. And the most unethical one.

“It’s a lucrative strategy,” Aelin said, feeling defensive.

“That you don’t need anymore.” Sellene rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you just butcher the anthropology section to fit more tables?”

Yes. For the same reason Aelin added sidewalk dining tables. “Your point is?”

“Did you at least give someone a try while you’re at it?”

Once. Just one person that made her actually enjoy the execution of her plan, even extending it so she’d talk to him more before ghosting. Conversation flowed, and Aelin had already gone on some dates at that point after her separation, but she wasn’t naïve enough to think she’d find love on Tinder.

“That app is a lost cause, Sel.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t find some good hot dates.” Her friend wiggled her eyebrows. “I know I did.”

Aelin managed to muffle her laughter with one hand so the two sleeping beauties on the back wouldn’t wake up. She brushed her daughter’s chestnut hair away from her face, watching the way she leaned on her friend during their nap. Maisie and Bree were thick as thieves in preschool and, as single moms, Aelin and Sellene would frequently help each other out.

Sellene has a hot date? Auntie Ae and Maisie will happily have Bree for a sleepover.

Aelin is busy at the book shop? Auntie Sel and Bree can drop Maisie there when school is over.

Sellene was godsend this year, and listening to her rant about her love life was just one of the fun perks of being so close to her. If the few dates Aelin went to this year actually happened, it was because her friend insisted.

“So, how’s that thing with Ilias again?” Aelin said, desperate to change the subject.

A groan. “You will not believe what he texted me this morning…”

Aelin let her friend go on about her situationship, a little relieved that she wasn’t the focus of the conversation anymore.

Truth was, she was a little anxious about this Yulemas. Sellene guaranteed that her family was too big for Aelin to intrude in something intimate, and the Whitethorns were properly notified about her stay, but that nagging feeling that her and Maisie were crashing the party wouldn’t go.

After they got to the farm, it was a while before they reached the house.

When Sellene told her about all the family traditions and how homey it was, Aelin expected an old farmhouse of sorts. To be honest, she didn’t think much about how the house would look, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a classic-looking manor with an exterior made of white stone.

A blonde woman showed up on the porch before Sel parked the car, then she ran inside and came back, tugging a man by the arm. By that time, they were already leaving the car with their bags, but the older couple still insisted on helping them.

Rory and Owen, her friend’s aunt and uncle, as they introduced themselves. Aelin’s introduction was brief, since Sellene filled her family in on who she was beforehand, but they still made small talk. Though she wasn’t paying much attention, too caught up on the similarity between Sellene and Owen. Her friend joked about some strong traits running in her family, but this was uncanny.

“Genetics, huh?” Sellene said, a teasing grin on her face.

Aelin was staring, wasn’t she? Oops. “Yes, genetics.” She turned to Owen. “I can’t believe you’re not even her father!”

Rory laughed and urged them inside. “Come on, darling, there’s a lot of silver hair and green eyes for you to compare.” She smirked before she added, “And if you happen to like it, my son is single. Thirty-one, stable job, goes to the gym a lot—“

“Auntie,” Sellene reproached.

The matron frowned. “I’m not being very smooth, am I?”

Her husband gave her two gentle taps on the shoulder. “You’re never smooth at matchmaking, darling.”

Rory gave Aelin an apologetic smile before continuing, “We’re stuck with some housework right now, but if you can wait—“

“I’ll show her around,” Sellene said, waving her aunt off.

“Alright, then. Pick any empty room you’d like.” Rory turned to Aelin. “You and your little one are the most welcome, make yourselves at home,” she said with a beam before scurrying away to the kitchen.

And about Aelin’s little one: where the hell was she?

Sellene leaned closer to Aelin and murmured, “But you can totally flirt with my cousins if you’d like. There’s a whole bunch of them for you to pick.”

“I don’t think I’ll have time for that, but thanks.” Not that she wants to, but it’ll become a hard no if she’ll have to wrangle Maisie all the time.

“I saw them coming inside.” Sellene tugged Aelin. “Don’t worry, she’s safe here.”

“Your house is not.” At least not with her four-year-old on the loose.

The two women dropped their bags by the entrance and ran around looking for them, calling their names. Aelin couldn’t register much other than white walls and wooden furniture, her mind filled with what could Maisie possibly break in this small time frame, and how much it costs.

Aelin’s worry was peaking when she listened to her daughter’s voice coming from another porch, this one attached to the living room.

"Do you do your tattoos alone, or does your mom help you too?"

The man blinked, confused, until Maisie showed him the few Barbie bubblegum tattoos on her forearm. She gave it a pointed look, then to the many tattoos he had on his left arm, taking most of the limb.

Aelin decided it was best to make herself known, introduce yourself, and see if this stranger needed rescuing from her curious preschooler. She couldn’t see this man’s face from her point-of-view, but she had an inkling of who he could be because of his—shocker—silver hair.

“Maisie!” She called from afar, “I was looking for—“

The words died in her throat when she recognized the man before her. Aelin’s core felt ice-cold all of a sudden, despite the dangerous pounding of her heart. There was no way in hell this was happening, and she blamed Tinder for not requiring users to use their last name there.

“Aelin.” He made a point of looking at his bare wrist, as if checking the time. “I think you’re a bit late for our date.”

˜˜

Upstairs, in the safety of her bedroom, Sellene had the gall to cackle.

Aelin glared at her. “Could you not?”

Before ten minutes ago, her friend was absolutely clueless to the fact that Aelin and Rowan knew each other, just like she had no clue that Sellene and Rowan are cousins. But it saved her, since the woman walked into that porch and spared Aelin from doing any talking.

“Alright, lemme just…” Sellene turned away, as if Aelin couldn’t see her friend’s shoulders shaking from behind. Then she took a deep breath and turned back around. “Alright.” A twitch on the corner of her lips that was quickly concealed. “But you said you liked him?”

“That’s not the point!” Aelin said, pacing in the empty space between the bed and the wall.

Chatting with Rowan was nice, and she may have indulged in conversation with him more than she usually lets herself, but Aelin felt so drained after her divorce. She let herself be dragged to dates sometimes, but she didn’t have it in herself to fully face the dating scene again.

Sellene rolled her eyes and threw herself on the bed. “That’s the key point, actually. It’ll define our entire course of action.”

“Nope. Our course of action is whatever protects Maisie from this mess.”

Aelin was so afraid of fucking up Maisie’s Yulemas when she got here, she didn’t realize she’d potentially fucked up even before arriving. Her throat felt thick just to think of it.

Sellene squeezed her hand. “He’s not gonna cause a scandal or anything, Rowan’s not like that.”

“He’s not going to tell your incredibly welcoming family that I’m actually a cold-hearted milf that stood him up and ghosted?”

“Okay,” Sel trailed, grimacing. “He’s not like that, but he is a bit of a gossip, so…”

Aelin sat on the edge of the bed and groaned, her face resting in both hands. Whether he had a big mouth or not, she needed to fix this. Because she couldn’t put Maisie’s Yulemas in jeopardy, yes, but also because Rowan deserves an apology.

Truth is, Aelin never felt tempted to give a chance to the guys she chatted with, because everyone she met on Tinder could be classified as one of: a chronic manwhore, overall gross, or gross for a single but relevant reason, or a misogynist bigot. And sometimes she even liked to leave them stranded, especially when they fell into the latter category.

Usually, Aelin just acted flirty enough to let the guy think something other than coffee would happen, that way he’d run to their ‘date’ without wasting more of their time.

But there were exceptions, of course, and Rowan was one of them. He wasn’t exactly chatty, but she still found herself texting him back and forth late at night for almost two weeks. When he oh-so-gently requested to meet her in person after dropping some hints about it here and there to no avail, she knew she had to cut this short.

It was just business, or so she told herself when it was time to cancel the plans that were never bound to happen. Aelin didn’t have space in her life for much else.

But now the girls, Rowan and a few other Whitethorns were off to see the baby goats and some other kid-friendly farm animals, which gave Aelin a small time frame to plan her next move.

Sellene got up from her bed, nothing but determination on her face. “Here’s what we’re gonna do: we’ll wait downstairs. When they come back, I’ll keep an eye on Maisie while you scurry him away to apologize.”

This was the lamest plan Aelin has ever gotten into. “I expected better scheming from you.”

“No scheming this time,” her friend warned, “just tell him the truth.”

And that was what Aelin kept in mind, as she waited with Sel in the kitchen under the disguise of chatting with Rory.

The kids barreled into the room a while later, chatting about the farm animals they saw, petted, or even fed. Rowan lingered on the other side of the kitchen, carefully avoiding Aelin’s eyes while he rectified the little one’s exaggerated stories with things like actually, no goat charged at them, they just wail all the time.

Despite the high excitement, Maisie’s attention drifted when she noticed the batch of gingerbread men coming off the oven.

“My grandma makes gingerbread people too,” she said to Rory, then frowned. “Do you know my grandma?”

Aelin’s heart squeezed at the sight. She was hoping to keep Maisie’s mind off her father’s family these holidays.

“I’m afraid not, honey. Is she from Doranelle too?”

“No, she lives very, very, very far. I need to get on a plane to see her.”

“That’s very far indeed.” Rory chuckled. “What’s she doing this year?”

Maisie shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t have Yulemas with Daddy this year because he’s stuck in prison.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on her little girl’s outcast expression as Aelin’s face grew impossibly hot. Gods, her daughter sure had a way with words.

“Because he’s a prison psychologist,” Aelin amended, to everyone’s relief, by the way their shoulders collectively relaxed.

Chaol wasn’t seeing his daughter these holidays because he was too busy in the Southern Continent with his girlfriend—former mistress—but there was no way Aelin was telling her little girl that. Work was the go-to excuse to why he missed so many bi-monthly visitations, and it worked for Yulemas too.

One day, Maisie would understand that Aelin has been a single mom since long before her divorce. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to postpone said realization for as long as she could.

“Oh, how silly of me! I forgot to get rosemary.” Rory changed the subject when silence reigned, thank Mala. The time when Chaol was a touchy subject was long gone, but people still tiptoed around it with her.

The woman continued, “Aelin, darling, could you get me some, please?”

“Sure…” she trailed, looking around. “Where can I—“

“Rowan will show you the garden,” Rory quipped.

And Aelin thought that getting him alone for a moment would be tricky. Clearly, she underestimated his mother.

Rowan glared at the older woman, but she didn’t waver. Instead, the more that odd exchange lasted, the more Rory seemed to enjoy forcing her son to spend time with someone he clearly didn’t want around.

Fuck, Aelin needed to fix this immediately.

He gestured to the open back door in the kitchen, and led her to a kitchen garden close to the house.

Sunshine glanced off the leaves which vegetables, herbs and fruit grew, and Aelin wished she could enjoy its beauty more. The smell of fresh herbs and sound of the leaves shuddering were the only soothing things, given the conversation she had ahead.

She waited for him to make a start, to no avail. Perhaps he did, earlier today when she first saw him, right before Sellene walked in and they pretended that first exchange didn’t happen.

“I’m sorry.”

Rowan’s step faltered for a second. He gave her a curt nod, and continued his stroll towards the rosemary shrubs.

She continued, “I shouldn’t have stood you up, it was really shitty of me and I totally deserve it if you hate me right now.” A pause. “But I was hoping we could put this aside for Yulemas, you know? Being in the same house and all.”

“Alright,” he said while slowly nodding, and Aelin’s shoulders loosened up with relief for a moment, until he finally looked her in the eye and added, “I'll go easy on you if you tell me what happened.”

“I told you, I’ve been having a hard time dating after my—“

“Yeah, you told me that in your apology text, but I feel like there’s something missing.”

He got her there. It was true, but not the ugly truth.

“Remember the shop I asked you to meet me at?”

He nodded.

“I own it. And my Tinder account is strictly for… cash inflow.”

This time, he fully stopped. He studied Aelin with widened eyes, and after judging the seriousness in her expression, he laughed. It was loud and full, overpowering the gentle flutter of the leaves and birds’ wings around them.

He kneeled by the shrub, snapped a few branches with his fingers, and it was just then that Aelin realized they had already arrived at their destination.

“You’re not mad?”

Rowan shrugged, and she wanted to read his expression so bad, but he had his back to her, still working on his mother’s rosemary. “I guess should be mad. I’m definitely impressed. It’s a very clever move.”

Aelin didn’t know if she should thank him or not. “But are we cool?”

He chuckled, something more amicable in his eyes this time, when he turned around. “Yes, sure. It was just online dating. Do you know how often people get ghosted? I wasn’t gonna start a riot because of that.”

“‘Kay, thanks.” He was being such a nice sport, his forgiveness only worsened the guilt she felt. “And though you’re right about that, I’d be totally mad and petty if someone stood me up. Just saying.”

“I wasn’t mad that you stood me up—“

Aelin sent him a cut-the-bullshit look.

He sighed and continued, “Alright, I was upset. Not mad. What actually made me mad is that you ghosted me after that.”

She stopped mid-stride, her head tilted. This made absolutely no sense. Rowan broke eye contact to rearrange the branches inside the small bag, making his fingers busy for a small moment of awkward silence that lasted a lifetime in Aelin’s head.

“I liked you, Aelin. You didn’t have to do that for me to visit your coffee shop.”

Aelin didn’t want to think about why his words stung, but they did.

˜˜

Engaging in conversation at dinner would be a lot easier if Maisie was eating, not showing Bree magic tricks.

She placed a french fry on the table, between her and her friend. “Now close your eyes,” Maisie commanded. When her friend complied, she shoved the fry in her mouth and said, “Ta-da!”

Bree opened her eyes, and the loud gasp she let out after noticing the fry was gone gave Aelin a good chuckle.

“Do it again!” Sellene’s daughter said, clapping her hands.

“Maybe you could do it with the cucumber this time?” Aelin cut in.

Maisie turned to her mother with all seriousness a four-year-old can muster. “Mommy, it’s Friday. We only eat fries.”

Being the little entertainer she is, the people near Maisie laughed, not for the first time this dinner. Including Rowan, who sat next to Sellene, almost in front of her. It was weird, hearing his laughter instead of reading a “haha”. A good weird. Still weird. For Mala’s sake, she needs to sort her feelings out.

“You are such a silly goose,” her friend said, fondness filling her eyes.

“No, Auntie Sel, you are a silly goose. I’m a silly gosling.” The little girl took her time pronouncing each syllable of the last word, careful to get it right.

Aelin’s mouth was ajar as she stared at her. “Where did you learn that?”

“Wowan.” Maisie said, beaming. “We’re bestest friends now because he’s an animal doctor, and he promised to show me all his animal friends so I can be friends with them too.”

“Is that so?” Aelin plastered on a smile, hoping it wasn’t too strained. It didn’t go unnoticed that he was nice enough to Maisie for her to consider him her new ‘bestest friend’, even before Aelin apologized. Fuck, she needed to unpack this later.

When she dared a glance at Rowan, he looked a little stiff, but still gave her a quick, close-lipped smile. “She likes the baby goats.”

Aelin would know. Maisie talked about them all day.

“Wowan, I’ll do a magic trick.”

He turned his full attention towards Maisie.

She continued, “Did you see me do it before?”

“Yes.”

“Try to forget.”

“I can’t do it, Maisie, I saw you do that trick too many times.” He leaned back on his chair, a lazy smirk on. “But I haven’t seen you make the cucumber disappear.”

She jolted on her seat, put a cucumber slice on the table, pointed a finger at Rowan and yelled, “Close your eyes!”

When he complied, Maisie ate that cucumber with a ferocity Aelin had never seen before.

“Dear Mala,” Rowan said when he opened his eyes, feigning shock. “Do it again.”

And that’s how he convinced her to eat every single vegetable on her plate. Fuck, he sure knows how to woo a single mom.

Not woo, Aelin chastised herself. Rowan said he liked her. In the past tense. Which should be a relief, but this wasn’t how she felt as she watched him smile at her daughter and make her have fun while eating healthy.

Rowan stole a glance at her, but Aelin had her eyes on him already. He swallowed, likely unsure of what to do after being caught staring while she was already staring.

Thank you, she mouthed so Maisie wouldn’t hear. To her surprise, his eyes softened, and he gave her a small smile.

Relief finally washed over her, when Aelin realized that the awkwardness in his expression had vanished.

˜˜

As predicted, Maisie was so hyper Aelin didn’t manage to properly enjoy the farm herself. But she didn’t mind it, since her daughter was the whole purpose of this trip. Besides, sometimes watching the kids play could be better than TV.

“I wanted to go out to eat with you, not you and your baby!” Maisie’s arms flailed around as she tried to explain her frustration.

Bree clutched her doll to her chest, a wounded look on her face. “But I can’t leave my baby alone!”

Rowan, who was just passing by the living room, froze when he registered what was going on. He turned to Aelin, confusion written all over his face, and discreetly sat by her side on the couch.

“Everything alright?”

Aelin pointed at the tea party toy set near the girls. “They’re at a pretend restaurant, eating pretend food and talking about their pretend jobs.” A pause so she wouldn’t start laughing here and there. “Maisie was expecting a girls’ night, but Bree brought her baby with her.”

“Oh, I see.” Aelin’s gaze swept over him for a minute, and it was unfair how good his pine-green eyes looked when they were filled with amusement like this. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m getting popcorn. You?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, “I think this is a very complex issue. We can’t read it under a Manichaean view.”

Aelin chuckled, and they fell into comfortable silence while watching the girls. Rowan’s pine scent hit her senses, but it was the chilly wind coming from the window that made her shiver.

“You cold?”

She shrugged. “Not that much.”

Rowan stood up. “I’ll warm us up.”

“You’re getting a blanket?”

“Better,” Rowan said, a troublesome glint in his eyes. “Wine.”

Not as effective as a blanket, but definitely more fun.

“Merlot?” He suggested with his head tilted.

Unbelievable. Aelin briefly mentioned her favorite type of wine to this man over text in a late night conversation, and he still remembered it weeks later.

Rowan seemed to misread her silence, his expression becoming guarded. “But I can share the bottle with Enda if you don’t feel like it.”

Aelin’s gaze quickly turned to her daughter before she focused back on him. “Can it wait until after Maisie’s bedtime?”

Rowan took a step back with a grin on, and his eyes wouldn’t leave Aelin. “I’ll get the snacks ready.”

After wrangling Maisie around the house a little more and putting her to bed, Aelin found herself in the same living room as before. However, this time, the tea party set on the table was replaced by a small charcuterie board and two glasses of red wine.

They talked about their lives for hours. Now it was nearing midnight, and none of them seemed to grow tired of each other’s companies. It was just easy like that with him, and she knew it. Too easy, was what Aelin told herself in her office as she let him down. Too easy to be true, and not the delusion of a lonely twenty-nine-year-old divorcée.

Aelin had so many reasons why she couldn’t give Rowan a real chance, but she couldn’t remember a single one of them right now. Actually, she could remember, they just felt… small.

Too bad she was too late.

“And you never thought to move back here? Being a vet and all?”

Rowan sipped his wine. “I’ve lived in the city since I was a teenager, my whole life’s there. But I visit a lot.”

“And your cousins?”

“Not as much, but Yulemas is always here.” He cocked his head, his expression shifting as he grinned at her. “Though the company is usually much less good-looking.”

Aelin blinked. She stared at the glass of wine. It was her second, and Aelin knew her limits. She wasn’t even tipsy. It couldn’t be.

“Rowan Whitethorn… are you flirting with me?”

“Yes, I’ve been trying for a while.” A pause. “Is it working?”

Wow. She looked around, mind racing and empty at the same time. A turned-off TV. Potted plants with fairy lights on. A mistletoe. Gifts under a tree.

Rowan was flirting with her.

Rowan, Maisie’s new “bestest friend”. Kind, attentive Rowan who remembered her favorite wine and looked as delicious as the Focaccia bread he stole from the kitchen for her.

Rowan, who seemed to give her a second chance even when she didn’t deserve it.

“It’s working, yeah.”

He didn’t dare say a word after her response, and neither did she. He leaned forward, barely blinking as he tried to meet her eye.

Aelin needed to say something. She wanted to say something else, but it was hard to do it while she felt her old resolutions shatter like a wall of glass.

Going on shitty date after shitty date so she could find someone reasonably good, until something happened and she had to go back to the stream of shitty dates? No, meeting new people was a hard no for now.

But it was different when she had already met someone, right? Aelin wasn’t ready to give dating a chance, but she was more than willing to give Rowan a chance.

She got up and tugged Rowan’s hand.

“What?”

Aelin tugged on it again, so he got up from the couch too. Wordlessly, she led him to a spot right under the beam that divided the living room and the hallway.

She pointed at the mistletoe above them. “Oh, look.”

“Wow.”

“I definitely didn’t see that and drag you here.”

“And my mother definitely didn’t fill the house with mistletoes tonight because she’s in love with you and Maisie.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she lied.

“So surprising.”

“Shocking.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

“Absolu—”

Rowan pulled their lips together, cupping her face with both hands while she wrapped her arms around him. Their lips brushed together, and it was almost unfair how soft he felt. He gently nipped hers so Aelin would open up to him, and the kiss was sweet and hungry at the same time. His hands traveled down her neck and arms, making her shiver, until he reached her waist and tugged her closer.

Well, fuck. If Aelin didn’t have any doubts about giving this a chance anymore, she didn’t know what to call it now. A negative amount of doubts? Anyway, her mind was jello. Aelin couldn’t know where this was going, but she knew she’d let it happen now. No more holding back.

Rowan broke the kiss and put their foreheads together, breathlessly breathing her in with closed eyes.

“If I ask you out on another date, will you show up this time?”

“Yes,” Aelin said, right before her parted lips morphed into a teasing smirk. “And I might even delete Tinder, depending on how large your coffee order is.”

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