#and there's plenty of formatting quirks that i thought way too hard over

[perfectlynormalbooks]

A birthday gift for a friend: a reformatted, fully illustrated quarto casebound edition of Where In The World Is Frank Sparrow? by Angela Betzien - a play were both in some years back. All illustrations are original, and it includes some sheet music for the play's score that I wrote during that performance, just for fun.

Typeset in Alegreya, with SeeingDoubleDoingTriple used for emphasis on certain words. The full book contains 58 total illustrations, and lots of fun formatting tricks and quirks. I used a slightly thicker paper than I usually would to give the volume some heft.

The cover is bound in Polar Duo, with holographic HTV for the details! It doesn't show especially well in the photos taken, but it appears more or less black under normal light, and flashes rainbow when exposed to bright light in a dark room. The slipcase (because of course I did a slipcase) is bound with my other Duo fabric, Eister, with city, rat/hare/goat, and sparrow motifs, to tie in with various plot elements of the script.

Speedran this project in two weeks. Now I can rest.

[jilytoberfest]

Author - @thequibblah

Thank you so much for taking the time to do this, Suze! You can find her on ao3!

1. What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

All of my writing quirks are insane, not interesting, and one of the ones I hate (and love to mention) the most is that I am super, super neurotic about numbers and love keeping track of my timed sessions. I have been known to have Excel spreadsheets for my writing…

2. What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your stories?

Hmm...probably the exact balance I strike between juggling things in my head vs. being super organised. I think when I came back to fic I thought I could handle a lot with minimal organisation, but I have proven myself very, very wrong.

3. Do you have any suggestions to help others become a better writer? If so, what are they?

Read. A lot! I know people dish out that advice a ton, but it can’t be understated — and read widely. Try to read published books as well as fanfiction. You’ll learn a lot about developing your own style by sampling the breadth that’s out there. And read about writing, not because everyone’s methods will work for you, but because it’s both interesting and helpful to see what other writers find helpful. Plenty of well-known authors have blog posts or even memoirs about writing, so go find what your faves say about their approach!Everything else, I think, is subjective. But these two are essential.

4. What do you think makes a good story?

For me personally, a good story is immersive. It sucks me into its world totally, and makes me feel along with the characters. It makes me not want to put it down — and when I do put it down, I feel like the world around me has changed with the experience I’ve had in reading.

5. What is the first book that made you cry?

Oh, geez. Charlotte’s Web for sure, ha, but I basically spent all my teen years crying into my pillow over young adult fiction, so there’s a long, long list after that.

6. Does writing energize or exhaust you?

Energise, for the most part. I won’t lie and say i’ve never been stressed or tired even writing the most exciting parts of my fic, but by and large the experience of writing is cathartic.

7. Have you ever gotten reader’s block? If so, what are your tips to overcome it?

Oh, often! I usually change format or genre when I'm bored of reading — or I watch something or listen to a podcast instead. Usually it’s just that I'm forcing myself to read something I'm not that excited by, or not in the right headspace for. So taking a step back is what helps best.

8. Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

Honestly, I think anyone could be a writer. All it takes is reading, and practising expressing yourself — a.k.a., practising writing. It has less to do with actually feeling emotions yourself, and more to do with being able to imagine and express emotions. So, yeah, that might be easier if you feel things strongly, but it’s not a requirement. You could be the most repressed person in the world (LOL) and be a successful writer.

9. If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Oooh — I think to stick to my guns and treasure every idea. In young-me’s defence, I do still have tons and tons of notes with discarded plots and concepts, but there’s no such thing as hearing that piece of advice too much. Being able to tap into creativity — and being able to come up with concepts that are uniquely you — is special!

10. What was your hardest scene to write?

Like, ever? I think, keeping things vague in the interest of avoiding spoilers, there’s always a lot riding on big relationship beats — fights, shippy moments, etc. — that stresses me out as much as it excites me, ha. And the fights tend to be the harder ones for me, because it’s hard to parse the emotion I feel the characters are feeling and sell it so that the reader can believe an argument would escalate the way it does. (I love writing arguments, though, so it’s totally a love-hate scenario!)

11. What is your favorite childhood book?

Ah, I have about nine million answers to this, but I’m going to pick a maybe lesser-known answer — I adore the Old Kingdom books by Garth Nix, and haven’t found anything that makes me feel the same way those books did.

12. How long on average does it take you to write a one shot or a chapter of a fic?

I’m a pretty fast drafter once I sit down to write, and I usually manage about 1000 words every 30 minutes, but it takes weeks of pre-planning to get there. Maybe it’s just that I'm a fast typist, lol.

13. A fic that inspires you?

Gosh, what fic doesn’t? I feel like if i answered this honestly i’d list out dozens, and Joy would be furious at me for exceeding the character limit or something. But I'll choose one at random — I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Burn Easy”by efk_girldetective since I first read it. Warning, it’s mature, but what I love about it is that it’s a Muggle AU that still manages to immerse me in the magic of its setting. I feel just as transported reading it as I would reading something set in Hogwarts — and I want all my fics to feel like they’re their own little universes!

14. How do you edit your work?

Bold of you to assume I “edit”... No, haha, seriously, I just reread my own writing a lot. Like… I can’t overstate how much. I tend not to do big-picture edits, because usually (with a multichap like Come Together at least) I’ve done enough planning before I draft that I don’t need to do massive restructuring once words are already on the page. So I just line-edit my way to posting, and miss plenty of typos in the process.

15. Where does inspiration come from?

Art of all kinds! I read and watch a lot of things that I cherry-pick fic ideas from, and of course music factors into my writing process so heavily, playlist-making is a step of its own.

16. Who has been helpful for you as you write for the fandom?

Well. WELL. I think it is a well-known fact that I would languish without the support and friendship of Clare ( @clare-with-no-i ) and Senem ( @keepingupwithpotters ). I worry that I’ll miss someone if I continue to name names, but there have been loads of people sprinting with me on Discord of late or just direct-messaging me on Tumblr and I appreciate all of them so, so much!

17. What is your fav POV to write from?

I said recently that while I find it easier to write from Lily’s POV, James is fun because he surprises me more!

18. What is a fic you would love to write but are worried you won’t be able to accomplish it/nervous it wouldn’t work out?

I’m not necessarily nervous it won’t work out...but I’m writing a loose Edwardian era AU with magic that is...basically a novel and I’m not entirely sure there’s a target audience for this...but there’s ME and I know I can’t wait to read it LOL.

19. Do you ever self insert in fics?

Well, I think there’s a little of me in pretty much every main character in my stories — it makes it easier to grapple with their emotions, their quirks, and their flaws when I have a direct reference point. And there are other characters who are, say, aggressive Jily shippers who exist in the background that I relate to for obvious reasons LOL. But I’ve never straight-up dropped myself into a story — though I could do it and find a way to make it hilarious, I think.

20. What is the story you are proudest of?

This is so hard because my answer changes so often! But I will give the easiest one here: Come Together has taken so much of my time and has been such a labour of love, and I sometimes forget how far I’ve come with it. And I’m really proud at having done that.

21. Do you prefer writing canon jily or muggle au?

I wouldn’t say Muggle AU, but I think I like canon vs. AU for different reasons — the former because the wartime pressure offers the kind of stakes you can’t really get in other universes, the latter because of the flexibility and range. Which I know is such a non-answer, but I do like both equally and I just switch between my WIPs when I get tired of one or the other, ha.

Thank you for doing this!

[sunflowervolvimp3]

garden (koh!harry)

Warnings: language

Pairing: king of hell!Harry x angel!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: alright so!! this is an au a friend of mine and I thought of a couple years ago!! basically it’s demon!harry and angel!reader but with the added spice of harry being the king of hell!! the premise for this au is that it’ll kind of be an ongoing series/universe, like the hades!harry au!! so that means I’ll be posting a series of one shots and concepts in a non-chronological order, meaning that each one shot takes place in a different time and in a different order!! I’m really excited to write a series like this, in addition to the long stand-alone fics I do, and I really really hope you guys like it!! the last time I did a shorter one shot, it didn’t really get any feedback, and I thought longer stand-alone fics were the way to go, but I do really miss this format!! so. please. if you like it!! reblog it!! let me know you like it!! and let me know what questions you have about this au!! any concept or blurb ideas or thoughts you have!! I’m very excited for it and I hope you guys are too <3 also I originally wrote this au on my marvel blog last year, and have reworked and revamped it, so if it looks familiar, or sounds familiar, I promise I haven’t plagiarized lmao that was me!!

{masterlist}

When Y/N wakes up, the room is dark.

This, Y/N has come to realize, is normal, considering that the chambers she sleeps in have no windows. While this fact would normally have troubled her, she’s made her peace with it.  After all, what is there to see?  The palace, located in the center of hell, is surrounded by the flames of the underworld and the souls of the damned, and while neither of those things are a welcoming sight in the morning, they’re especially unwelcome for an angel such as herself.  It had taken her so long to adjust to the obsidian stone walls around her, the heavy black and red velvet drapes that lined the frame of her bed, and the smell of sulfur that lingered in the air, even after she had placed herbs and flowers to burn in the fireplace and create a sweet smoke in the air.  Truth be told, Y/N still wasn’t completely adjusted to the atmosphere around her, but this, too, doesn’t surprise her.  An angel could never truly adjust to being in hell.

A rustling in the bed next to her pulls Y/N from her thoughts, and she lets her gaze shift to the muscled body nestled in the sheets next to her.  This, she thinks, is another thing she may never get used to, even though it sparks a burning desire deep within her.  While the king of hell may have once frightened you, the sight of him lying next to her brings a feeling of comfort to her, and Y/N allows herself a moment to admire the rarely relaxed state Harry is currently in.  His curls, which are normally carefully styled beneath his crown, are tousled from sleep, falling into his face in an endearing way. His face itself is relaxed, the hard creases from the scowl that’s usually permanently etched into his features all but disappeared.  The demon is normally a fearsome thing to behold, his power at the forefront of every one of his movements, but seeing him like this…these are some of Y/N’s favourite times.

Thinking him still asleep, Y/N carefully pushes his mussed curls back from his face, her fingers tracing down the line of his jaw.  She can feel the stubble that’s unperceivable in the dark, and a soft sigh falls from her lips as she enjoys the rough sensation against her delicate fingers.

“Why are you awake, angel?” Harry’s low voice rumbles deep from his chest, raspy from lack of use.  Although his eyes remain closed, his face half pressed into his pillow, Y/N watches him adjust himself in the bed.

“I don’t know.” She whispers back, laying her head back on her own pillow, her gaze still on his body. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“S’alright.” Harry gives a small sigh, opening his eyes just barely. “I was just resting.  I’m fine.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, that’s another thing she isn’t quite used to.  While her body functions like that of a human, needing sleep every night, breathing oxygen into her lungs, a heart pumping blood through her veins…. Harry doesn’t.  It’s rare he sleeps, and even when he does, it’s never for more than a few hours.  He had explained to Y/N once how his heart beat so slowly when he was created, and how it stopped completely when he reached full maturity.  Although Y/N can see the faint blueish outlines of veins beneath his tattooed skin, she’s not exactly sure what runs through them.  Blood seems too common for a being like him.  And if he was ever to get hurt, Y/N’s quite certain that he wouldn’t bleed like she would.

The sensation of Harry beginning to play with her hair pulls Y/N from her thoughts. “Why are you awake, hm?” He keeps his voice low, his tone gentle.  He’s gotten better at speaking softly for her. “What’s troubling that pretty mind of yours, angel?”

Y/N half shrugs as best she can while laying down. “Nothing.  Just…thinking, I suppose.”

Harry quirks up an eyebrow. “Thinking?  About what?”

The words hesitate at the edge of Y/N’s mouth before spilling out. “How…I don’t really belong here.”

A deep hum echoes from Harry’s chest as his deep green eyes close again. “’F course you belong here, love. Don’t be silly.”

“I don’t belong here.” Y/N repeats the phrase insistently, her eyes glued to the way his jaw tenses as she says it. “I…I’m not from here.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t belong.” Harry counters, eyes opening once again.  They’re darker now, and Y/N can see the stubbornness swirling within them. “I’m the king.  I want you here.  That means you belong.”

Y/N chews on her bottom lip, contemplating the best way to explain herself. “I just…I miss it.” She says finally, her voice small as it slips into the space between them.

Harry’s pink lips pull down into a frown. “Miss what?”

Fingers twisting together, Y/N pauses before answering Harry’s inquiry. “Above.”

“Oh, angel…” Harry sighs again as he shifts his position, pulling her into his marked chest.  His strong hands find her back in the darkness, stroking up and down over her cotton nightgown in a soothing manner. “What’s there to miss?  Angry people rushing around all the time, destroying their own planet?  Destroying themselves along with it?  No, you’re much better off down here, with me.”

“There’s plenty to miss.” Y/N counters, pressing her ear into his chest to be greeted with the familiar sound of silence. “The smell of rain, sunshine, flowers growing, birdsongs…” She sighs as she trails off. “And I like people, you know that.  They may destroy things, but down here…you destroy things too.”

“Only things that need to be.” Harry argues, his fingers continuing his tracings across her back, barely brushing over the two ridges between her shoulder blades where her wings usually sit. “Souls that deserve punishment, or souls that sold themselves to me.  It’s part of the deal, angel.”

“I miss my garden.” Y/N’s voice is barely audible as she grazes her finger over his pentagram necklace. “My rose bushes, my sunflowers…I used to grow berries, too.  Strawberries, blueberries…I would make delicious pies and scones…”

“If you truly desire those things,” Harry murmurs slowly, carefully measuring his words. “Then I can get them for you.  I can send a demon to the surface for the fruits, and all the ingredients you would need to bake.  I’m sure anything you create would taste…” The growing smirk is practically audible in his voice. “Sweet.”

Despite the light warmth that flushes her cheeks, Y/N shakes her head against his chest. “It’s not the same.” She sighs. “I miss the breeze.  I miss the ocean.  I used to run to the edge of the surf to dip my toes in the water…and I loved going to the beach at night.  On clear nights, the moon would reflect on the water like a mirror, two glowing spheres, watching over me…”

“Are you not happy here?” Harry’s voice turns gruffer as he registers the longing in her voice. “You know why going to the surface is dangerous.  The angels—”

“Would try to take me back. I know.  And I don’t want to go back.” Y/N rubs her hand over Harry’s tensed muscles, trying to soothe him back into a relaxed position. “I just miss it. Isn’t there anything you miss? Anything that causes an ache in you, deep in your chest?” She presses her palm over his stilled heart to emphasize her words.

Harry softens at her touch, relaxing back into the sheets once more. “The only absence that could ever make me ache is yours.” He kisses the top of her head, an action so tender that Y/N almost forgets he’s a demon. “Sleep, angel.  Dwelling on these matters will only cause you pain.”

Y/N kisses his collarbones chastely, the curves fitting easily underneath her lips, before settling herself back down and closing her eyes.  Although breathing isn’t necessary for Harry, the familiar action soothes her as she listens to his breaths, the sound acting as her own personal ocean as she drifts to sleep.

…

The bed is cold when Y/N wakes up again the next morning, a sign that Harry has been long gone.  Given his strange sleep schedule, this isn’t unusual. What is unusual, however, is the carefully folded note sitting on his carefully fluffed pillow.  Y/N’s name is on the top of the note, scribbled in Harry’s messy penmanship.  Y/N rubs the sleep from her eyes as she picks up the rough paper, a shiver rolling through her as she brings it to her nose.  Although there’s the now familiar burn of sulphur initially, underneath sits Harry’s musky cologne, and the faint scent of it is enough to drive her mad.

Before she allows herself to get worked up any more, Y/N carefully unfolds the note, finding more of Harry’s writing on the inside.

Breakfast will be outside today, on the palace grounds.

Y/N frowns in confusion as she reads over the words repeatedly, trying to make sense of them. Harry knows that she hates going outside the palace walls, much preferring to spend her time inside the safety of the obsidian stone structure.  Between the anguished sounds of the damned, the burning smell of sulfur, the agonizing heat…Y/N typically avoids the depressing area.  However, Y/N has always had a natural curiosity to her, ever since she was created, and she knows that Harry is aware of that, which is why she finds herself making her way to the palace grounds as soon as she’s dressed. Although the idea of going outside leaves a pit in her stomach, she can’t help but wonder what would bring Harry to want to have breakfast outside.  And, moreover, Y/N trusts Harry.  Despite every one of her natural instincts telling her that a demon is dangerous, and the king of demons is even more so, Harry’s proven to her that he wouldn’t put her in harm’s way.

When Y/N reaches the palace doors, Harry is already waiting there, his arms clasped behind his back. He’s dressed in his usual attire of a suit, but this one is one of Y/N’s favourites.  The black fabric is trimmed with red, and a pattern of intricate red and gold stitches decorates the body of the jacket.  The pants are tailored to match, fitting his legs perfectly enough that they just brush the top of his black heeled boots.  As Y/N’s eyes trail back up, she registers his usual rings on his hands—the silver skull, the ruby, the silver band, the onyx stone—as well as notes that his fingernails have freshly been painted black.  His pentagram necklace, she knows, is carefully tucked under his shirt, hidden away between the black fabric and his tattooed chest.  There’s a slight smile on his lips as he watches her walk towards him, and a satisfied expression glimmers in his dark green eyes.  As he turns his head to the side to regard her, the gold and ruby crown that sits atop his perfectly styled curls catches the low light of the lit sconces around them.

As soon as Y/N is within his reach, Harry extends a ringed hand. “Good morning, angel.” He pulls her close to him, pressing her into his chest. “You look beautiful.”

Although enduring his compliments have become the usual, Y/N still hasn’t quite gotten used to them, and a light blush grows over her cheeks. Despite the embarrassment, Y/N’s glad that his words haven’t triggered the angelic blue light that sometimes radiates from her eyes when she feels something intensely (it had happened once a few weeks ago, and the smug look on Harry’s face had made Y/N swear to herself that she wouldn’t let it happen again). “Thank you, my king.” She holds up the note curiously, gauging the expression on his face. “What’s this?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Harry lowers his voice as he leans down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, speaking so only she can hear his throaty words. “And I really think you’ll love it.”

His tone of voice coupled with his breath on her ear makes Y/N shiver involuntarily. “O-okay.”

Judging by the smirk on Harry’s face, Y/N can tell that her reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Come, angel.” Harry tugs lightly on Y/N’s hand as his smirk transforms itself into a more tender grin. “I have something to show you.”

Y/N’s curiosity is what allows her to allow Harry to push the front doors of the palace open and lead her outside.  As expected, the moment Y/N steps into the muggy air of hell, her discomfort starts. Each breath seems to catch in her throat, and the very air around them feels as if it’s clinging to her skin, burrowing deep into her pores to start a slow burn.  A small sound of discomfort escapes Y/N’s throat against her will, catching Harry’s attention immediately.

“You’re alright, angel.” He assures her instantly, squeezing her warm hand with his own icy fingers. “Come.”

Y/N continues to allow herself to be led by Harry, all of her steps falling slightly behind his own. After a few more minutes pass, she’s about to speak again to ask what exactly is so important for her to see, until she senses a change in the air.  The more they walk, the more the burning smell of sulphur disappears from her senses. With relief finally on the horizon, Y/N’s pace finally speed up until she falls into step with Harry, her curiosity growing stronger as her discomfort slips away.

Harry squeezes her hand again, and the simple gesture is almost an encouragement as Y/N’s steps increase again.  She begins to pull him behind her, leading the way on instinct alone.  There’s an excitement in her curiosity and confusion, and Harry can feel it emanating from her as she gets closer and closer to his surprise.  It brings a smile to his face, seeing her like this.  Seeing her alive.  Seeing her bring life to a place meant for the damned.

When Y/N finally sees the source of the sweet smelling air, she stops in her tracks, her hand moving to clutch Harry’s arm in shock as her mouth falls open.  She gasps sharply, so in awe of what’s in front of her that the lack of pain from breathing hell’s hair doesn’t even register in her mind.  Her mind has no space for it.  All that she can think about is Harry behind her and the garden before her.

This is her surprise. A garden.  A real, living, almost seemingly breathing, garden.  At least, Y/N thinks it’s a garden.  The dry earth beneath her spreads into scorched grass that fades into a delightful green hue, so vibrant that Y/N almost thinks that each blade has been painted with the colour.  At the edge of the grass is a large hedge, at least three times as tall as Y/N and double as long.  The darker green leaves that make up the wall of nature are dotted with wildflowers, adding pops of white and yellow every few inches.  In the very center of the hedge is a large wooden door, built out of dark, sturdy wood studded with shining iron bolts.  Although there’s a large wrought-iron knocker in the center of the wood, there’s no handle, and fear of not being able to see inside the magnificent structure seizes Y/N’s body as she turns to look at Harry with questioning and concerned eyes.

Harry seems to read the question in Y/N’s eyes, and the demon steps forward in response. “Here.” He says, taking Y/N’s hand from his arm and pressing it to the door, his own hand cupped over hers protectively.  There’s a cadence to his voice that Y/N’s never heard before, and it takes her a moment to register it as excitement as he continues speaking. “It only opens to your touch.”

Y/N feels a shudder underneath her hand, almost as if the wood has registered that the palm pressed against it is her own.  The force keeping it closed suddenly fades away, and Y/N easily pushes the large door open to reveal the garden inside.  

The crisp and clear scent of fresh air hits Y/N first, almost bowling her over completely.  For the first time in a long time, she’s able to inhale deeply and freely, not worrying about what the air around her may do to her body.  The high hedge wall, along with the trees that create a canopy over the whole garden, seem to act like a barrier, blocking out the smells and sounds of hell. Y/N can smell various flowers and plants all around her, as well as the wonderfully earthy scent of dirt, and as she gazed around the natural enclosure, all she can hear is—

“Birds!” Y/N gasps in amazement as a small mockingbird lands on a tree branch, chirping happily.  Without tearing her gaze away from the small creature, she poses half a question to Harry. “How—?”

Harry, still standing at the edge of the garden after closing the door behind them, knows her question before she even finishes. “I created it for you last night.” He says simply, his green irises glued to her every movement. “After our discussion.”

Y/N turns in a slow circle as she does her best to take in every detail around her.  Birds, she realizes, aren’t the only creatures inside the haven; butterflies fly through the air, moving leisurely from flower to flower, and the chittering of squirrels scrambling up and down the trees mixed with the sounds of all the birds hidden in the leaves.  A rustling in the bushes catches Y/N’s attention, and she manages to catch a glimpse of the cotton tail of a bunny before it hides under the foliage. A small frown tugs on the corner of her lips as she wonders why the bunnies are hiding away—heavenly beings are usually beloved by any living creatures—but like before, Harry guesses her question before she can ask it.

“They, uh, they don’t like me.” He clears his throat halfway through his sentence, his eyes gauging her reaction to his words. “Living creatures aren’t very fond of demons.  Unlike your kind, we don’t smell like sunshine and cotton candy.”

Despite her delight in his gift, Y/N can’t help but roll her eyes a bit at his gentle ribbing. “I don’t smell like sunshine and cotton candy.” She says, reaching out a delicate finger to a butterfly floating near her.  The tiny creature lands on her finger easily, without hesitation, and Y/N notices how Harry doesn’t receive the same treatment from the other butterflies in the air.  In fact, now that she’s paying attention, she quickly realizes that every living being in the garden around them is steering clear of the king.  She can’t quite blame them, she thinks, her eyes flickering over Harry’s closed off posture, dark appearance, and powerful aura.  Everything about him radiates the energy of someone who is dangerous.  And yet, Y/N’s never felt safer in hell than she does in this moment.

At the thought of safety, a new fear crosses her mind “Are they safe here?” Y/N asks in a hushed voice. “The animals?  I don’t want them to get hurt, or…”

“This garden is its own ecosystem.” Harry finally makes his way away from the garden edge, taking Y/N’s hand in a reassuring manner.  The butterfly on her finger flutters away as he gets closer, but Y/N’s attention is once again focused on the feeling of Harry’s cool fingers on her flushed skin. “As long as they stay in here, they’re safe.  I swear it.” Harry says, sincerity clear in his voice.

Y/N’s heart pounds beneath her chest, every once of her senses alight as they bask in the fresh air around her. “Oh, Harry…” Her eyes widen again as she begins to catalogue all the varieties of plants growing around her.  Not only were there flowers galore—fragrant roses of all colours, sunflowers taller than her, fragrant lilies, vibrant tulips, bright daffodils—all of her favourites, she notes—but past a grove of trees is— “Are those berries?”

The dimples that Y/N so rarely sees in Harry’s cheeks appear as he smiles at her excitement. “Yes.” He leads her over, his own excitement growing with every step.  Y/N notices how he walks with care, making sure not to step on any flora with his heeled boots.  It’s strange, seeing the king of hell being so cautious, but she appreciates it nonetheless.

Harry points to the various bushes around them with a painted finger, naming them as he goes. “Strawberries, blueberries…everything you’ve missed.  There’s room for you to plant more, as well.  If you’d like.” He glances at her for a moment, an unreadable look in his deep green eyes before he turns back to the plants. “And I set up a few stone benches throughout the garden, so you can come sit here when you need a break.  There’s one under the willow tree, one by the rose bushes, and one by the—”

“The water.” Y/N whispers, voice barely audible.  If Harry was human, he wouldn’t be able to hear the quiet gasp leave her lips. “Harry…”

When Y/N’s hand slowly slips out of Harry’s to walk to the water feature at the edge of the garden, she feels as though she’s in a trance.  Perhaps it’s the water itself, she thinks, calling out to her to soak her hell-scorched skin within its cooling depths.  Somehow, Harry had managed to make a small waterfall flow down from the top of the hedge into a crystal clear pool, which babbled delightfully with the motion.  Although the pool isn’t large, it’s certainly big enough to swim in, and just the very thought of slipping into the water brings a feeling of relief to Y/N.  Peering over the edge, she can see a few fish swimming around in the crystal clear water, and a new feeling of gratefulness mixes with the previous.

So entranced in the small pond, Y/N doesn’t even realize that Harry has followed behind her, keeping his distance by a few feet so she can admire the water. “Do you like it?” He asks, the excitement in his voice seeping out in exchange for a nervous and unsure tone. “It’s not…done yet.  I just did it quickly, so it—I can still add more, or take out things you don’t like, or—”

“Harry.” Y/N turns to face him with tears in her eyes, a small shake of her head being the only action she’s capable of. “This is…wonderful.  I don’t know how to thank you…”

Harry’s own eyes grow softer as he notices the tears welled in Y/N’s lash line, reflecting the light that seems to emanate from her eyes. “You don’t need to thank me.” He keeps his voice low, as if he’s worried speaking loudly will break whatever it is that’s growing between them. “I…I want you to be happy here.  I want you to feel like…this is your home.”

“I do.” Y/N promises sincerely, taking both of his hands in hers as she speaks.  She kisses his knuckles, her warm lips a contrast against the cold metal and stones of his rings. “Thank you.  I truly mean it.  Thank you.”

A new look passes through Harry’s eyes, more unreadable than anything Y/N’s ever seen before.  His pink lips are just as much a mystery, no expression available on them as he pulls a hand from her grasp in order to cup her cheek.  Despite the callouses on his fingers, and the cool temperature of his skin, Y/N leans into his touch, pressing her cheek into his palm.

“You’re welcome.” Harry’s thumb brushes over Y/N’s cheek bone, and the motion is so delicate and tender that Y/N isn’t quite sure what to make of it. “You’re…you’re so very welcome.”

Although he’s giving a polite response to her thanks, Y/N can’t help but feel like something deeper sits underneath the simple phrase as Harry repeats it.  She’s welcome.  So very welcome.  But welcome where?  In this garden?  Into his life?  Into him? The very thought of a double meaning causes her heart to pound, and by the flicker in Harry’s eyes, she knows he can hear it.

The questions bubble to her lips, but catch themselves on the tip of her tongue as her eyes detect a movement in the corner of gaze.  The breeze around them (Y/N isn’t sure where the breeze is coming from, but she’s grateful for it nonetheless) move something she hadn’t noticed before.  All questions about Harry’s intention fade away as her eyes focus on the sturdy branch of an oak tree, and the carefully woven ropes and wooden seat that hang from it.  She drops his hands, stepping out of his grasp and towards the object of her attention. “Is that—is that a swing?”

A light chuckle rolls from Harry’s lips at the awe in her voice. “Yes.” He says, his amusement clear in the word. “Would you like me to push you?”

The offer is so casual, and yet, it brings a sudden shyness to Y/N’s reply. “Only if the king would like to.”

Harry bows his head, his crown sparkling atop his brown curls as he extends a hand. “It would be my honour, angel.”

Y/N matches his smile as she takes his hand once again.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Time for the rest of the first challenge. Event. Whatever. Words hard.

[No. 26 - Chase Down The Leader]

We flashback just a minute or so from where we left off, in order to see just how Izuku pulled off his impressive launch across the field. He stands at the start of the minefield, watching other students pick their way through - and occasionally setting off mines with missteps - while having a veritable mumblefest over the mines and the general issue of trying to pick past them. 

The general gist of the mumbling: The mines are the type that blow up when stepped on, and aren’t that strong, but can throw a student off enough to possibly cause a chain reaction and lose them a lot of time. It’s better to go slow to avoid damage, even for leaping types, and trying to slow others is a guaranteed time loss. Izuku then analyzes the field in front of him, noting the spots people avoid and that most students will be most on guard at the entrance, which means there are plenty of mines left for his plan so long as they stay frosty. 

Izuku puts his armor plate to work digging up mines, muttering about how anti-personnel mines should only be 14 centimeters or so deep (about 6 inches). Jirou, just making her way into the field and using her quirk to… I guess disable mines in front of her? Anyway, she actually notices Izuku is up to something and asks what he’s doing, though I think it’s not one she expects to get answered. In short order, Izuku has a pile of about a dozen mines, and mentally claims he’s taking a page from Kacchan’s book. Meanwhile, Present Mic announces Shouto and Katsuki are still in the lead, and that they’re about to cross the finish line.

Not for long, though, as Izuku names his adhoc maneuver ‘great blasting turbo speed’, throwing himself on top of his armor sheet and onto the pile of mines, launching him over the field and right towards the two leading the pack. Pretty much everyone hesitates or stops to stare for a moment, shook by the sheer brass balls it had to take to literally blow yourself sky high. The two most shook, of course, are Shouto and Katsuki, who only just start moving again when Izuku actually flies ahead of them, forgoing their fight in order to catch back up.

Izuku considers the whole experience intense, and is even more focused now that he’s managed to gain the lead. However, there’s one huge issue - he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider how he was going to land. As if that’s not enough, Katsuki is throwing himself forward with more explosions, screaming at ‘Deku’ to get back there (presumably to fight). Shouto’s not far behind, giving up keeping the others hindered in exchange for the speed he gets from icing over the field ahead of him - he doesn’t have time to worry about those behind him now.

Present Mic announces the temporary ceasefire between the two in order to chase down Izuku, and how when a common enemy appears, people stop fighting - then tacks on that, well, actually they’re still fighting, just not each other. Aizawa wonders what his friend is even trying to say. 

Izuku starts floating away from his armor sheet, the larger surface area causing it to stall and slow faster then he is. He grabs onto one of the wires as he recognizes this, and that if he loses time on his landing, passing the two again will be impossible. As the two just start to rush past him, Izuku swears mentally, telling himself to not let go - while he’s still ahead, this is his only chance. So, if passing them is impossible, then he has to maintain the lead. 

Somehow, he manages to flip in the air, using the momentum to bring the armor plate swinging around and into the ground right between the two, the pressure enough to set off several more mines. The two are forced to stop from the resulting explosion, while Izuku’s newfound momentum throws him readily ahead. 

As he falls into a duck and roll, Present Mic announces how Izuku blows off the competition with no time to lose. He goes on to marvel at Aizawa’s class, wondering what he’s teaching the kids. Aizawa says it’s not his doing, and that they’ve been spurring each other on all on their own. Present Mic rolls on with his commentary, asking who could have predicted such an incredible turn of events? Aizawa asks if he’s being ignored as Present Mic announces the first one back to the stadium:

Midoriya Izuku. The crowds go absolutely wild. Outside the stadium, Death Arms recognizes Izuku as the kid from a year ago. At home, Inko falls off the couch sobbing while repeatedly stumbling over Izuku’s name. In an unknown location, Shigaraki watches on while scratching idly at his neck. 

Izuku looks around the stadium while breathing heavily, eventually looking at one spot in particular. Somehow, he’s found Toshinori in the stands, and the two have a Moment™ from across the stadium. 

These fucking two, man. 

While Izuku is trying to keep himself from crying, the other students start making their way across the finish line as well. 

Toshinori thinks about how Izuku has the spirit of a savior hero to the core, but the sports festival is a competition that tests the exact opposite of that - your willingness to take down the enemy. Heroes nowadays depend on popular opinion so much. So many selfishly seek to beat everyone else. But that’s not Izuku - and that’s why Toshinori chose him, even as he thoughts that lack of selfishness would be his one weakness. He claps in the stands, happy to have been proved wrong and mentally apologizing for doubting him, even as he laments Izuku’s crying habits.

Some business students nearby catch Toshinori’s attention, mostly due to them discussing Izuku’s potential and how they’d market him. They talk about how Izuku’s stock is about to rise, but it’s hard to say what’s still in store for him since he didn’t show his quirk. They then start speculating about how a hero agency would market him if they took it on, with one pointing out how he’s not much to look at, so they’re have to push his skills and his unique, almost artistic sensibilities. When the resources you need aren’t there… Well, we don’t hear how that gets handled, but Toshinori does note how some things never change.

We get a brief narrative insert about the business course, most notably how they have nothing to gain by directly competing in the sports festival. Instead, they hone their skills as salespeople and run business simulations. 

Back with the hero students, we see Katsuki and Shouto both catching their breath. Katsuki is furious at Izuku once again managing to wrangle a win right from under him, while Shouto is just staring after Izuku silently. Present Mic announces more racers reaching the finish line, and that the standings will be gone over later, so the students can catch their breath for now.

Ochako and Tenya make their way over to Izuku. Ochako calls Izuku’s strategy awesome, while Tenya is in despair over losing a race with his quirk, stating that he still has progress to make. Ochako states that she’s jealous of Izuku’s first place; Izuku flushes and hides his face behind his arms, stating that it wasn’t that impressive, and was still too close. Internally, he laments that he just got lucky, that all his chance strategies happened to work. They say it’s awesome, but it was just a lucky break, and that the real test of skill starts now.

Anyways, Midnight announces the end of the race, and we get the results:

Midoriya Izuku

Todoroki Shouto

Bakugou Katsuki

Shiozaki Ibara

Honenuki Juuzou

Iida Tenya

Tokoyami Fumikage

Sero Hanta

Kirishima Eijirou

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Ojiro Mashirao

Awase Yosetsu

Asui Tsuyu

Shouji Mezou

Satou Rikidou

Uraraka Ochako

Yaoyorozu Momo

Mineta Minoru

Ashido Mina

Kouda Kouji

Jirou Kyouka

Kaibara Sen

Tsuburaba Kosei

Kaminari Denki

Bondo Kojiro

Yanagi Reiko

Shinsou Hitoshi

Kendo Itsuka

Shishida Jurota

Kuroiro Shihai

Kodai Yui

Rin Hiryu

Shouda Nirengeki

Komori Kinoko

Kamakiri Togaru

Monoma Neito

Tsunotori Pony

Hagakure Touru

Tokage Setsuna

Fukidashi Manga

Hatsume Mei

Aoyama Yuuga

I wasn’t able to find this list in word form anywhere online, so I made it myself. You’re welcome. I also calculated the points each of them had going into the second event, but I’m not gonna worry about that here. I’ll do individual and team points when we actually get to the teams. That way, we’ll know who has which teams’ headbands at the end!

Moving on with the chapter. Midnight announces that the top 42 from the qualifying round will move on, conveniently just including every hero student as well as the two non-hero students who managed to place higher. For those who placed lower, the sports festival will have another way for them to show their stuff!

(Not that we see said show, which I mean, makes sense narratively speaking, but also…)

[I was going to insert the server discussion about my thoughts on the arbitrary cut-off point here, but it’s getting long enough to merit its own post at this point. So look forward to that whenever it goes up!]

Anyways, Midnight continues on, explaining that now the main selection really begins, and that the press corp is going to be jumping out of their seats, so the students should give it all they’ve got. Now, onto the second event, which she already knows - which confirms these are predetermined by UA and they just do the randomizer for the sake of the crowds. Said event is… 

the cavalry battle!

Kaminari is nervous at that, thinking about how he’s going to suck. Mineta is also looking concerned. Tsuyu notes they’re teaming up, but how, exactly? Midnight explains with a neat little graphic:

Basically, participants get in teams of two to four, and get into a horse-and-rider formation. The rules are the same as your regular cavalry battle - snag the opponent’s headbands while guarding your own - but with a twist. Each student has an assigned value based on their placement in the race. 

Sato notes that it sounds like the points in the entrance exam, so it sounds simple. Hagakure comments on how this means the point value of each team is based on its members. Midnight snaps and cracks her whip at the students that she’s about to explain, so they should shut up already. 

Individual point values start at five, at the bottom, so the student in 42nd place is forth five, 41st is worth ten, etc etc. However, the first place participant - that is, Izuku - is instead worth a whole ten million points.

That, my friends, is the face of someone realized they done fucked up.

Basically all the students stare down Izuku as he goes stiff from the internal panicking. Shinsou and Hatsume seem to be shown particular interest in it. Midnight finishes the chapter by noting that the higher-ranked students are the ones to aim for, and that this survival game is a chance for a comeback. It’s anyone’s game!

And with that, we end chapter 26… and volume three. Which means bonus content will be coming soon! See y’all then, and we’ll be back with more sports festival action in the next volume. 

[fleckcmscott]

Another Decade

Summary: Arthur discovers Y/N's fortieth is just around the corner. He hopes to get the occasion right.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 5,044

A/N: This request comes from @hhandley80​, who is an absolute sweetheart! Funnily enough, I got the request for this story and Another Year within a couple days of each other. Thank you so much for it! It was great to write.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

This morning's therapy appointment had boosted Arthur's spirit. Left him refreshed instead of worn. Dr. Ludlow had given him a break from discussing his negative thoughts and various neuroses. Rather, she'd asked him what he wanted to talk about. What was foremost on his mind. And he'd spent close to the entire hour diving into what it was like to live with Y/N.

Having a person who cared about him was fulfilling. Beautiful. Challenging. Struggles inevitably happened but she attempted to help him through them. (A stark difference from when he’d been on his own.) The faith she'd placed in him by inviting him into her home was exciting.

Fears he'd never be worthy of that trust or such a good, intelligent woman did tend to eat at him. Especially when he couldn’t sleep or suspected he was slipping. But he was trying. Doing his best to learn every day, every hour, every minute. To alter his view of himself to include intimate partner alongside mentally ill loner. “I- I thought it would fix me,” he’d said. “It’s hard. But I don’t feel so bad all the time anymore.”

The doctor had complimented his resolve. Said he was dealing with all the changes as well as could be expected. If he followed his treatment plan, she anticipated he'd continue to do so. Appreciating the recognition, Arthur had wondered how to keep her praises close.

And now here he was. Experiencing the ordinariness of sitting in a diner with his girlfriend. Talking about their respective mornings. Sharing a meal. The crinkle fry he grabbed from the blue-plate special in the center of the table was soggy. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he dunked it in ketchup, a possible punchline coming to mind. If he could just figure out the right-

An inviting caress to the back of his hand brought him back to the present. He hadn't meant to tune out Y/N. With an apologetic grin, he pressed back into the booth's plastic cushions and took another drag off his cigarette.

“I was saying I need to head back to work,” she told him. A smile slowly spread across her face, until it nearly blinded him. “And that I can’t believe we’ve been shacked up for almost two months. I know it’s been an adjustment-“

“A good one,” he interrupted gently, interlocking their fingers.

"I’m proud of you.” The pink on her cheeks was faint. “I wouldn’t have taken the leap with anyone else. I can’t seem to get enough of your company, Mr. Fleck.” With that, she signaled for the waitress, retrieved her wallet from her purse, and got out some cash. Rising, she turned to Arthur. “Get the change for me,” she said, heading towards the back.

Her suede billfold was open on the table, her Gotham City ID card in view. He tentatively picked it up to examine the photo. Her hair was uncharacteristically flat, shorter than it was now. The flash had turned her lovely eyes red, and her lips were agape, as though she was in the middle of a sentence. A giggle escaped him. Frumpy. She was frumpy.

Reading her details, his brow quirked at her full name: “Y/N M/N L/N.” There was a nice rhythm to it, one that would also work with “Fleck,” if they got as far as he daydreamed. Then he saw her date of birth and stilled.

Her fortieth was in less than two weeks: 4/6/1942. April sixth. Shit.

He’d learned so many facts about her: the names of her nephews and niece; which college she’d attended; her favorite bands. She’d told him her birthday was in the spring. How the hell had he neglected to ask her the specific date? Awash with embarrassment, a hiccup left him and he covered his mouth.

The waitress returned with a dubious look, a receipt, and coins. As he counted out the tip, he calculated what he had in his own wallet and checking account. He’d scrimped and saved to cover the electric and water bills (though he knew he’d have to pay them in secret to avoid Y/N’s finding a way to repay him). Could he afford a decent gift, too?

Arm in arm, they walked back to Y/N’s workplace. She chatted about that afternoon’s court process, and he puffed away as if he was going to Hoyt’s office for an impromptu scolding. When they reached the steps in front of her building, she tugged at him until he stepped closer. “You’re so stiff.”

Putting on a half-grin, he leaned into her. “Don’t worry about me.” He stole a chaste kiss, one she tried to turn into more before he backed off. “I’ll see you later.”

When he got home, he didn’t bother to change into his thermal shirt and pajama bottoms. Relaxing wasn’t an option. Stretching and pacing the kitchen, he breathed in and out, in and out. He needed to focus instead of letting himself be thrown off. Like a good partner would.

Plans. He had to make plans. And not the vagaries floating around in his head of what boyfriends were supposed to do. Special ones. Personal ones. Ones that demonstrated the depths of his love for her. This was important. The start of a new decade. And her first birthday with him.

Unable to conjure other options, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Y/N’s office. His leg bounced harder with every ring. He hadn’t yet spoken with Patricia, Y/N’s friend and co-worker. But he’d heard she was nice. Any suggestions she could offer were welcome.

Thank goodness she answered before he lost his nerve. “Shaw and Associates. Patricia speaking.”

“Hi,” he pushed out, fiddling with the phone cord. “Um, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Y/N’s boyfriend?”

A smile lingered in her professional lilt. “It’s nice to talk to you, finally. But she isn’t here. I can take a message.”

“No, I know.” If he hesitated too long, he'd reveal his awkwardness. So he went for it. “Do you know what Y/N’s favorite cake is?” That question commenced a conversation that gradually became easier. Each sentence soothed. Consoled the irritation he’d aimed at himself.

Y/N liked hummingbird cake, a mix of pineapple, banana, and cinnamon. It sounded intricate and expensive. There was a bakery that sold it by the slice, according to Patricia. Y/N hadn’t disclosed what gifts she would fancy, but had said she didn’t need any knick-knacks, mugs, or other such trifles. As for activities, she was uncomplicated. She liked going to the movies and restaurants. Conversations and walks. The mundanity of domestic life, especially since becoming involved with him.

That lovely sentiment caused his eyelids to shut, an ember to glow in his heart. But it only confirmed what he already knew. “I want to make her happy,” he breathed. “I’m new at this.”

“We all were once,” she said, brushing his concerns off. “Arthur, she’ll love anything you do. Because you’re the one doing it.”

The kindness she was extending to him felt surreal. Not yet used to it, he tried to believe it wasn't a trick. He thanked her quietly, for her ideas and for listening to him. But as he was about to hang up, she gave him one last piece of advice. “Wear your button-up with the blue flowers. And your yellow vest.”

Blinking, he frowned. “But those are for work.”

Patricia laughed softly. “Yeah, well. She likes them. What was it she said? ‘They accentuate his sexy waist?’”

A burn rushed across his face and he rubbed his forehead. “...Oh.”

Well, that was a request he could handle.

~~~~~

It seemed as though newspaper adverts, television commercials, and even the damned billboards plastered around Gotham had an ax to grind. They all declared the same thing. Women needed to “mold their faces back to youth!” “Guard against aging skin!” Learn they could “look young again!” To be someone other than themselves.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N dropped the magazine she’d been reading in the trash can next to her desk. She’d be crossing into the “Fatal Forties” in a week. While she did use lotion before bed to prevent the formation of wrinkles, and the prospect of gray hair wasn’t one she relished, turning the big 4-0 bothered her less than she’d anticipated. Her looks were minor concerns compared to what she’d gained over the years.

The hardships she’d endured had mostly strengthened her. Allowed her, mercifully, to grow into a person who was comfortable with herself. It was said women were supposed to be set in their ways by now. And in many respects, that was true. She enjoyed her routines. She liked her career. She loved participating in life amidst millions of other people.

But meeting Arthur had changed her path. Started her on an adventure she treasured. A journey into actual partnership, rather than her earlier attempts to please and meet other’s expectations. Attempts she had failed at. Miserably.

He hadn’t cared she was five years his senior. Hadn’t hinted that he’d considered her a “spinster.” Never joked that she was an “old maid.” If she stood in front of the cosmetic counter at the pharmacy while he got his prescriptions, he’d slink up behind her and say, “You’re already pretty.” She’d never expected him to make her feel more desirable now than she’d ever felt in her twenties, stretch marks, moderately saggy breasts, and all.

During the past few days, she’d tried to piece together what he could have planned for her birthday. He hadn’t left any clues, though one night he had hurriedly tucked something under a couch cushion. He’d been a bit out of sorts, though. Biting his nails more than usual. Seeking greater reassurance.

She’d had plenty of good birthdays. There’d been parties and games. Presents. Hugs and well wishes. When she’d taken care of her father it had mostly been forgotten, apart from the cards she’d received from her ex-husband and sister. The passage of time had been marked by worsening dementia. And she had been fine with not caring.

In contrast, Arthur had stated he’d never known what it was like to matter to someone. Not until her. He’d told her he’d given Penny a blouse for her birthday once or twice. That had been years ago, however, before his mother’s reactions to him had gradually reduced to requests to send letters. Before her health had declined when he was a child and he’d had to take over every basic task. Before he’d become too exhausted to try.

Would it be fair to expect him to take much notice?

At the end of a long workday, she’d be satisfied with a quiet evening at home. Cooking dinner together. Drinking wine until she felt warm and fuzzy. Kisses exchanged here and there. Maybe some fooling around before she nodded off on the sofa with her feet in his lap. Such basic joys would be plenty.

~~~~~

The page in Arthur’s journal taken up by Y/N’s special day wasn’t atypical. He’d been writing about her since the grocery store. (“I wonder what her name tastes like. Less bitter than mine, I bet.”) Since they’d shared donuts. (“I shud have given Sara my number.”) Since she’d stared at him, then smiled at him, and he’d felt the whole world change. (“I hope Y/N likes the joke I rote for her. I practised it 100 times! Maybe she’ll let me touch her again. Shit. I’m nervos.”)

With it a mere four days away, there wasn’t much time left for gift hunting. So he pulled on his trusty tan jacket and headed out. He was unsatisfied with what his search had turned up so far. Flowers. Candy. Nylons. It had all been mediocre when she was beyond compare.

On the verge of desperation and distress, he finally managed to stumble upon the right shop. The name above the entrance, Nice Twice, was catchy. And there was a sign: “Personalization available!” Following a quick glance through the streaked shop window, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and opened the wooden door.

As he stepped inside a shopkeeper bell rang. The stench of sandalwood incense and mothballs was thick, causing him to wince. The place was overstuffed, filled with circular clothing racks, shelves of home decor and appliances, and furniture from the sixties. He tread along the faded, orange parquet floor. Squeezed between displays of bell bottoms and coats to reach a large jewelry counter by the cash register.

A man Arthur assumed was the owner popped out from behind a nearby shoe rack. He appeared to be what Penny had disdainfully referred to as a “hippie,” with his beaded headband and light blue jeans. When asked if he’d found anything he liked, Arthur answered, “Not yet.”

His shoulders tilted, drew together as he scanned the contents of the glass cabinet. Being able to get Y/N diamond earrings or a bracelet would have been ideal. He’d heard they were supposed to be symbols of commitment. Show her how important she was to him. But they’d never be affordable, even in a thrift store. There were some lovely brooches but they weren’t her style. She didn’t wear pins, anyway.

About fifteen minutes had passed when, at last, he spotted a suitable piece. The owner gave it to him to inspect. The heart, hanging from a long, silver chain, was a tad smaller than the end of his thumb. Purple, blue, and gold flowers, faded with age, were pressed under the pendant’s rounded, glass front. It was lovely, like her. And picturing her wearing it made his chest tighten.

The necklace was twelve dollars. For two dollars more, the heart’s silver back could be engraved. Arthur could definitely swing that. It took only seconds for him to choose what should be etched into it, having had his imagination sparked by a recent fifties sit-com. It would be ready Monday, the day before her birthday.

While Arthur retrieved his wallet, the owner asked, ”Hey, what’s your sign?”

Forehead furrowed, he tried to decipher the man’s meaning. He was sure he’d heard the question on television and in films. “My sign?” The man clarified and Arthur provided both his and Y/N’s birthdays.

The owner laughed. “Woo wee! That’s a powerful match.” He indicated a collection of astrology scrolls next to the register. “Your lady friend might like one of these.”

Waving dismissively, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe in that.” Seemingly determined, the hippie held out a rolled-up scroll. It was about the length of a cigarette, its title printed in a faux-ancient font: “Aries & Scorpio: Love & Romance.” Curiosity piqued, he pressed his lips together. “What does it say?”

“Only good things, man.” This was obviously a well-practiced pitch. And it was working The man retrieved a keyring full of unrolled, laminated scrolls. After flipping through the collection, he handed one to Arthur. He wasn’t the fastest reader, having had difficulties with it since he was a kid. But he scanned the page.

According to “the stars,” palpable chemistry existed between Aries and Scorpio. They were fun, passionate, and explosive in the bedroom. Snorting, he brought the scroll closer. “Your attraction to each other defies logic. Aries has a tough demeanor, but Scorpio brings out the compassion and love hiding underneath. Scorpio has an inner strength Aries finds irresistible.” Hm. What it said about Y/N was true. And she’d told him he was strong (which he didn’t really believe). He smiled, pleased this silly tract paid him such compliments.

He kept going. “As a pair, you are inhalation and exhalation in one. Two sides of the same coin. Aries is the sun to Scorpio’s moon.” Y/N was all those things to him. Even on days he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel better. Even on days it was easier to sink into the familiarity of misery than to strive for the unfamiliarity of feeling good.

It was after reading the final line that he nodded and dug into his pocket for two quarters: “You will be together for decades, even into the next life.”

~~~~~

Though she was standing in an overcrowded subway, squished between a man holding a dog and a woman using her as a vertical bed, Y/N felt giddy. Albeit tired. The day had been brimming with paperwork, phone calls, and running around. But it had started off well, and she was certain its upward trajectory would continue the rest of the night.

When she’d awoken, she’d discovered a pink envelope in Arthur’s place, laying haphazardly on his pillow. She’d boosted herself up on her forearm, ran her fingertips over her handwritten name, and taken out the yellow card.

There was a drawing of a man holding a woman by the waist. Lifting her until her hair touched the cheery, red “Happy Birthday.” The couple appeared thrilled. Taken with each other. And straight out of the forties. It wasn’t quite them, but it did reflect Arthur’s old fashioned romanticism.

No preprinted poem was inside. No famous quotes. Arthur had written a message instead. One which made her ache. “What do you get when you cross chocolat with something that goes thump-thump? A sweetheart. (That’s you.) My life is nicer with you in it. Even Gotham. I’m happy you talked to me. I love you a lot. -Arthur.”

He’d returned to the bedroom. Caught her mid-giggle as she’d wiggled out of her nightgown, hidden between the sheets. He was holding a mug. The same one they’d shared after the first of many lovemaking sessions.

Greedily, she’d ogled his damp hair and slender musculature. Light green eyes soft and serene, he’d sat next to her and pecked her cheek. At the flick of his gaze to her mouth, she’d flung her arms around his shoulders. Stubble burned her skin, her kisses to his dimples urgent.

“Wait,” he’d chuckled, putting the drink on the nightstand. “I made pancakes.” Even as he’d protested, he’d splayed his hand on the small of her back.

“To hell with pancakes,” she’d purred, pulling him under the blankets.

Work had been sentimental, which she’d neither expected nor wanted. Her new job would be starting in a week and a half. The small celebration they’d squeezed in served as both a goodbye and “Over the Hill” party, black balloons and grey streamers included.

Matt had been downcast as he’d shoveled red velvet cake into his mouth. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

A lame attempt to lighten the atmosphere had been needed. No one was going to start blubbering on her account. “You could come with me. Follow the conscience I know you have hidden somewhere.” He’d looked askance, turned towards his office. Trying to soften her joke, she’d patted his arm. “Don’t feel too bad. You could still lose the case.”

Settled on the windowsill, she’d gazed out at the streets of the city she’d grown to love. The city she called home, despite having spent only five percent of her existence in it. It was fitting to start this phase of her life here. The only period in which she’d felt whole, both professionally and personally.

A sheen had been in Patricia’s eyes when she’d joined her in the tight space, nudging her with her hip. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you here, accelerating Matt’s hair loss.”

“You’ll have to add it to your list of duties.” Elbowing her gently, Y/N continued. “I’ll only be a couple blocks away. We’ll meet for lunch. And you have my phone number.” Before her own eyes could water, she’d gone to her desk to cut another slice.

Patricia raised her hand. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”

“Oh? Should I be expecting something?”

Finishing her own piece, Patricia crossed her ankles. “Arthur called for tips while you were in court. He decided I was an expert on you.” Y/N’s brows shooting up prompted a chuckle. “I didn’t give away all your secrets. Just some of your favorite sweets.”

The clench of Y/N’s throat was instant. And shame washed over her for assuming he wouldn’t plan much, if anything at all. He’d been considerate, even during tough times. Like at Christmas, which had been hard for him but turned out well in the end. He’d made it clear that what he coveted most, besides love and validation, was to be treated normally. Normal expectations were a part of that. She’d sought to give him a break when the benefit of the doubt had been what he deserved.

Y/N thought a bit. Surveyed the ornate woodwork in the corners of the room. Then she'd met her friend’s gaze. “Patricia, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Because he’s getting you cake?”

“I’m not that easy.” Laughing, Y/N sat on the corner of her desk. “Do you remember when I said I was almost forty and was going to grab what I want? Well, I’m forty and he’s what I want.”

Caution and kindness had softened Patricia’s concerns. “I don’t mean to be indelicate. But you’re his first relationship. Is he ready for that?”

Y/N sucked the frosting off her fork. “Our sixth month is soon. I’ll drop a hint. When he’s ready - if he’s ready - he’ll know I am, too.”

She’d been floating since that realization. Since admitting her devotion to Arthur aloud and thereby making it concrete. Since getting a supportive hug from Patricia. And reassurance from Matt, of all people, that she hadn’t entered a mid-life crisis.

That headiness continued as she fumbled with her keys. Upon entering their apartment, music reached her ears. Music with a faster tempo than the classics Arthur usually played. Hanging up her coat and slipping off her shoes, she recognized it as one of her “Best of Soul and Disco” LPs. She braced herself on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, her cheeks breaking wide open.

Arthur had moved the television and its stand to the side of the coffee table. A blanket, folded into a square, lay in front of the windows. Two plates and two wine glasses were on it. As she approached, she saw sandwiches on a platter. There was pasta salad and potato salad, both covered in plastic wrap, from the deli around the corner. In the center of it all sat an empty vase.

When he came out of the bedroom, magic wand in hand, he stilled. “Oh. Hi. You’re back already?”

A giggle. “I ran.” Biting her bottom lip, she admired his tousled brown curls, feathery, light, and attractive as hell. His face was unobscured by make-up, allowing her to revel in his handsomeness. The top button of his white shirt was undone. And his yellow vest outlined his lean frame in all the right ways. He wore his usual trousers. “Did you have a gig today?”

“No.” He smoothed a palm down his chest and stomach, and she noticed he’d rolled up his sleeves. “Um, I heard you like it.”

She felt herself blush and nodded eagerly. Thank you, Patricia.

With a flick of his wrist, flowers sprouted from the end of the wand. “I wanted to do this outside. On the fire escape. But it’s too cold.” He knelt on the blanket to put the flowers in the vase.

Y/N cocked her head. The juxtaposition of him wearing his “Carnival Casual” outfit, the cutesy charm of the picnic he’d arranged with the music that was playing was ridiculous. The song went on repeatedly about miracles, need, and “sexy things.” She snorted.

As Arthur removed the cellophane from the salads, his shoulders tensed. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he breathed. “I got too much.”

“No,” she replied, sitting next to him, laying a hand on his thigh. “This is wonderful.” When their eyes met, she found his look at once bashful and flirtatious.

She served the sandwiches and salads while he poured the wine, following her request to fill the glasses to the top. Mostly potato salad ended up on her plate, the mix of mayonnaise, pepper, and egg just right. A majority of the pasta wound up on his - he liked the vinegary flavor. The red wine did not pair with the turkeys on rye he’d prepared, so she saved most of it for dessert.

When Arthur held out an orange roll of paper, she was dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. The title made her laugh. She never would have suspected he put stock in the zodiac; she certainly didn’t. Gingerly, she opened the scroll and squinted down at it.

It described her as determined, confident, and extroverted. And called Arthur a curious, emotional introvert. While mostly true, it wasn’t quite accurate. Arthur was only introverted in personal situations, while having the courage to perform as a clown and a stand-up. Those traits could belong to anyone, depending on the situation.

But the next paragraph clued her in as to why he’d bought the horoscope. And given it to her. “You were made for each other. There are times when it’s hard to know how you both managed to ever exist apart. The bond between you is unbreakable. You have much to learn from one another.” A lump formed in her throat when she read the last line, that they’d be together until the next life. She didn’t believe in that, yet longed for it all the same. “Thank you, Arthur.”

The scroll would have been enough. Dinner would have been enough. He would have been enough. But he placed a pink, velvet necklace box on her lap. She blinked at it, hoping he hadn’t spent too much on her. Then she forced that notion from her brain - he was a grown man who could buy what he chose - and cracked it open. Her breath caught.

The heart with pressed flowers was obviously vintage. The size was demure, like her other, few pieces of jewelry. And it was exactly her style: feminine and practical. She was grateful he hadn’t gotten her diamonds or other flashy gems. Her eyes darted to his as she took it out. “This is...” Gently, he turned it over in her palm, and she saw the engraving on the back: A+S.

A+S. Arthur and Y/N. It was a bold move from him. A welcome one.

“I think that’s usually done on trees,” he said. “But there aren’t that many in Gotham.”

Chuckling, she sniffed back her tears and shoved it at him. “Here.” She turned her back towards him. His fingertips dragged along her collarbone as she lifted her hair and he latched the chain. The kiss he placed above the clasp made her shiver. Wanting him to see how the pendant rested right above her cleavage, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.

“It’s beautiful.” She pulled him in for a kiss. Traced his crow's feet. Let her thumbs wander to the slight puffiness underneath. The wine, along with her earlier confession to Patricia, was making it easier to open up. “You have my whole heart, Arthur,” she sighed into his mouth.

His palm went to her chest as he tilted his head, his other holding the nape of her neck. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips and warmth enveloped her. She felt his fingers play with the necklace. Heard his ragged inhalation. Knew that pride and pleasure were emboldening him, because she was wearing what he’d gifted.

Eventually, he broke their connection, told her to close her eyes and pecked her nose. She concentrated on his steps to the kitchen. The clatter of him going through the silverware drawer. And then the chill breeze of the glass door being opened.

When she was allowed to peek, she stood and followed him onto the fire escape. A lit cigarette was already between his lips, and he was lighting a candle on a gigantic slice of cake. “You’re supposed to make a wish,” he said, smoke escaping his nostrils.

She snuggled his side, snaked an arm around him as he slung his across her shoulders. After eyeing the flame a moment, she sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips, and bent closer...

Just in time for a split-second gust of wind to blow out the candle.

Arthur groaned and started to let go of her but she stopped him. “It counts.” She lifted the fork and fed him a bite, grinning at his pleased hum. “You won’t mind me turning grey, will you?”

“No. I won’t be the only one looking old.”

She nuzzled his temple. “You don’t look old. You’re refined.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. They ate silently for a bit, but then he squeezed her tighter. “What did you...” Trepidation lurked behind his question, even after their steamy picnic. “What did you wish for?”

“That we’ll keep loving each other, even through tough times.” She lowered the fork, already full. “That I’ll like my new job.” Letting go of him, she set the plate on the metal stairs, next to his ashtray. “That you’ll be healthy.”

He huffed. “You shouldn’t have wasted any on me.”

“You’re worth all of them.” She kissed his bicep, laid her head on his shoulder. The record playing in the background turned over, switched to a slower song, and she grinned. “Now,” she said, “may I have this dance?”

Delight in his eyes, he bowed. She giggled as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her flush against his solid frame. He led beautifully, gazing at her as if she was the only woman in the world, guiding her to the beat she was deaf to. He even dared to raise her hand for a modest twirl, and she trusted him enough for it to work.

As they spun slowly, rotating in the lights of their living room and the city, he kissed her hairline. “Happy birthday. I hope you liked it.”

“I loved it.” She captured his thin lips with her own. “Promise you’ll be here for the next twenty.”

“The next forty.” He bumped their noses and lay his cheek on hers. Y/N cuddled deeper into his embrace, feeling more cherished than she had in years.

~~~~~

Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing

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[kyubey-kat]

I would like kaia getting a high five. Doesn't matter who. I just think it'd be hilarious

                                                   high five

  Something had been nagging Kaia for the past few weeks. Something so inconsequential it made her mad at herself that she kept thinking about it.

  All around her, at any time, every moment of the day humans were constantly doing weird things. For some reason this act had been sticking out to her as of late, and dammit if she wasn’t going to find out exactly what it was so her brain could finally shut up about it. And today was that day.

  Alone with Rae was the perfect time, she being the one and only person Kaia knew who would indulge in her judgmental questioning of human behavior. She watched the teen from a slight distance who was practicing some formations that Kaia had tasked her with for her training. It was late enough in the evening by now that not many others wandered the park, thus giving the two plenty of space and almost complete privacy for Rae to practice with her powers.

  Kaia was supposed to be paying complete attention so she could point out any mistakes, but the lingering question had been pushed to the front of her thoughts. Getting more annoyed with herself by the second, Kaia took her eyes off of Rae and looked to her hands, flexing her fingers on and off her palms before she lifted one in the air to mimic the stupid gesture.

  “What is this?” She was stood behind Rae so the girl had no line of sight to figure out what vagueness Kaia was announcing.

  She didn’t turn around yet either, too busy trying to perfect her training lesson. “What’s what?” Rae called back.

  “This.”

  Rae’s shoulders twitched to signify her typical sigh in response to most things about Kaia and glanced over her shoulder to see her just…standing with her hand in the air. “Huh?”

  Kaia stared back with a hard gaze, but made no more moves to elaborate. Waiting wasn’t going to do anything, so Rae mirrored Kaia and stretched her hand above her head. ‘This’ could be many things, and she had no clearer an image even after.

  “You…have a question?” she guessed.

  “I already asked it.”

  Rae had to fight to resist the urge to pinch her nose. Coming to terms that she wasn’t going to finish training, and that it was going to be one of those days, she walked over to Kaia still with her hand raised.

  “Alright, what are you on about?”

  Kaia was pouting as Rae still wasn’t getting it, and she used her free hand to point at the one stiffly up. “What does this mean?”

  “It can mean a lot of things, I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Are you waving hi? Raising your hand to ask or answer something?” Rae didn’t know all of what she should list

  “No.”

  Rae huffed out a breath. “You have to give me more to work with.”

  Without lowering her hand, Kaia’s head tilted as her eyes slid away in thought. Her lips moved without talking before she finally straightened up. “Sometimes I’ve heard ‘good job’, or… ‘up top’ when it happens.”

  “A high five?”

  “A what?”

  “When two people smack their hands together, it’s called a high five.” Rae moved in for an example, but when she readied to put her hand against Kaia’s, she immediately dropped it and leaned back as if offended.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Here she was again trying to describe something so normal and human in words. Rae really did try her best to make explanations for Kaia, but sometimes she thought the Guardian expected too much of her. “Well, y’know, to be like, yay! —” she threw her hands up— “or congratulate someone on something.”

  “That’s stupid.” Kaia deadpanned.

  “Hey, you asked!”

  “Only because I keep seeing it happen! I got my answer, so it’s whatever now.”

  She could at least say thanks. Rae rubbed the back of neck, wondering if her efforts were ever appreciated. “Well, it’s late anyway. We should start going home.”

  Kaia stuck her hands in her hoodie and nodded, following after Rae as she headed for the bench they’d left stuff on. As she gathered things together, Rae suddenly stopped and half turned towards Kaia.

  “Hey, you could use that high five now to tell me ‘good practice today’!” She grinned to set the mood and even offered both of her hands. After Kaia quirked an eyebrow and stared for an uncomfortable amount of time, Rae deflated and handed off the empty water bottles. “Can you throw these out for me?”

  Wordlessly, Kaia took the trash and walked off. Rae was always too hyper for her; she only wanted an explanation, not some big to-do over it all. Once taken care of, she heard the footsteps far before Rae called, “Kaia!” from behind.

  But not thinking of much, she didn’t even have a second to react as she turned to have her arm pulled up and Rae’s hand lightly slap against her palm. “Good job.” She smirked, her tone edging on patronizing, but was obviously a show of humor.

  Kaia’s cheeks began to inflate in her signature pout, and Rae having foreseen this reaction, quickly sidestepped around her and jogged away down the path. Kaia gave chase, but not in an angry way. She’d rolled her eyes and that was that.

  It was weird, but maybe she didn’t mind the antics as much.

[caps-lockdown]

Sweater Weather Part Six

Alright everyone here is the final part to this fic, it’s pretty short as I didn’t quite like how I was going to end it originally and re-wrote it to better accomplish a semi-decent ending. Enjoy!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x PottsRelativeFem!Reader

Ratings/Warnings: 18+ (Not smut but just to cover my ass)

For everything from language, crude jokes, ADULT situations/impure thoughts, booze (because it’s pretty much a staple in my fics at this point.), arguments, and an extremely overprotective Tony Stark. Very little angst, as I try to keep most of my fics light humored. But of course there are some insecurities/unsure feelings, as well as sad feels from everything with endgame/ the decimation. Also dead parents.

Also AU in the fact NO ONE DIED during Endgame/Steve didn’t go back. Also as much as I adore Morgan Stark, she isn’t around yet. I didn’t know where this would fit timeline wise, so just ignore the timeline. Kay? Cool.

Words: 2,844

Summary: You’ve just moved to New York after a long 3 year stint travelling the world and helping with various charities, taking a new job with Stark Industries thanks to your cousin Pepper. A trip out to surprise Tony and The Avengers for the weekend turns from good to terrible when the a/c at the compound breaks. How will you beat the heat for the record breaking weekend?

It’s in Y/N Y/L/N format, any pictures, outfits, gifs, and marvel characters just assume I don’t own them. Also no Beta, as I don’t ever have one, so the mistakes and reader are all my own. Enjoy!

Part Six

When Pepper put two and two together about you and your Captain’s whereabouts she promptly sent you a text saying she would get Peter and Carol to help make dinner so you wouldn’t have to. You had quickly sent back a “Thank you!” before sneaking off with Steve to the showers to clean up, as well as have round four (and five) of the mattress mambo. Without the mattress. You were learning very quickly that super serum had plenty of upsides, and you were a fan of all of them.

You were snuggled into the very same satisfied Captain watching videos of your adventures over the past three years on your phone when a very obnoxious Sam and Bucky all but kicked in your door.

“Stop playing tickle-tail and come get some food!” Bucky held his hand over his and Sam’s eyes as they entered, and you were more than happy that Steve had talked you into putting on clothes.

“Yea! Stop playing Doctor!” Sam cut in, you reaching behind you to throw a well aimed pillow at them.

“Guys we have clothes on.” Your response was met with nervous chuckling as Bucky removed his hand, finding the two of you cuddling together quite a cute sight. You unwillingly untangled yourself from your blonde beau’s strong arms and stretched, standing from your bed and looking at the two friends. “Well? Lead the way!” You noticed their slightly wide eyes and faltered your steps. “What?”

“You might want to put on a sweater first Y/N.” Sam said pointedly, trying to avoid eye contact with some of the fresh marks Steve had left on your neck and shoulders. Your hands shot out to run across your skin, as if you could see them with your fingertips.

“How bad is it?!” You exclaimed, rushing to turn on your phone’s camera to get a better look.

“Looks like you lost a war with a vacuum cleaner.” Bucky shrugged, your face burning with the intensity of the sun as you zoomed in on your irritated skin, some of the marks already turning a dark purple shade. There weren’t that many, but the one on your neck was looking very prominent. You squeaked in anger, pushing your attacker hard in the chest as he went to stand, the action catching him unaware and sending him back on the bed with a loud thump.

“What the hell Rogers!? I told you no marks on my neck! I’m going to have to wear a scarf in the middle of August at my first day of work tomorrow!” Steve looked down at the ground embarrassed as he stood up again, Sam and Bucky snickering in the background.

“Sorry Doll, I got carried away…” He tried, smiling at you and forcing your resolve to melt upon contact. “You’re too delicious, I was weak…”

“Alright, we’re out of here.” Bucky made a face, stopping your boyfriend from finishing his statement. “Throw some ice on it for a few and cover it with some concealer and powder. We’ll get Pepper to light some candles and dim the lights so Captain not so successful Cockblock doesn’t see em.”

You quirked a brow at Bucky’s instructions, crossing arms over your chest. “And just how do you know these tricks Barnes?”

“Nat.” Was all the brunette said with a wink, dragging a rightly puzzled Wilson out of the room. You shook your head as the new information sunk in, walking over to the cooler and pulling out some ice to hold on your neck, not missing Steve’s darkening eyes as he stepped towards you.

“Ooooh no, don’t look at me like that. You need to get out of here and into the dining room before Tony comes looking for us.” You jokingly pushed him as he looped his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, pulling you to him as he ghosted your tank top clad shoulders with his lips.

“Can’t help it, that ice cube gave me ideas…” He chuckled darkly as you shivered, squirming out of his grasp and mock glaring at him.

“Later.” You hissed, again pushing him away before going to your dufflel bag and searching for a tee shirt to cover your other marks. You sighed in frustration as you were forced to throw on the only one you had left, realizing it was black and as such would no doubt be hot as hell to eat in. But at least you would be packing up and leaving the compound after dinner. You couldn’t wait to blast the a/c  in your truck the whole way home.

While expertly covering up the mark on your neck you heard the rumble of the Quinjet, figuring everyone had gotten sick of no cool air inside the compound and elected to have dinner in the large aircraft. Not that you could blame them, your jury rigged coolers could only do so much. After you looked presentable, making sure the discoloration wasn’t as noticeable as before, you and Steve walked hand in hand to the dining room, both of you stopping in shock at the elegant dinner sitting in front of you. Candles were lit and not a soul was around, only two place settings, a bottle of wine in a small bucket on the side, and the smell of food overwhelming your senses. You picked up the small note on the corner, admiring the perfect cursive. Pepper

“Tony wanted take out to avoid looking at you two. He mentioned getting noise cancelling headphones for everyone as a Christmas gift. Enjoy your dinner, we took the jet but we’ll be back in a bit.

P.S Don’t eat at the table naked, I haven’t scotch guarded the chairs yet. ”

Your laughter rang out as you passed the note to Steve, who smiled and rolled his eyes, pulling your chair out for you so the two of you could eat. Your mouth was watering at the roast she had made, wasting no time with loading your plate up.

“You hungry?” Blue eyes mused when you passed him the salad bowl, your own eyes sparkling back as you spared him a glance before promptly stuffing your face.

“Yea. I blame you and the earlier extracurricular activities.” Your muffled retort had Steve snorting into his wine glass, his eyes never leaving yours, his large hand once again finding your bare thigh. You ate in a comfortable silence after that, enjoying being alone together without the knowing stares from your friends. And Tony. The amazing food was proving to be a great distraction from Steve’s wandering hand.

After travelling the world for three years you had missed Pepper’s cooking something fierce, and you were certain you were going to put on some weight moving back here. But you were also certain Steve would be keeping you in shape. He wouldn’t hear a single complaint from you. The gang returned to the compound not too long after you had eaten so much you felt like you could burst, the two of you cleaning up the remains of dinner and washing dishes before heading back to your room.

“You two decent?” Natasha called from your doorway, Steve helping you pack up your belongings and carrying your large cooler to his room, although he wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight.

“We aren’t heathens Nat, Jesus.” You huffed out in annoyance as she smirked.

“I see you’ve packed up, headed out soon?”

You nodded at the red head, throwing the duffel over your shoulder with little effort. “Yea, I gotta get some actual sleep before I start my new job tomorrow.”

“Pepper told me you’d be working at the new Tower,” You widened your eyes at her “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell Tony or anyone else. I was sworn to secrecy.” She patted your shoulder in reassurance. Her eyes darted between you and Steve as he reentered the hallway from his own room with his own overnight bag, her expression blank. “Thought you said you needed sleep tonight?”

She laughed while deftly dodging your open palm, you barely grazing her arm in frustration. “You lot ever going to let us live this down?”

“Probably not, and it’s only going to get worse when Tony’s not around. We all promised to give him time to adjust before we start gossiping about you two.”

“Oh great. Thanks.” You huffed again, grabbing Steve’s hand and heading down the hallway to say goodbye to everyone. The group stood outside, crowded around your truck to see you off.

“Lemme know how your first day goes Short Stack.” Tony smiled warmly at you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. “Happy looks good on you kiddo.” You beamed back at him as you broke apart, shaking Bruce’s hand next.

“Stay cool Jolly Green.” He chuckled at you and moved aside so Thor could properly hug you goodbye. You had to force yourself to remain calm, holding back your emotions and reminding yourself you’d be seeing all of them a lot. And soon. This wasn’t goodbye. Nat and Sam both side hugged you, Carol shaking your hand. “You’re a total bad ass, I hope we can see each other more in the future.”

“Count on it Y/N.” The blonde powerhouse smirked in return, the hyper teen next in line bouncing on his feet as you made your way to him.

“Nice meeting you Peter.” You laughed as he all but launched himself at you, you fondly patting the teen’s back as he embraced you.

“You too Miss Y/N. Hopefully I see you around more!”

“You will don’t worry.” You smiled in affirmation, Bucky moving to stand in front of you. His large frame engulfed your body easily, you stiffening slightly while you recalled Steve’s words about him not being a huge hugger. “You feeling ok Barnes?”

“I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time Y/N. That being said I shouldn’t have to tell you what will happen if you break his heart.” You swallowed hard and nodded your head, his smile getting wider as he pulled away. “That goes for him too, I’m rooting for you guys.”

“Well if my best friend is done with the death threats, Y/N and I have places to be.” Steve stared at Bucky pointedly, who only shrugged and opened the truck door for you.

“Wait, where’s Pepper?” You called, your cousin nowhere in sight.

“She said to go on without her, the take out isn’t agreeing with her.” Tony waved you on, you deciding you didn’t want to wait around for her in that state. She was not quiet when she fell ill, and you could feel your face turning green at the memory of hearing her drunken retching during your partying phase. You happily jumped in your truck and promptly started the engine, making sure the air conditioning was on full blast as soon as you shut the door. Steve climbed in next to you, waving out the window to your friends as you pulled out of the parking lot, leaving the sticky compound behind you in a cloud of dust.

~~~Next Day~~~

“I’m telling you Pep you should really look into hiring a new Receptionist now that this place is back in business.” Tony took off his sunglasses as he entered the newly built Stark Tower, his eyes blinking to adjust after the assault of photographers demanded photographic evidence of the opening ceremony.

His wife only smiled knowingly as they neared the front desk after her husband checked in with security for the day. She nodded at you, you taking the cue and sliding a large paper cup across the top of the reception counter.

“Good morning Mister Stark, here’s your black coffee and paper. You have an appointment with a Mister Fury at noon, followed by a press conference at two.”

You’d remember Tony’s shocked face for the rest of your days.

“You gotta stop trying to kill me Short Stack!” He wheezed, clutching his chest and taking the small cup with a grin. “My old ass can only take so fucking much.”

“Sir that language is highly inappropriate. Don’t make me go to human resources on our first day of business.” Your threat had no actual substance and your cousin in law saw right through you, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Joke’s on you Y/N, She’s on vacation until September.” You snorted, your two family members taking their leave and heading towards the elevators. The rest of the team followed in after, quickly noticing your new position and cheering with excitement.

Steve’s wide smile as his blue eyes met your gaze made your heart stop.

“Ya know, when you said you wouldn’t be far this morning I thought you were just being cute.” He mused, you smirking into your coffee cup as he brought his lips down to kiss your cheek. “Have lunch with me today?”

“Just go ahead and assume my answer is “Yes” to everything you ask from here on out.” You quipped, tossing him a wink before reaching to answer the phone. “Thank you for calling Stark Industries this is Y/N, how may I direct your call?”

“Oooh, your phone voice is sexy Sweetheart.” You swatted his arm and sent him away, rolling your eyes at his wiggling eyebrows as he walked backwards all the way to the elevators, forcing you to hold in your giggles while you remained on the phone. Lovesick idiot.

You day continued to pass by in a blur, and before you had time to make heads from tails with the computer system it was already lunch time.

“Let’s go Short stack, Kay’s is calling us.” You brought your head up from behind the desk, Pepper holding a small delicately wrapped box in her hands as she kept in step with your cousin in law. “Lunch is on me today. As a hashtag welcome to the team I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you brat peace offering.”

You shook your head with a smile, a certain tall blonde coming up behind them to sweep you away. “Sorry Snark,” Grasping Steve’s hand you allowed him to lead you out from behind the long desk, memorizing the way your cousin in law feigned being hurt.  “I have a prior engagement.”

“Well fine. Ya know I saw her first Cap. I don’t do well with being second place.” He huffed.

“Don’t worry Tony, you’ll always be my number one pain in the ass.” You beamed, the man barking out a laugh.

“Before you go I wanted you to be here while Tony opens his opening day gift from me!” Pepper spoke nervously, handing the box to her husband who only looked at her suspiciously.

“Every day you don’t murder me is a gift from you darling.” He joked, untying the ribbon with ease, the lid falling off the top with a certain childish carelessness that made everyone around you laugh. “Uh honey…”

“Yes sweetie?” Her tone had a sense of insecurity and you were a bit thrown off by her sudden mood swing.

“Make sure my dress doesn’t go over my head.” Was all the dark haired man got out before promptly passing out, Steve acting quick to catch your out cold cousin before he severely injured himself on the hard floor. Your eyes moved to find the three objects that had fallen out of the box, gasping alongside Natasha and Bruce as they bent to pick them up.

“Pepper, you’re pregnant!?” You breathed out, your cousin giving a shy smile and nodding.

“My first appointment is tomorrow, will you come with me?” Tears of happiness stung your eyes as you enthusiastically nodded, rushing to hug her.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss making fun of Tony being a dad for anything in the world!” She cried in your arms back, the two of you holding onto each other for a long moment as the Avengers and some random people started to clap for her. “Congratulations, you’re gonna be an amazing mom!” 

“I hope so Y/N.” Pepper smiled behind more tears, breaking from the hug and giving you a light nudge. “Now go have lunch with your man, we’ll talk after work.”

Steve left Tony in Thor’s confused arms and reached for your hand, smiling the whole way out of the tower. “Some weather we’re having huh?” He scrunched his nose up at the clouds, the sky looking a menacing shade of gray.

You shrugged in indifference, “I’ll take the rain over a heat wave any day.”

“It’s always a heat wave when I’m with you Sweetheart.”

A deadpanned expression crossed your features as you stopped in your tracks to look up at him. “You’re lucky you’re cute. That was so fucking corny Rogers.”

“Yea, but you love me anyway.” You raised an eyebrow at his cocky assumption.

“Eh, I blame the heat wave” A growl came out from his throat and you yelped, jumping just out of his grasp and running down the street, the two of you laughing the whole way to your favorite diner.

The end

Tag List: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more @chrisevansfanfic @yesno18 @zsuzstyina @zombiepotterfour @evanstush

[missmarquin]

Hot Waters

A/N: Need I an excuse for shameless smut based on my favorite vine?

Read on AO3 for better quality, including proper formatting!

...

It wasn't the first time Yuri had ever heard the phrase, "Two guys chilling in a hot tub five feet apart, because they ain't gay", but he 'd never expected to hear it as a complaint from Otabek. Funny how growing up is, especially when growing up, means falling in love with your best friend. ESPECIALLY when your best friend isn't gay.

...

Life used to be pretty simple, for Yuri Plisetsky. 

When he was ten, his days consisted of this: Wake up before the crack of dawn, get his ass to the ballet studio and dance until his feet were bruised and close to bleeding. Then it was off to the skating rink. His grandfather would cook dinner, and then they’d ice Yuri’s feet, and then it was off to bed. 

Rinse and repeat. 

When he was a teenager, his routine changed slightly: ballet and skating were swapped, the latter taking precedence. Up before dawn to be at the rink before the public. Skate until his feet were bruised and swollen. If it was Tuesday or Thursday, it was off to the ballet studio, otherwise it was home to ice his feet and rest. His grandfather still cooked, albeit slower and with more care, because he was getting old. Followed by his nightly chat with Otabek and then bed. 

Rinse and repeat, once more. 

When Yuri finally hit his growth spurt, it was absurdly late. So late that Yuri had literally lost all hope up winding northward of six-foot, but then eighteen came with a vengeance and he somehow grew a foot in a fucking year. It wrecked him, and everything about his skating.

Now it was: Wake up even earlier but still before the crack of dawn, to stretch and roll out his sore joints. Hit up the rink and stay longer, running drill after drill. Then the dance studio every fucking day, because his center of balance wouldn’t keep itself. Then home, where he’d make his own dinner, because his grandfather had moved into some fancy old-person’s home and Yuri finally had the place to himself. Then he’d ice his feet, binge-watch whatever crappy reality show was convenient, while simultaneously chatting with Beka. Usually he fell asleep during the call, food still in his lap, and Potya licking his fingers. 

Rinse and repeat. In fact, he’d rinsed-and-repeated this particular schedule for several years. 

He was just a few months into twenty-two, when his life became complicated. 

Yuri expected it really, he always expected something. He’d dealt with some pretty convoluted shit before, and he’d learned to how to react in record time. Really, life could have thrown just about anything his way, and he’d weasel through it, relatively unscathed. 

Until that summer. Like every year, Otabek came up from Almaty and stayed for a few weeks. He’d hole up in Yuri’s room, hogging the sheets at night and using too much of Yuri’s shampoo. They’d argue over what to have for dinner, bask in each other’s presence on the couch, and argue whether or not Yuri was actually a Slytherin. 

You know, the mindless and boring shit that best friends forever did on the daily. 

Otabek always showered before dinner; it was like some weird, unspoken rule of his. He’d arrived late in the afternoon that year, and hadn’t even unpacked his luggage yet. Yuri poked his head into the bedroom to tell him that dinner was in the oven and--

Otabek was pulling off his shirt. Pulling off his shirt, his legs still clad in those ridiculous leather pants he insisted on, despite it being boiling outside. His olive skin a dark contrast against the stark white walls, hard lines cut into his abdomen from years of training. Yuri watched the slight drag of his cotton shirt as Otabek lifted it up. 

Yuri had seen this sight a thousand times, over the years. 

Except that this time, his mouth went dry and his heart sped up. It was like he couldn’t breath, he couldn’t stop looking, he had to get his hands on Otabek, to see how smooth his skin really was, or how hard his muscles felt, and-- what the actual fuck was wrong with him?

Otabek had caught him staring, cocking his head to the side, just fucking waiting. 

Yuri wasn’t old enough for this. Or maybe he was too young for this, or maybe he was just right-- 

Was there a right time to realize that you wanted your best friend?

Who was also a dude, Yuri reminded himself. Yeah, that made things complicated, very complicated, because Yuri very much liked the female form. And he was well acquainted with it, at length.

That summer had been incredibly awkward. And the summer after that. And after that too, as well as all the time in between. 

By the time Yuri was twenty-six, he missed his routine, the simpler parts of his life. The mundane shit that he used to complain about when he was a child. Because if it was something that he’d learned while living in this complicated mess for years, it was that he couldn’t handle it for much longer without cracking like a fucking egg. 

…..

“Yura, why are you all the way over there?”

If Yuri were younger, he might have squawked unattractively at the sudden question. But he’d learned to hone his thoughts, to take a breath and let it out and-- 

Absolutely avoid looking anywhere below Otabek’s neck, because he was currently very shirtless. And really, those swim trunks didn’t hide shit either. 

“Leave me alone!” he practically spat. The words came out a little more harsh than he would have liked, and he barely hid his wince. But Otabek was a master of interpreting the Tone of Yuri, and thought nothing of it. “I’m just trying to get comfortable,” he finally mumbled, wiggling around slightly on the bench. 

“You know, when you said you were housesitting for Victor and Yuuri, I wasn’t expecting it to be for so long,” Otabek replied with, leaning back slightly. His arms were splayed out across the edge of the hot tub, and it took everything Yuri had to blink off the urge to sneak a peek of his chest. 

“It’s not my fault they decided to take a fucking month long honeymoon,” Yuri groused.

“They’ve been married for a decade.”

“You think I don’t know that shit? Something about renewing their vows, and blah blah. I stopped listening after they started getting handsy with each other.”

Otabek hummed at that, his lips quirking into a tiny little smile. 

“Still,” Yuri, snapped right back, “Doesn’t change the fact that they’re annoying as fuck.”

“I think they’re cute,” Otabek said, moving his hand to swirl a fingertip through the water.

Yuri gaped at him. Otabek wasn’t the kind of person to just randomly say shit like that. The things that he thought were cute were few and far between.. well, Yuri had kept a running tally. Potya, teddy bears and-- 

Yura, you’re cute when you’re angry. 

Yuri’s mouth went dry, telling himself that cute wasn’t the same as like, and Beka would never like him, because he wasn’t fucking gay. Yuri wasn’t really gay either, he’d liked plenty of girls, but none of them were-- 

Well, none of them were Beka. At twenty-six he’d finally come to terms that he’d just be fucking single for the rest of his life. 

“Their gay asses aren’t cute,” Yuri finally sad, sinking down into the water. Otabek hummed again, turning to look away. Yuri finally snuck a peek at him, his eyes sliding down his body, taking in the rich muscles and tone of his figure. God, it just wasn’t fair, was it?

“You always act like being gay is the worst fucking thing imaginable,” Otabek said quietly. 

Yuri’s blood ran cold at that. He’d never thought that. At least, now he didn't. When he was twenty, sure, but he’d long since come to terms with it being normal. What wasn’t normal was lusting after your best friend twenty-four/seven, and dating a stream of girls over the years to forget about it. 

“There’s--” But the words got stuck in his throat. “There’s nothing wrong with it,” Yuri finally finished. “I just can’t stand to see them all over each other. It’s exhausting.”

“So you’re cool with gay dudes?”

“Beka, I literally have no problem--”

“Is that why you’re all the way over there? The whole ���two dudes chilling in a hot tub five feet away, because they ain’t gay’ thing?”

Well, this isn’t how he would have thought this night would go. 

“I think that beer is going to your head, Beka,” Yuri said lamely. But still, he crossed the distance between them, settling onto the bench beside Otabek. Even if it meant ignoring any and everything about the man, to do so. 

It was a pain, when crushes weren’t fucking crushes anymore. Love was suppose to be awesome, not a poison that slowly needled you away. 

“I’ve had one,” Otabek said, and he had the actual gall to sound offended. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Yuri finally asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. He didn’t like this, whatever this was. Otabek was rarely annoyed, and he could just feel it radiating off of him. He could see it in his face, the way that his dark eyes ghosted across his face and then to his--

Wait, why was Otabek staring at his mouth?

Otabek reached out, grabbing his wrist, just holding it. It wasn’t like they had never touched before. Fuck, Otabek braided his hair all the time, or helped him dress when he wore skating costumes that were overly complicated. But there was something about this tiny little brush of movement that was different. 

It was like the touch burned his skin, and Yuri could feel intent behind it, and suddenly his head was all foggy and his heart--

Otabek pulled suddenly, tugging him closer, and Yuri couldn’t stop himself. He practically fell into his lap, their faces close, their noses nearly brushing. They were too close, too close. 

Also, what the fuck was Otabek doing?

And then Otabek’s fingers found his chin, pulling his mouth upwards and-- 

“Otabek, what the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s pretty obvious,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. 

And then he was kissing Yuri, and like an idiot, he responded immediately and without a thought, because he’d wanted to do this for four fucking years. Yuri shifted his position, moving to properly straddle Otabek, his hands reaching out to grab his face. Now he had to bend down, because he had a few good inches on him, but Otabek met his lips greedily. 

It wasn’t a slow burn, or anything like he’d experienced with past girlfriends. It was all fire, and Otabek just gave it to him, and Yuri just took it. And it burned and burned and burned, until he felt like he was going to combust. The feel of lips sliding against each other, heated breaths pooling between them, and then Otabek slid his tongue along his mouth and---

Yuri abruptly pulled away, breathing hard. “I’m not fucking drunk enough for this,” he finally said. 

Otabek looked hurt, and that wasn’t something that Yuri would have ever thought possible. But then the look was as gone as quick as it had flitted across his face. “Drunk enough for what?” he asked. 

And Yuri floundered for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. “For…” It was clear that Otabek knew something, but what exactly? That he hid his never-explored-or-explicitly-stated gay self, because he was only gay for one dude? Judging by the twinkling in his friend’s gaze, he probably thought that Yuri had some stupid crush on him, that it couldn’t possibly be something so deep and heavy as-- 

Nope, Yuri wouldn’t call it that, call it love. He couldn’t, because the moment that he did, would be the moment that things shifted again, and he just couldn’t afford for his life to turn fucking upside down again. 

“For making fun of me,” he finished lamely. “Cause obviously you’ve figured out that I--”

“Making fun of you,” Otabek repeated. 

Yuri made a frustrated grunt. “Look, you can’t just go and imply that I hate gay people--” Otabek hummed at that, nodding slightly-- “And then just fucking kiss me--” Otabek’s hands moved to his side, sliding upwards against Yuri’s skin, and his words faltered just slightly. “And-- and-- this kind of goes beyond good-natured teasing--”

“I’m not teasing you,” Otabek said rather flatly. There was that slightly annoyed looking glance again. 

“Look, I might be kind of gay,” Yuri finally said, and any other moment the words might have felt good, like he was lifting something off his chest. But this time, he felt backed into a corner, because Otabek clearly knew that he wasn’t a straight arrow and picked this moment to make fun of him and-- “But you aren’t, and that doesn’t mean you can just go and--”

Otabek laughed, and it wasn’t the quiet and barely-there-but-clearly-amused kind of chuckle that Yuri was used to. This was a full-blown laugh that consumed him, fluttering up from his belly, causing his shoulders to shake. 

“Beka--”

“Yura, I’m not straight,” Otabek finally said, once he gained control of his laughter.

“What--” Yuri spluttered. “I’ve seen you date girls.”

“Yeah, I’ve dated girls. And then I met a guy who changed everything.”

Yuri would jot that down later on a list of things that he would have never thought Beka would say, ever. “So what, you’ve just been pretending to ignore it? If this guy is so special--”

“He’s been doing the same shit for years,” Otabek replied. 

“Beka--”

“Yura, you’re so fucking dense.”

“Beka--”

Otabek grabbed at his hips and pulled him closer, pressing their hips together and-- Yuri’s grip on his shoulders tightened. There was no denying it, that was… Yuri swallowed. Otabek was hard against his crotch, and it made heat pool into his stomach and his blood go clammy, because that meant one thing, and one thing only. 

The look on Otabek’s face was flushed and heavy, but not necessarily lustful, it was something else, something that made Yuri’s heart damn near burst. 

“It’s safe to say that I’m pretty fucking gay for you,” Otabek finally said.

“Wow, romantic,” Yuri said dryly. 

“What would you rather me say?” Otabek asked.  “That I’ve wanted to kiss you for years?” He yanked at Yuri’s hips again, rolling his own closer. “That I’ve wanted to feel you against me for as long as I can remember?” It wasn’t like Yuri could hide his own cock by this point, but he wasn’t prepared for them to brush against each other. Even through the swim trunks, the touch was divine, and he rocked closer, wanting more friction. 

“Beka,” Yuri whined. Otabek’s hand moved from his waist, to cross over his abs. He played with the muscles there, and then the fine and downy hairs just under his navel. Yuri wanted, needed his hand further southward, but Otabek’s hand just stayed there, unmoving.  

“Yura,” he whispered, his lips close to his ear, “Can I?”

“Beka, I swear to God if you don’t--”

“Don’t what?”

Otabek was going to make him say it. He was going to make him beg, and Yuri fucking hated it. Or maybe he loved it. Or maybe he didn’t fucking know anything anymore. AT least anything aside, Otabek straddled between his legs, his fingers brushing against his belly button, and the heat of the hot tub. 

“Beka,” Yuri whined. 

Otabek’s other hand ghosted across his jaw, catching it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled Yuri’s lips close to his, hesitating. “Yuri, I want you, I’ve wanted you for a very long time,” he said to him, his thumb rubbing along Yuri’s bottom lip. “What do you want?”

How the fuck could Otabek ask him that? Wasn’t it obvious, with him straddled over his lap, kissing him with abandon, grinding his hips against his with ill restraint. It’s clear, Yuri thought. It’s so fucking obvious what he wants, but then there’s this look on Otabek’s face and--

“Yura,” Otabek breathed, “I want to hear it. Tell me what you want.” Yuri watched as Otabek thumbed his lip again, his own mouth twisting into a smirk. 

Oh. Otabek needed to hear it, and it wasn’t fair, how good he looked at that moment. His eyes were hazed over, half-lidded and glazed, one hand still hooked around Yuri’s face, holding it gently. Waiting for him to say something Yuri would have thought it awkward, but it wasn’t, it was perfect, because it was a look that Otabek apparently reserved for him. 

He was still trying to process that piece of information, because if Otabek had liked him for years, then why the fuck had Yuri waited for so long? “I--” Why hadn’t Beka ever said anything? 

But words weren’t at the forefront of Yuri’s mind, at the moment. Otabek was patient though, his fingertips dancing along the waistband of his swim trunks. So Yuri made a rash decision, reaching down and grabbing at Otabek’s hand, pulling it downwards and straight to his cock.

Otabek smiled at that, pressing his lips to Yuri’s neck, squeezing the bulge in his swim trunks just barely-- 

The moan that Yuri let out was the most embarrassing thing to ever pass his lips. 

Otabek kissed his way along Yuri’s jaw, and then met his mouth again. Yuri practically swallowed the kiss, his hips rutting upward towards Otabek’s hand, trying to find that pressure again and-- 

Otabek pulled his hand away, moving to slide his fingers along Yuri’s hip bone once more. 

“It’s not fair,” Yuri breathed, pulling away slightly. “How could you think… Why did you-- why didn’t you say something?”

Otabek sighed at that, lifting his other hand to brush back his bangs. “Yura, you’ve worn a new girl on your arm every weekend for the last four years. What was I supposed to think?”

Well, in retrospect, yeah, that made a lot of sense. Yuri’s obsession with reigning in his feelings had done exactly what he intended. Otabek had fallen for him hard, but he’d also fallen for his ruse. 

“I just--” He broke up when Otabek pulled his hips closer again. Yuri burned with the delicious heat between the two of them. “I didn’t want to--”

That caused Otabek to pause, giving him a very serious glance. Yuri could tell that his self-control was wavering, but he waited for him to continue. Yuri swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want to fuck things up between us,” Yuri finally said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Oh, Yura,” Otabek breathed, caressing his cheek again. “You know better than that.”

Logically, Yuri did, and when Otabek said it so easily, it made him feel really fucking stupid. Otabek was his best friend, his person. Even if he wasn’t actually gay, he probably would have waved the concern away, if Yuri had brought it up. 

Yuri grew bold at his words, reaching down to palm Otabek’s dick through his swim trunks. The low moan the man breathed was absolutely worth it. “Tell me about this man,” Yuri demanded coyly. “The man who changed everything.”

Otabek gripped Yuri’s hips, trying to move him. But Yuri was taller and more awkward, and he just didn’t really bend that way. He let Otabek guide him to the edge of the hot tub, the brick of the poolside flooring cold against his behind, contrasting to the warmth of the water that swirled around his legs. 

“He’s not always the brightest,” Otabek said, caging Yuri between his arms. Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but Otabek’s hands found him again, pulling their hips flesh together once more. The protest died in his throat, replaced by a breathy moan. “But he’s fierce,” Otabek continued, pressing his nose below Yuri’s ear, pressing a kiss against the juncture of skin there. “And he’s loyal, and he’s beautiful.” 

Yuri hitched his leg over Otabek’s hip, cradling the bone with his calf. Trying to ground himself, trying to pull him closer, trying to do anything, really. Yuri had boned a lot of women in his life, but they never compared to this. Nothing compared to this. 

Otabek pulled back just enough to look at Yuri, brushing his bangs back again, his knuckles ghosting lightly over his cheek. “Yura, you’re beautiful.”

He wouldn’t cry, he fucking wouldn’t. As if this wasn’t the one thing he’d ever wanted, that he’d ever dreamed of. And there was Otabek, pressed between his legs, hard and aching, wanting him. 

This was a dream, it had to be. 

“Beka, please,” Yuri whined, pressing his hips closer, pulling at Otabek’s shoulders. Otabek hummed at that, reaching between them, squeezing his hardness again. “Fuck,” Yuri hissed, chasing the motion with his hips. 

Otabek’s fingers slipped into the waistband of his trunks, and they both paused. Waiting. Finally, Otabek said, “Off,” tugging at them slightly. 

Yuri lifted his hips immediately, and said, “You too then.” Otabek didn’t even pause or miss a beat, effortlessly sliding off his own and kicking them to the side.

And then they were naked, and Yuri looked anywhere else, except where he actually wanted too. Otabek’s cheeks were red and flushed, his eyes sparkling with want, and God it was almost worse.

Otabek pressed his fingers back to Yuri’s abdomen, just under his navel before heading southward. Yuri swallowed again, barely able to catch onto his breath. “Yura,” Otabek murmured quietly, “This isn’t just some whim. I--”

“Beka, the pool floor is hard, I’m fucking freezing, even tho my legs are in the water and I swear if you don’t do something already, I’m literally going to combust.” 

Otabek opened his mouth, like he was going to say more, but decided against it. “Anything, for you,” he said, his lips twisting into a sly smile. 

“Beka, cut the cra--” His words died the moment Otabek gripped his length, and Yuri’s head fell back. His hands were warm and calloused, but his grip firm, and-- Oh yeah, this was totally different than any of the chicks he’d been with.

Hook-ups had always been self-serving with the intent to forget. He would never forget this, the way the Otabek seemed to touch him reverently. His grip loosened slightly so he could pump Yuri’s cock gently. 

“Oh God,” Yuri managed, hissing once more at the contact, his eyes screwed shut. 

“At least say my name,” Otabek joked. Yuri didn’t appreciate it one bit, that smug and sarcastic tone, but the thought was easily lost when Otabek slid his grip across him again. 

“Beka.”

“Yura, look,” Otabek asked. Yuri opened his eyes to regard him through a half-lidded and hazy glance. “No,” Otabek continued with. His free hand left Yuri’s hip, taking hold of his chin and tipping it downward.

Yuri saw tanned skin against pale flesh, and even he could appreciate how good his cock looked in Otabek’s grasp. And there was the matter of that man’s own length, rock hard and resting against Yuri’s thigh to the side. Yuri had already known Otabek circumsized, but he’d never really managed to sneak a good look, even when changing in the locker. 

His mouth practically watered at the sight of him. 

“Yura,” Otabek breathed, and Yuri watched he hitched his hips forward, pressing closer to him and--

Yuri’s hand snaked between them, grabbing hold of Otabek. This was new territory, this was decidedly not like touching himself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath of Otabek’s part, and the inability to hold back a moan-- well, he seemed to be doing a decent job. 

Otabek pulled Yuri’s hand away, only to grab both of their lengths, pressing them together. And then he unceremoniously licked his hand, wrapping it around the both of them, prompting Yuri to prepare to tease him about it, but--

Oh. Oooh. Yuri bit his lip, as his breath hitched instead, words failing him. Spit wasn’t as slick as lube, but it didn’t matter, it was fine. Everything was fine and it worked well enough. The heat between the two of them, the friction of skin against skin, fuck, even the smell of Otabek in general, Chlorine and all. 

Yuri hooked his legs around his waist tighter, and Otabek squeezed tighter, shifting his hips to pull back and press forward again. It wasn’t a practiced motion, but perfection wasn’t needed. 

All Yuri needed was Otabek, and that friction, and he finally had it. Otabek leaned forward, as Yuri hissed his name again, his lips pressing against his neck. His tongue snuck out, lapping at the sweat there. Yuri recognized that movement, it was something he did when he was trying to hold on, trying to eke out as much as he could, before tumbling over the edge. 

“Beka, it’s okay,” Yuri said, reaching down and grasping the hand that held them together. He could feel the tendons clench, squeezing tighter, sliding along their lengths as Otabek bucked into the grip. Yuri followed the motion. And then they repeated it several times.

“Yura--”

“Oh, I’m right there with you,” Yuri said, unable to hold the laughter from his tone. Really, the sheer and utter ridiculousness of the situation-- Otabek had gotten a firm grasp on him literally minutes ago, and already he was close to cresting that dangerous height. “I’m-- fuck--”

Despite Yuri’s dramatic curse, Otabek came first, his hips jerking slightly, his face pressed against the side of his neck and breathing heavily. And fuck it was hot, because Yuri followed right after, catching that wave and tumbling over the edge as he whined Otabek’s name, punctuated by a curse. 

They sat there in a heaving, wet and hot mess. Otabek finally let go of their cocks, slipping his hand into the hot tub, shaking it slightly. 

“Ugh, how gross,” Yuri snapped, his bite back as quickly as it had left. 

Otabek chuckled slightly, before leaning over the edge and grabbing at his towel. He wiped his hand dry, albeit shakily. In fact, everything about Otabek screamed a tight wire that had suddenly snapped. He looked as though he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

 Well, if that didn’t do things to Yuri’s ego, he didn’t know what would. 

Yuri slipped back into the hot tub, despite his earlier disgust, the warm water a balm against his cold and clammy skin. And sore backside, because damn, those pool stones weren’t comfortable. Otabek dropped beside him, sliding in close and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Yuri leaned into the touch without a second though. 

His heart practically burst at how natural it felt. 

“Baldy is going to fucking kill us.”

“If he finds out,” Otabek sighed. “I’m definitely not saying anything. Besides, if you think that they haven’t--”

“NOPE,” Yuri snapped. “Stop that thought right there. The last thing I want to think about right now is what they get up to in the privacy of their own home.” And out of their home, for that matter. Over the years, Yuri had been scarred enough times to literally expect it. 

Otabek hummed in amusement, pressing his nose against the side of Yuri’s hair, pecking a gentle kiss above his ear. 

“Was this your plan, or something?”

“Plan?”

“You know, getting me into a hot tub, all hot and heavy.”

“Well, no, but it’s definitely been a fantasy.” Otabek admitted. “And then you know, you walked in half naked and in a swimsuit, and--”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Yuri let out the breath he’d been holding. “We’re both pretty stupid, huh?”

“A man profits more by the sight of an idiot, than by the orations of the learned.” Fucking Otabek, and his fucking proverbs. “And before you ask,” Otabek cut in, “it’s an Arab one.”

“Of fucking course.” 

“It’s about ignorance, and do you know what my grandma says about that?”

“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

He felt Otabek’s lips twitch into a smile against the side of his head. “The good thing about ignorance, is that you can learn from it.”

“Oh, is that what we were doing earlier?” Yuri asked, with a sly smile. 

Otabek splashed water at him, and Yuri turned quickly, climbing into Otabek’s lap again. And this time they looked at each other, they really did. Otabek was wrong. Yuri wasn’t the beautiful one, he was, with his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. Slightly crooked nose and that little scar just above his eyebrow. Yuri swept his fingers over his face, before leaning over to kiss him again. 

And they just kissed and kissed and kissed. 

….

Later that night, they fell into bed to sleep. 

They’d always shared, Yuri realized, despite his discomfort. At a backward glance, he should have realized. Best guy friends don’t usually share beds into they’re late twenties. But Otabek and Yuri had always had a different dynamic and neither had ever questioned it.

Maybe they should have, because it would have led to mind blowing sex sooner. 

And yes, it was mind blowing, despite only getting as far as awkward palming and thrusting against each other. Good thing they had time, plenty of time. 

Otabek was warm beside him, pressed against his back. An arm was thrown around him, his nose pressed against his neck, just breathing. It grounded Yuri. It probably grounded Otabek too. 

“I love you,” Yuri blurted into the quiet room. 

“I know,” Otabek said, without missing a beat. And then he pressed a kiss to the bones of his neck. 

“I mean, like, I’ve loved you forever.” 

“I know,” Otabek repeated, and then repeated the kiss. 

“And that’s… I mean, is that it?”

He felt Otabek chuckle, pulling back. Yuri turned to find Otabek regarding him with a fond smile. “Of course that isn’t it, Yura,” he said. “I love you too, and that means we have everything ahead of us.” 

“You just… You can’t just say shit like that, Beka.”

Otabek reached out, twirling a long strand of Yuri’s hair between his fingers. “I knew you’d come around. I just didn’t think it’d take so long.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Never.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes, watching Otabek carefully, waiting for the but to come. It never did. Otabek just had that slight half-smile across his lips, as his fingers played with his hair. Yuri snorted at that, but turned back around. Otabek slid closer immediately, pressing another kiss against his neck. 

“I really am stupid, you know,” Yuri whispered. 

Otabek didn’t reply immediately, only humming against the skin of his neck. Finally, he said, “There’s always tomorrow. And the day after that. You have all my tomorrows, Yura.”

Fucking Otabek and his fucking smooth words. 

But Yuri smiled, because he was right. 

[haillenarte]

white day 2018;

Here is a full translation of the (thus far) Japanese-exclusive White Day 2018 Developer’s Blog post.

First, the dry translator’s disclaimers: this post is intended as a polished translation on par with official content. As such, I have taken certain liberties with the text: though it was originally in more or less a script format, I embellished it to make it a prose post consistent with other English developer’s blog posts. Most of the moogle’s narration was invented by me in order to preserve humor and narrative flow. This is nothing that the localization team itself does not do. I can assure you that the core details remain essentially intact and untouched.

Also, I have heard that a few people did rough translations of this post already, but I did not cross-reference anybody’s translations when writing this post. I probably should have. It would have gone a lot quicker.

Happy White Day, Kupo!

March 14, 2018

Well met, kupo!

‘Tis I, the ever-industrious deputy postmoogle... or rather, his aspiring apprentice!

I worked ever so hard to deliver the realm’s confessions of love this Valentione’s Day, kupo — the only time of year we postmoogles fly about in the open without concealing ourselves!

Rest assured, your passion-packed gifts of chocolate made their way safely into the hands of your friends and foes alike! Why, we postmoogles were so busy that my wings cramped up!

Let me tell you how it went, kupo.

First, I flew over to the Rising Stones in Mor Dhona.

When Mistress Y’shtola saw me at the door, she said, “My, what a prodigious number of packages. More tokens of affection from your many lady loves, Thancred?”

Master Thancred got all embarrassed, kupo. “There’s no need to glare at me so,” he protested. “This is all a misunderstanding, I assure you!”

And he was right — not all of it was for him! Mistress Y’shtola and Master Alphinaud got plenty of presents, too!

But you know who got the most chocolate, kupo? Why, it was Mistress Alisaie!

Alphinaud didn’t seem too surprised, kupo. “Impressive as always, dear sister,” he said. “Now that I think on it, you had quite a number of admirers when we were yet students in Sharlayan, did you not?”

“Yes, dear brother,” Mistress Alisaie snapped, “I was always being stopped in the halls by admirers... your admirers! I was being mistaken for you!”

After that, I flew over to Fortemps Manor, in Ishgard.

Count Edmont was very kind, kupo! I was struggling to fly under a giant pile of perfectly-wrapped presents, but he said he’d take them off my hands. “My son will be much pleased,” he said.

I was a little concerned about Lord Emmanellain, but Honoroit told me not to worry about it, kupo. “My lord is simply upset that he has received nothing,” he said, “as is the case each and every year.”

Then I went around the neighborhood, kupo!

I had lots of gifts for Ser Aymeric, but some of them were gifts for the people of Ishgard in general. So I asked him if I could leave those in his care, and he said yes!

“I suppose we should be proud that Valentione’s Day was born from Ishgardian customs,” Ser Aymeric said. And I absolutely agree, kupo! I have fun delivering everyone’s letters of love, too!

I had a few more packages for Ser Estinien, and I didn’t know where to put them, kupopo...

But when I asked where I could find him, Aymeric laughed. “That... is a difficult question,” he said. “Well, if his name is writ large on the package, and you leave it by the window, I imagine he might come by and pick it up.”

I guess that’s not the strangest mailbox I’ve ever had to use, kupo...

From Coerthas, I went through the Black Shroud and found my way to Buscarron’s Druthers.

“Gifts for Laurentius?” Buscarron asked me. “That brainless fool... Fine, I’ll keep ‘em with the stuff that was addressed to Yuyuhase.”

That was a load off my pom, kupo! But when I asked him if he’d help me make my delivery to, erm, L-Lord Ramuh, Buscarron said his hands were tied. “Wait, even primals get presents?” he grumbled. “’Fraid you’ll have to ask the Sylphs to help you with that...”

The weather in the Shroud is nice and cool, kupo, but then I had to fly all the way to hot, hot Ul’dah to deliver more mail... blech.

I think Lord Lolorito quirked an eyebrow at me, but I really couldn’t tell because of his mask, kupo. “Am I being bribed in broad daylight, now?” he asked.

I got kind of scared, so I blurted out that they weren’t bribes — they were declarations of love!

He was probably smirking behind his moustache, but all he said was, “I suppose hearts are worth more than their weights in gil every now and then. Leave them at the door.”

Phew! Another successful delivery made, kupo!

Of course, I also made my way to lively Ala Mhigo — you know, the not-so-little one, kupo. Big Ala Mhigo?

General Aldynn said it’s nice every now and then to celebrate the holidays! “All this excitement reminds me of Ul’dah’s bustling markets,” he said. “Is that one for Lyse?”

It sure was, kupo! I had lots of other packages to give out, but Lyse said she’d hold on to them. “All of these presents are so beautiful!” she said. “Let’s hand them out together later!”

And then, and then! Your humble apprentice postmoogle finally got to board a ship and sail across the great ocean, kupo!

I felt like I was developing what they call the professional spirit, kupo... Maybe I’m even more professional than the deputy postmoogle?

Just kidding, kupo. He’d confiscate my bag and cap if he heard that...

But I made my way to Doma, and it was amazing!

Valentione’s Day seemed like a new concept to Isse, but he was sure surprised about it, kupo. He was all — “S-So this one’s for me? Really?”

He was so flustered, he was fluttering about even more than I was, kupo! It made Lord Hien laugh. “What pleasant customs our Eorzean friends have!” Hien said. “Come now, Isse, hold your head high and accept your admirers’ gifts with pride.”

Even Lady Yugiri told Isse he’d earned it, kupo! Though if I’m being honest, the majority of those packages were addressed to Lord Hien.

From there, I made my way to the Azim Steppe...

I-It was dead silent, kupo...

Magnai just stared at me the whole time... e-even when I said that I’d brought him presents... or, um, offerings?

“So what you are telling me, pig,” he finally said, “is that even people of other nations have acknowledged the supremacy of the Sun?”

I was so nervous I didn’t know how to answer, but luckily, the other Oronir had my pom, kupo! “Most radiant brother!” someone called out. “Perhaps this is that kind of thing!”

“Yes,” another chimed in, “perhaps some bashful yet beautiful maiden has entrusted her feelings to the delivery services of this pig!”

“Let us show these admirers of your radiance the glory and generosity of Father Azim by inviting them here to dine with us!” someone else added.

And then I heard a couple of them muttering, “And with any luck, you will find your Nhaama at long last...”

But I’m not a pig, kupo... I’m not...

I was dead tired after that, kupo... I felt fried to a crisp by the Sun...

That’s why I took a break at a famous hot spring! And after I recharged myself, I had one final stop to make in Kugane!

I had to find Asahi, the Ambassador Plenipom-whatsit, at the Garlean consulate. I thought it might be like delivering to Magnai again, but he was surprisingly easy to talk to. He even smiled and thanked me for bringing him his Valentione’s Day chocolates, kupo.

I felt like I could trust him, so I told him that I had a huuuuge pile of presents for someone named Zenos! But I was a little intimidated by all the imperial soldiers, kupo... and I didn’t want to get too close...

“No need to worry,” Asahi said. “You may leave them with me — they will be quite safe in my hands. Rest assured, I will most certainly see them delivered for you.”

His... friend, kupo? That Maxima man? Well, he stepped in to take everything out of my mailbag! “Lord Asahi,” he said, “please, leave such menial tasks to me. You needn’t concern yourself with this.”

“...Of course,” Asahi replied after a lengthy pause. “My thanks, Maxima.”

...Kupopo? Hmm, now that I think about it, maybe that was a bad idea...?

Well, whatever! That was my super busy Valentione’s Day, kupo!

There’s so much more I could tell you about, but rest assured, we postmoogles delivered love to every corner of the realm!

Valentione’s Day is so full of love every year!

But you know what, kupo?

Even if it’s not a special day, and there aren’t any presents to give or receive, love is always flowing between people.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s why I’m always happy, kupo! Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eye!

Oh, but guess what, kupo? I’ve got a letter addressed to you, too!

I’ll read it to you, okay? Ready? Here goes!

“From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” — Somebody who loves you

.　      　     　 　　　       　 

[cathygeha]

Have you discovered THE THALANIAN DYNASTY series by NYT Bestselling Author Katee Robert?

In FOREVER THEIRS an exiled prince, his bodyguard and the woman they can’t seem to leave alone, must return home to clear his mother’s name and reclaim his crown. Fans of Laura Kaye’s THEIR’S TO TAKE or Sierra Simone’s AMERICAN QUEEN will devour this cinderella-esque ménage.

Start reading the series for FREE! Download THEIRS FOR THE NIGHT, the novella that introduces you to Theo, Galen, and Meg for FREE at:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2M3w3A9

B&N: http://bit.ly/2Jl0k7Q

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2JxT2Bg

iTunes: https://apple.co/2LtEK1L

 Add THEIRS FOR THE NIGHT and FOREVER THEIRS to your TBR pile on Goodreads then keep reading to get a sneak peek excerpt and your chance enter the giveaway to win one of TEN (10) eBook copies of FOREVER THEIRS!

  Title: Forever Theirs

Author: Katee Robert

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Thriller/Menage

Release Date: September 10, 2018

Publisher: Indie

Series: The Thalanian Dynasty

Page Count: 73K

Format: Digital

ASIN: B07DP7HT14

 Synopsis:

 Meg Sanders enjoyed her wild night with a prince and his bodyguard—but now she’s moving on. She has enough problems without borrowing the kind of trouble Theo brings just by being who he is. But no matter how determined she is to leave that night a fond memory, she hasn’t seen the last of Theo and Galen… Galen Mikos's life boils down to one goal. Keep Theo alive. But as long as Theo draws breath, he’s a threat to the powers that have taken over Thalania—and anyone they associate with runs the risk of becoming a target, too. Galen will never forgive himself if they let their selfish desire for Meg puts her in danger. But it might already be too late… Theo Fitzcharles might be an exiled prince, but he doesn’t intend to stay that way. He’s only concerned with one thing—clearing his mother’s name and reinstating himself as Crown Prince of Thalania. There’s no room in that plan for distraction, especially when it makes him forget himself the way Meg does. But after spending one perfect night with her and his best friend, Theo has no intention of leaving her alone.  Even if it damns all three of them in the process.

 Available at:  

 Amazon: https://amzn.to/2t3usho

B&N: http://bit.ly/2yiyKr9

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2JQap0k

iTunes: https://apple.co/2JBPRtb

  Enter to win one of TEN (10) eBook copies of FOREVER THEIRS!

Direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b050ef29564/?

 Forever Theirs Excerpt

Copyright © 2018 Katee Robert

 Galen stepped out of the cab and pulled Meg after him. At this time of night, there was still plenty of street traffic—plenty of opportunity for his father’s men to blend in until they were close enough to attack.

They already had attacked.

He hustled her off the sidewalk, half carrying her in his rush. She cursed at him, but she could be pissed. At least she was still alive. He didn’t believe for a second that Dorian would order her killed, not when he would see her as a tool just waiting to be used. But Galen’s father would attempt to take her, and that Galen couldn’t allow.

He didn’t relax until the elevator doors opened into their apartment and he caught sight of Theo pacing back and forth through the living room. He’s okay. Meg’s okay. They’re safe.

Except they weren’t.

Shit had hit the fan in the most fucked up way possible, and there was no cleaning up this mess.

Galen released Meg’s arm and ensured the security system was booted up and the door was locked. “Trouble?”

“Not here.” Theo rounded the couch and stopped just out of reach. He devoured Meg with his gaze, no doubt taking in her tangled hair, her torn dress, and the way she shook like a junkie in need of a fix. Adrenaline letdown. Theo cursed. “I’m sorry, princess.”

Meg crossed her arms over her chest and slid back a step, shying away from him—from them both. “I… I need a minute. A shower. Something.”

Theo gave a short nod. “Take what you need.”

She headed for the bedroom and spun at last second. “Alone.”

“No shit,” Galen growled. “Go. Take your time. We don’t touch walking wounded anyways.”

Her spine went rigid and her hazel eyes icy. “Fuck you.”

Better she be angry than terrified. He could work with angry. The scared woman in the back of the cab, looking for reassurances that he couldn’t give her… That kind of comfort wasn’t in Galen’s skillset. He preferred the harsh truth to silken lies, and there was no truth he could give Meg that wouldn’t result in her terror.

He stared until she squirmed. “Already did.”

Meg raised a shaking finger. “I swear to god—”

“Children.” Theo’s voice snapped through the room, a sharp tone that a person ignored to their peril. Meg made a sound perilously close to a snarl, but Theo ignored it. “Go shower or do whatever you need to get your head on straight. You’re fucking terrified and you’re snapping at the biggest dick in the room just to prove that you’re not helpless. It’s wasting time we don’t have.”

“His dick isn’t the biggest,” she muttered.

Galen almost laughed. Even scared out of her damn mind, Meg still had a mouth on her—and hell if he didn’t respect her more for it. “Go shower, little mouse. The adults are talking.”

She made a sound like an angry teakettle and stalked down the hallway. He waited for the sound of the door slamming, but a soft click was all he got. “Damn.”

Theo stalked into the kitchen and snagged the whiskey bottle. He took a long pull and then passed it over. “Tell me.”

“Two men. I didn’t recognize them, but they claimed Dorian sent them.” Galen drank from the bottle, letting the whiskey burn away the awful feeling in his chest when he’d walked through that door and found Meg tied to a chair with two men standing over her. He’d thought… It didn’t matter what he’d thought. He got there in time. They hadn’t done any lasting damage.

At least not the physical kind.

“She can’t go back.”

Galen stared at the bottle. He tightened his grip and put serious consideration into bashing Theo a few times with it. “You just couldn’t leave her alone, could you? It took them a grand total of three days to figure out she might matter and come after her. Fuck, Theo, this shit is on your head.”

“I know.” Theo watched him. Those blue eyes saw too much, just like always. “And yet I’m not the one who was skulking outside her work. You told me you were meeting a contact.”

Caught.

He opened his mouth, and then abandoned the lie before he gave it voice. “You put her in danger. I was ensuring she stayed safe.”

Theo’s lips quirked, but his eyes went hard. “Lie to yourself if you need to, but don’t you dare lie to me. I know why you were there—the same reason I was a week ago. You couldn’t stay away from her any more than I could.” He bracketed Galen’s throat with his hand, his thumb caressing Galen’s pulse point. Theo leaned in. “I shouldn’t have paid the tuition with my own name, and I’ll be the first to admit it. But we are both moths to her fucking flame, and you don’t get to play the beleaguered bodyguard—not right now, and not with me. You want her.”

“Yes.” The word felt ripped from him, taken despite his best efforts to stay silent.

Theo’s grip tightened and his gaze dropped to Galen’s mouth. “We can’t stay in New York. They’ll have eyes on her place.”

“They wanted to take her, Theo. There was a van illegally parked near the back door. They might have set her up to answer questions, but they were going to take her.” If they had, Dorian would use her for whatever purpose he had in mind, a lever to get Galen and Theo to dance to his tune, and then he’d discard her like yesterday’s trash. Even if he didn’t kill her, there would be scars, and she wouldn’t be the Meg they knew anymore.

Theo pressed his forehead to Galen’s, grounding them both. One breath. Two. Three. On the fourth, he stepped back and released him. “You were there in time.”

“I might not have been.” If he’d managed to resist the siren call of Meg’s presence, if he’d had more control, if he’d really gone to meet his local contact instead of doing the skulking Theo accused him of.

“You were there in time,” Theo repeated. He glanced down the hallway to the master bedroom where they could still hear the shower going. “Make the call.”

“She’s never going to forgive us for this.” For dropping a bomb on her life and leaving on destruction in their wake. The two grand was nothing compared to what came next.

Theo sighed. “I know. But better she’s pissed and alive than the alternative. Make the call, Galen. We need to be out of New York before dawn.”  

  Other books in The Thalanian Dynasty series

 Theirs for the Night

THEIRS FOR THE NIGHT is a novella. Theo, Galen, and Meg's story continues in the novel FOREVER THEIRS.

Download at:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2M3w3A9

B&N: http://bit.ly/2Jl0k7Q

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2JxT2Bg

iTunes: https://apple.co/2LtEK1L

 About Katee Robert

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Katee Robert learned to tell her stories at her grandpa’s knee. Her 2015 title, The Marriage Contract, was a RITA finalist, and RT Book Reviews named it 'a compulsively readable book with just the right amount of suspense and tension."  When not writing sexy contemporary and romantic suspense, she spends her time playing imaginary games with her children, driving her husband batty with what-if questions, and planning for the inevitable zombie apocalypse. 

Connect with Katee at: Website | Facebook | Twitter| GoodReads | Instagram | BookBub

  http://www.barclaypublicity.com/

[betweenstories]

CHAPTER 11

Two hours later, we enter the Rose Center for Earth and Space. Lunch had been wonderful. The food had been delicious, and a post-smoke break Jollie had turned out to be a real sweetheart.

As we take our seats in the back row of the Hayden Planetarium, I wrap my arms around myself and rub my biceps for warmth.

“I’m glad we picked up our coats first. This place is freezing.”

You smile and shake your head, always amused by my “southern blood.”

“What was that with you and the woman at coat check?”

I get excited. Turning toward you, I tuck my feet underneath my bottom.

“Did you see her name tag? No? Her name was !khas.”

When I make the consonant tongue pop sound, several heads in the rows in front of us turn around in unison.

Immediately, I turn to you with a look of censure, press my forefinger to my lips, and give you an exaggerated shhh.

One corner of your mouth quirks. You dip your head toward the people and toss up a hand in apology. I lean in and kiss your cheek. My hero.

“I’ve only seen that alveolar click on a name tag one other time, and that gentleman was a native African.”

The woman at coat check had spoken English with no accent and she’d looked like Mrs. Claus.

As I sit and lament not asking !khas the story behind her name (there’d been people behind us and I hadn’t wanted to hold up the line), you reach into your coat pocket and pull out a small black gift bag.

“Happy Birthday, love.”

You kiss my cheek.

“Go ahead. Open it.”

Something about your expression gives me pause, but I untie the gold ribbon, reach down past the gold tissue paper...

Eyes stretching wide, I freeze. I’d thought my face couldn’t get any hotter than when the woman had stared at us from the store window. I’d been wrong. Your smile is wicked. You are wicked! I close the bag and quickly stuff it into my purse. I can’t even look at you.

When I speak again, my tone is incredulous.

“You had that in your pocket? This whole time? In the coat you checked? What if someone had looked inside?”

A horrifying thought occurs.

“How’d you make it through the metal detector anyway?”

My eyes go wide. Will I have to pass the metal detector on the way out?

Earlier in the week, I’d wanted to visit a “big city” adult toy store, so we’d headed down to the Museum of Sex on Fifth Avenue. I’d visited the toy store in my own town, but this place had been altogether next level. I hadn’t even recognized some of the products on display. When I’d read the bulletin board promoting their Saturday workshops: Shibari Rope Bondage, Erotic Photography, Strap-On Techniques for Beginners, I’d stared in shocked, open-mouthed wonder.

I’d wanted to buy something though, a souvenir if you will, so I’d been on the hunt for something relatively tame in case airport security decided to search my bag. I’d ended up at a display of bachelorette party supplies. There’d been penis shaped paraphernalia, wine accessories, and even some penis shaped wine accessories. I’d gravitated toward the wine accessories.

Though I’d never actually used one for storing wine, I’d settled on a stainless steel wine stopper with a sparkling aquamarine on top. When I’d found you one aisle over perusing items that’d had me raising a brow, I’d held up the wine stopper and said,

“I like this one with the blue crystal. Whaddayathink?”

You’d narrowed your eyes on the item and then on my face. With a hearty laugh, you’d asked,

“For you or for me?”

If you’d wanted a wine stopper, I would’ve been happy to buy you one, so I’d said,

“You can have this one if you want. It’s the only one I see that’ll fit a standard opening. All the rest look way too big.”

When the woman shopping a few feet away had stifled a laugh, I’d known for sure I’d made a significant error. Turning on my heel, I’d marched back to the bachelorette party section where I’d been mortified to discover I’d drifted from wine accessories into the anal section.

After gently placing the plug back on its display stand, I’d stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked over to quietly inform you I’d be waiting on the bench outside. At least now I knew what’d been inside the bag when you’d exited the store ten minutes later.

While you grin at me, I purse my lips. “You’re enjoying this. Aren’t you.”

You nod your head. “Immensely. I still can’t believe you didn’t know. What were you thinking?”

I face forward when I answer. “It was directly beside a display with those jewellery rings people supposedly put on wine glasses. You know those little charms you hook around a stem to identify your glass that no one’s seen anyone use ever.”

“Are you sure they were wine charms?”

I frown.

“What else could they be.”

You open your mouth then close it. I see the mischief in your eyes, see the little dimple pop when you smile. You open your mouth again, but then shake your head.

“I’m sure you’re right. They must’ve been wine charms.”

Your smile tells me you think different, but I let it go for the moment. I grow animated again.

“I was thinking about large format wine bottles. You know, the ones with cool names like Salamanzer and Jeraboam. I hadn’t even known they made stoppers for bottles that big.”

Pique completely forgotten, I smile as I chatter on. “I was thinking, Wow! New York is sooo sophisticated to stock Nebuchadnezzar stoppers. I had Nebuchadnezzar bottles of champagne at my wedding. They hold 15 litres, if I remember correctly. I have no idea how many regular bottles that is. Maybe 20? I’ll look it up later.

Did you know Pol Roger made a bottle specifically for Winston Churchill that became known as—oddly enough—‘the Winston Churchill?’ It held twenty ounces of champagne which was deemed the perfect amount for the PM in the morning.”

I giggle. PM in the morning.

You blink. I sit back and press my lips together. The more time we spend together, the more comfortable I get and the more I seem to rattle on about anything. I shrug, sheepish.

“Sorry. I guess I’m just excited about In-between Day.”

You smile and surprise me when you ask, “What was the other name?”

I beam at you. The value of a good listener cannot be overstated. Another thing I like about talking to you? Loose threads always weave seamlessly back into the fabric of our conversations.

“The name !guru belonged to a former anaesthesiologist from Namibia who was working the photo counter at Costco.”

CHAPTER 12

As we wait for the show to begin, I sit back and think about the item tucked inside my purse. Was it intended to be a gag gift or .... a functional one?

When I glance at you, I remember the section of the store you’d been perusing when I’d shown you the “stopper.” I hadn’t had time to study any of the individual items on your aisle, but it seemed the general theme might’ve been bondage or spanking or something. I knew I’d seen leather paddles at any rate.

The devil on my shoulder immediately starts talking smack. I try to shush the demon, try to quell the impulse; but ultimately, I can’t resist.

Leaning over the arm rest, I cup a hand behind your ear, and whisper, “I think giving me that gift here was very naughty of you. I think you’ve been a very, very bad boy and you should be punished accordingly.”

You shift in your seat, run your palms down your denim covered thighs. When you shift your weight to lean a little closer in my direction, I’m emboldened.

“Maybe you need a good spanking? What do you think? Should I put you over my knee?”

You groan low. I glance down to see you adjust yourself. Due North again.

Rearranging the jacket in your lap, I slide my hand underneath and grip you tight.

“Or maybe you’ve been too loud in the university library? Maybe your punishment should come from a stern librarian?

If I were your librarian, I’d wear my tightest pencil skirt, back seamed Cuban heel stockings, high collared white blouse, and maybe a pair of dark framed glasses. Hmm... Should I wear my hair loose or in a tight bun?”

I nip your earlobe as I slide my hand lower to cup and squeeze.

“Should I make you push your pants down to your ankles and bend over my desk while I go find my paddle? Make you wait like that, bent over in your underwear as your classmates stare in wide-eyed anticipation?

I’d stand behind you and stare at your bottom, stare at all the bits barely covered by thin white cotton while I tapped my deep red nail against my deep red lips. I’d make you spread your legs wide while I circled my desk, while I contemplated. Decisions. Decisions. Should I use the wood paddle .... or the leather?”

You turn your head and kiss my neck, score my skin with your teeth. I shiver when I feel your hot tongue. Squeezing the hard outline encased inside your jeans, I move my hand up and down, long and lazy from base to tip. I slow my words to match my strokes.

“Or maybe I should make you come back after class so I can give you all the discipline you so clearly need? I’d make you take off your pants and your underwear and stand there wearing nothing but your shirt and socks.

I’d make you stand and wait, cool air on your private parts. I’d give you plenty of time to think about just how naughty you’ve been.

Once I’d decided on a paddle, I’d slowly unbutton my blouse, and then unzip my skirt. I couldn’t have you wrinkling my clothes now could I? Which punishment do you deserve? Hm? In front of your classmates? Or in my office after school?”

At some point in this little game I’ve gotten nervous that maybe I’ve gone too far. I lean back a little so I can see your face. Your eyes are round, pupils blown. I pull my hand back and stare at your massive erection. Liquid heat pools low just as the theatre lights go down.

CHAPTER 13

You whisper at my ear.

“I deserve the second option. Definitely option number two.”

Leaning in my direction, you position your ear close to my mouth as if to say continue.

I swallow hard, unprepared. I have no idea what might actually be a turn-on in this scenario. I knew I should’ve Googled “erotic spanking” the moment we’d returned from the toy store. Searching my mind, I inventory what I know about the topic.

I’d seen a couple of video previews when I’d quasi-investigated porn. I remember one with three women doing things to one man, spanking him with a paddle being one among several interesting activities. I hadn’t minded the activities; I just hadn’t cared for the dialogue.

Not wanting those images in my head, I’d simply left those links alone. I think through the little bit I had seen. Degradation and humiliation: definitely not for me. Making you squirm during a little role play? Well, I do like to dress up.

Just for kicks, I run the idea through my mind from the opposite angle aaaand ...

Nope. Absolutely nothing.

I have no interest in being spanked myself. Years ago I’d worn a smaller bikini on a boat outing and gotten a sunburn on the newly exposed skin. That night, my bottom had been on fire, so I’d rubbed on some aloe and laid on my stomach on the couch. I must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing I’d known was pain. I’d jumped up to see my husband standing there with my paddle hair brush in hand.

Let’s just say this did not turn me on in the slightest. I believe I’d said something to the effect that if he ever struck me again, he could count on me to hit him back and ten times harder.

So, with next to no information in my archives, I guess I’d be winging this. Taking a deep breath, I lean close to your ear and let my imagination run wild.

CHAPTER 14

“When I see you standing outside my office after school, I give you a stern look and usher you inside. The click sounds loud when I shut the door. Drawing the shade over the interior glass window, I turn to you, arms folded over my chest.

‘You’ve been a very naughty boy, very disrespectful. What shall we do about it? Hm?’

Filled with remorse, you stare down at your shoes.

‘Place your books on the table over there and bring me that wooden paddle.’

I motion to a round paddle hanging by a strip of leather from a peg on the wall. You do as instructed and again, stare down at the floor. As a first year librarian, I’m a similar age to many of the students, and some of the faculty think because I’m American, I must be fundamentally rebellious. If I wish to be respected, it’s imperative I enforce strict discipline. I’ll need to be extra tough on you today. I look you up and down.

Yes, we might be close in age, and under different circumstances I might even be attracted to you; but my primary responsibility is to the library, and the rules must be followed.

When I shift my weight to one leg, and tap my black patent leather heel, the noise echoes loud against the bare wood floor.

‘You knew talking wasn’t allowed in that section of the library. Didn’t you? You’ve been very naughty, indeed. When you break the rules, you must face the consequences. Now take off your pants, underwear too. And please don’t dally. I have a tutoring session scheduled to start soon.’”

I’m so caught up in my own story, it barely registers when you unwind my Burberry scarf, curl an arm around my shoulders, and drape the scarf over my chest. I’m warmed by the sentiment as much as your body heat, but then I frown when I feel your fingers working the wooden buttons on the shoulder of my sweater dress.

Beneath the scarf, you peel down one side of my dress and lean in to whisper, “Been wanting to do that all day.”

I feel more movement, but I can’t tell what you’re doing. You reach for my hand, slide it under your jacket and press my palm directly between your legs. My eyes go wide when I feel hot, bare skin. Surely you can’t mean to... here? I should pull my hand away. I should. But the sensation of soft skin over hard steel feels too good.

I nibble my bottom lip and glance around the dark theater. The show hasn’t started yet. Stragglers take their seats, but the three rows in front us are still empty. Decision made, I give a long, experimental stroke. And then another.

Just when I’ve worked into a slow, steady rhythm, Neil deGrasse Tyson’s recorded voice booms in surround sound, “Get ready for the Big Bang!” I barely stifle a giggle.

CHAPTER 15

“Do you make me bend over your lap or the desk?”

Good question. I brush my lips against your ear.

“Once I’ve cleared off my desk, I grab my cosmetics bag and hop up to sit on top. While you stand and wait, erect and half-naked, I take my time reapplying my red lipstick. I check my eye makeup and rub lotion on my hands and wrists. Since it’s grown stuffy in my office, I open the top two buttons of my blouse. I touch perfume behind my ears and between my cleavage.

When I lean forward, I catch you staring at my black lace bra and my signature strand of pearls. I stand, fold my arms, and turn my back to you.

Though the number of paddle strokes has yet to be determined, I say, ‘I saw you looking down my blouse. For the additional disrespect, you’ve earned five more strokes with the paddle.’

When I glance at your reflection in the glass of a picture frame, I’m almost certain I see a look of jubilation; but when I quickly turn around, you’re staring at the floor looking forlorn. I narrow my eyes and return to the front of my desk to sit. When I hop up again and cross my legs, your eyes are fixed on my shoe, on the pointed toe that bobs a mere inch from the tip of your erect penis. Arms folded, I slowly look you up and down.

‘Take off your shirt as well, please. I can’t have you getting all wrinkled.’

You do as instructed, then return to stand in your previous spot wearing only your socks. I zero in on the bead of moisture clinging to your tip. After turning to grab a tissue, I glide off the desk and lean down for a close inspection. My warm breaths skate over your taut skin.

After I’ve examined you from every angle, I make a tsk! sound. ‘I can’t have you making a mess in my office either.’

I dab at your tip, feather-light. I barely touch your skin. After tossing away the tissue, I stalk a circle around you. The clock on the wall ticks loud. I tap my lips as I stare at your penis, your narrow hips, and your bare bottom. ‘I’m trying to decide whether I should spank you over my desk, or if I should bend you over my knee. Have you ever been spanked before? And don’t lie because I’ll know.’

Just then, my office door swings open. One of your classmates walks in.

‘I’m here for tutoring, Ms....’

Her words trail off when she sees you standing there in only your socks, painfully erect. She starts to slowly back out the door.

‘It’s okay, Julie. You can stay. Come in and have a seat. I’ll be with you in a moment. I was just asking your friend if he’d ever been spanked.

[sasha-rochester]

The Interrogation Chamber

OOC: This is an RP transcript of an interrogation that happened shortly after the murders-- Co-written with @safestsephiroth and edited to fit a story format.

“It will be nothing, just be honest and it will be done in a heartbeat.” Kukusedi’s voice resonated in her head as she twiddled her thumbs, waiting for the officer to arrive. The ‘interrogation chamber’, as they’d call it, was clearly meant for wealthier folk. Someone put out the effort to offer comfort that would likely be denied to most criminals or suspects—But she wasn’t any ordinary criminal or suspect, no, she was a wealthy one, and wealth meant power more in Ul’dah than anywhere else. As of now, she had been stripped of most of that power, something she was slowly easing back into due to Kukusedi’s guidance and Caroline’s generosity. Two guards stood at the door, both seemingly still as statues – humorless as any of their lot ever were. The only sound in the room was the echoing ticking of a grandfather clock in a corner, with Sasha’s heartbeat matching the ticking’s pace. She was terrified. Keep your wits about you. Lie and remain consistent. Stay calm. The Brass Blade who finally opened the door could be described many ways - that he wore the stripes of a lieutenant, that with his size it wasn’t terribly clear at a glance if he was a roegadyn or a highlander, that with every motion he betrayed to only the most careful observer a certain anticipation. His age was unclear - no longer young and green, for sure, and yet not tired enough to be old. He carried with him an imposing briefcase. As he sat down across the table from Sasha Rochester, the chair creaked beneath his weight, and the fire in his eyes made clear he was not a disinterested gopher like the kind which would usually handle an interrogation in this room. “State your name for the records.”   The tone lacked any familiarity or camaraderie. This wasn’t a job interview or a misdemeanor, not a friendly chat with a wink. No, his tone would not have been out of place in a much, much less comforting room. Sasha’s eyes briefly locked on the man before she cast a glance at the briefcase. “Sasha Elizabeth Rochester.” She spoke with a gentle, sweet, yet mildly nervous tone. Her eyes locked on his again, and despite her voice, her gaze had already began to devour all the information she could gather on him. His demeanor, size, posture, tone – everything. A small frown curled the corner of her lips.

“I see.” He opened the briefcase, undoing locks one at a time, and at this distance the “case” was starting to look more like a small trunk with handles. Upon finishing the task, he then took his time looking through the contents. Eventually he looked back to what he clearly viewed as prey. “So, Sasha. I’m very busy today. Now, don’t feel the need to rush, I’m just going to multitask. Save some time.” With all the nonchalance of someone drawing a piece of paper, he pulled instead a crooked dagger and a whetstone from the case and set them on the table in front of him, taking care not to allow even the barest glimpse into the case’s contents. “Uhm…Alright.”  She briefly scanned the contents on the table before turning her attention back to him. A small, gentle smirk curled her lips, though she didn’t seem terribly convinced as to his professionalism. Not internally, anyway. It took every single cell in her body to not tear her gaze away from his face - what was that dagger for? And the whetstone? What did he intend to do? Seemingly ignoring her discomfort - though it was clear he was scrutinizing her every action and movement - he continued. “How long have you lived in Ul'Dah, Sasha?” The woman blinked a bit, seemingly taken aback by the question. “W-well, I was born here. Uhm… I lived here until I was sixteen, then I lived in Limsa Lominsa for about two… Maybe three cycles? I returned roughly three cycles ago. Maybe four.” “I see. So you’d say Ul'Dah is your home, then. You’d defend the city against threats to its stability.” The woman nodded, “Yes, to the best of my ability, anyway. I mean, I don’t think anyone wants to see Ul'dah fall as it’s the economic epicenter of the realm.” He nodded in return, slowly. “So you wouldn’t, say, sink a business intentionally to cause a ripple effect which harms your homeland.” He picked up the dagger, with that, and pretended to examine it, his gaze never fully leaving the woman before him. Said woman tilted her head to the side. “Businesses sink in Ul'dah all the time, it seems like a perfectly natural part of the cycle of wealth here. But no, I wouldn’t purposefully sink one. After all, they often sink themselves.” “Like when a heiress who never learned business proper collaborates with men seeking to exploit her.” He’d had that line ready. Sasha sighed. “Well, sometimes a heiress doesn’t have much of a choice. While sinking is natural, nobody wants to reach that point. Besides…” She offered the man another genuine, gentle smile, “men aren’t always out there to exploit others. Sometimes they try to help, and it just so happens it benefits them, too.” “Well, Sasha, isn’t that what our city thrives on? You and I both know there’s a difference between the law in practice and the law in theory, now, isn’t there. It’s the crimes that harm the rich and noble that truly matter, isn’t that so? And also that there are plenty of men looking to help those in need who are in well over their heads?” Sasha quirked a brow before shaking her head in shock, “G-gods, no… all crimes matter, regardless of who the victims are. Crimes against the rich simply get more publicity, but it doesn’t necessarily make them more important. Unless, arguably, it’s a crime against a leader or political figure who influences a lot of people, though who would a leader be without those to lead?” The lieutenant stared across the table at her, trying to discern if she was playing dumb or if she was actually that stupid. It seemed he was leaning towards the former, but the fact he had any doubt at all meant it was working. “Why was it you were missing from Ul'dah for some time, recently, Sasha? Got business somewhere else? Seems you were gone awhile. Convenient timing, too.” “Oh… Kugane, you mean? Yes, I was supposed to travel with Kukusedi Nanasedi and Kaelric Voss for business. We are trying to establish relations with the city, though the latter didn’t show… I’m not very sure why, I think he was sick” She paused for a moment, seemingly sinking into her own thoughts, “-but I suppose after the events that transpired, I can make my own assumptions.” The woman frowned a little before locking eyes with him,  "I’m not sure how that is convenient though – as far as I’m concerned, it could’ve been me.“ "Yes. It could have. But it wasn’t, now, was it?  Interesting you bring up mister Voss. He strikes me as rather smart. Too smart to stick around, or leave evidence if he did something wrong. Such a bright future thrown away…if he’s the reason twenty-two innocent people were smeared across a manse. There’s a lot we haven’t shown the press, you know.” He takes up the whetstone, makes hard eye contact and starts sharpening the dagger. “Would you like to see some of it? Maybe you could help shed some light on what happened.” Sasha scrunched her nose at that, “Please, ser. I have a weak stomach for such things. I simply detest violence.” Her eyes locked on his, pleadingly. “If Voss was indeed framed, then I’m sure it will come to light… After all, he is… Convenient to me - to us! Kukusedi and I would greatly benefit from the culprit coming to light, if it isn’t Kaelric.”

He set the whetstone and dagger down, frowned at the edge, then reached into the case and pulls out a ream of papers. Some of them he started putting down on the table - depictions of the carnage and the aftermath. Then he started reading from a report. “Edith Castille, found head down in her beloved fountain in the back of her manor. Cause of death was either the drowning or the fact most of her skull was smashed to bits from repeated blows against said fountain. Had two broken knees, looked to have been dragged there from the house, then tossed aside when the killer was finished. Coroner found quite a bit of water in her lungs, but again, death was quite, quite slow for her. We know she was the last to die, which means her final moments were spent knowing that her husband had suffered a similar fate. Here,” he jabbed his thumb into one of the depictions. “That’s what was left of her. That’s how they found her. She was an innocent woman who’d never done anything wrong, already survived the death of her beloved son. Could you remind me - what was he like, again, Sasha?” The woman gasped, her eyes gluing themselves to the image as they began to well up. The information is too much to process - Gerrith! That… Monster! That sick fuck! How in the hells did he kill someone like that? What is wrong with him!? I should’ve never hired him–and why is this bastard asking me about Sebastian? I need to deflect, quickly. “I-I—W-why are you doing this!?” She brought her palms to her eyes, taking deep, agitated breaths as her voice began to tremble, “T-that’s horrifying, I don’t want to see it, p-please pay Edith enough respect as to not attempt to use her death to distress me, ser. What happened is horrible enough, I don’t want to see it!” The lieutenant clearly had no interest in slowing down. “You know what puzzles me, Sasha, is that I haven’t heard of you or your partners hiring more security after that. Did you know that the Castilles’ security’s firearms were disabled? We found many of them either had their ammunition fouled intentionally, or, in a handful of cases, they were missing key parts. Firing pins, that sort of thing. That’s the work of an insider, and yet absolutely everyone on the site died. Here, let’s show you what happened to the wait staff.” He slid another depiction across the table. “One of the maids had just bought something nice, a necklace, well outside her pay grade. Have your staff been spending a bit more frivolously, lately?” “W-wait, let me answer your questions and statements one at a time.” She took a deep breath, averting her gaze from the papers before her as her eyes continued to well up with distressed tears. “Security was tightened after the event, in fact, I hardly leave my manor unaccompanied. I just arrived from Kugane so I was going to meet with my staff later today to see if we could do anything about it – Kukusedi was doing the same, it was his recommendation that we watch our backs. Though…” she frowns, “Seems like we can’t even trust our staff–and my staff have always been paid a flat rate, so I doubt they’d be spending more lately, though admittedly, I don’t really keep up with their numbers.” “I see. Here, I’ve got one more thing to show you, so you can really understand the gravity of the situation here and why it’s so important we find who’s responsible for this.” He took out one more depiction - the body of a man sprawled across a desk, its head a pulpy mess with vague fingerlike grooves in it. “This look familiar to you? Give it a real close look.” “I, understand the-” She turned pale, The sight of Edward’s body turns her stomach, causing her to reflexively bring a palm to cover her mouth. “Gods, w-what’s the point of this!? How are you solving anything!? I’m taking this as seriously as everybody here, I don’t need– This.” “Where’s Gerrith Gaffgarion?” Her mind suddenly went blank in panic, only allowing a single word to blurt out the beginning of her reasoning:  “Who?” Gears suddenly began to turn, “That… Beast? I wasn’t aware he was even real.” The officer pulled out another paper - a fairly detailed sketch of a man with black hair and cruel eyes who looked distinctly like Gerrith if he were fifteen or so years younger. “He’s an Ala Mhigan mercenary and very, very real. The Castilles found that out for themselves. This is what he does, Sasha, he takes money to massacre people like this, waits until the attention’s faded away and then finds another job. He’s got connections that reach much further than they should, and I know there’s a lot of people on his payroll. I want him. I don’t give a damn about your failing business or your drowning business partner or whether or not he was framed, really. I want Gerrith, I want him to stand trial and dive right off Highbridge where he belongs. I’m willing to make a lot of concessions for you, girl, if you give me that." He picked up the dagger again and started absentmindedly tapping the flat of it against his hand. Internally, a wicked grin curled her lips, stretching from ear to ear. You think I’m stupid, little man? I know bait when I see it. Sasha lowered her brows, scanning the paper for a minute or two before looking up at him again, "I… I don’t know this man. I’m sorry. I wish I could help. Hells, I didn’t even think he was real, I didn’t–I didn’t think th–Wait, how do you know he did this? You said yourself everyone in the manor was killed. How do you even know this man exists?” “I’m glad you asked that question.” That much seemed true, as it was with a new eagerness he lifted a folder packed with papers from the case and slammed it on the table, a dull echo sounding through the room. “This is his file. This is his body count. Just the ones we know about, of course. But we know quite a lot. We know his rates. We know his capabilities. We know he’s willing to do absolutely anything and we know he loves it. We only found one pair of bootprints that didn’t belong to the staff. The same fingers that crushed Edward’s skull like a ripe melon, slowly, Sasha, slowly, so he could think about how it felt to die, they’re the same ones that forced Edith’s head underwater. Same fingers we found marks from on the neck of one of the maids. You hire an au ra, too, right? You knew the Castilles? Did you know this one?” He slammed down a gruesomely accurate drawing of the maid, her neck so thoroughly broken several bones had torn through the skin, her face twisted in fear and agony. “We’re not quite sure if he waited for her to pass out before he snapped her neck with one hand. One hand, Sasha.” Sasha’s eyes widened in shock. “T-this… Was all done…By a single man!? All of it!? How is that even possible!? These are trained people, they have to be! And yes, I knew the Castilles, I know their security was always enviable. I… I was engaged to their son… Cycles ago. We didn’t interact much, it was a convenience marriage set up by them and my parents–But I know they must have had trained staff, after all, they were owners of a weapon’s manufactory company.” “Weapons which were disabled. More than likely by this maid-” he jabbed his thumb once more into the depiction, then slammed down another drawing. “Or maybe this maid -” And another. “Or maybe the butler. So I’m going to ask you now, Sasha, why’d you do it?” For a second, her mind went blank again. A little voice whispered in her head: Don’t fall for it Outwardly, she looked utterly puzzled. “Why did I do what?” “When we threw your business partner in a cell, I got a subpoena to look at your company’s books, since we realized we could cross-reference any missing funds with Gaffgarion’s rates.” His eyes locked on hers, like a falcon that had just found his prey. “When I get the same for your accounts, I’m going to find two million gil that just magically disappeared, aren’t I?” “I was going to go to Kugane, of course money is going to be withdrawn from my account. I’m not going to settle for anything less than luxury I can afford. Especially considering the fact I’m looking at properties there.” “Our auditors are very thorough, Sasha. Now. Here’s my offer. You give me Gerrith, we’ll write it up that he acted alone. He’ll swing for this, you’ll walk out scot free. You and everyone else in your business. This is the best offer you’re going to get from anyone. Murder, conspiracy, these aren’t crimes that have a statute of limitations, girl. This is going to hang on your head the rest of your life, just an ilm away from exposure at any time, and when you kill people like the Castilles, well, that’s what gets judges famous. Judges want to be tough on crime, you know, they want the people to have faith in them. Really restores faith in the system to see the rich punished for their crimes, doesn’t it? Really good for the city, isn’t it?” There it is, his second attempt at baiting me – Lovely. Sasha leaned in across the table, her eyes fixing on his with a frown. “I’m going to make this very clear: I had nothing to do with this, and frankly, I do not take kindly to accusations like this. I am utterly disgusted by this crime, like any person would be, and I truly hope you find whoever is behind this–But it isn’t me. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.” Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The lieutenant stared coldly across the table, trying to size up the woman before him. He raised his hand, and the two guards in the room silently stepped outside. A heavy metallic sound resonated through after they’d gone - the door was locked. Once the echoing stopped, in one quick motion the lieutenant stabbed the dagger into the table, causing her to jump, then pulled a flat leather thing from the case, about the size of his hand. There was a soft metallic rattle as he lifted it. “I’m going to ask you one more time, Miss Rochester-” the specific tone he said the ”miss” with was particularly laden with venom - “To tell me everything you know. What about your partners, hmm? We found particularly damning evidence in the form of a letter, true, but both of you have access to your compatriot’s handwriting, now, don’t you?” Her eyes fixed on what she saw as a potential torture device. She gulped before soflty shaking her head, “Yes, we both have access to his handwriting, obviously. We maintain contact rather often.” “Now, I’ve seen your handwriting,” he said, with no humor whatsoever in his voice, the emotion that was there a moment ago fading away into an eerie calm. “It’s quite good. Quite intricate. And I hear you’re an artist, isn’t that right? Was the forgery Kukudesi’s idea? He’d be the only one you owe a debt to, then, wouldn’t he. Gives him even more power over you.” The woman scoffed, “I am not an artist I’m an arcanist. Yes, I’m good with calligraphy and drawing, but it hardly serves a forgery tool when your main focus is Arcanima. I’d think someone of your rank would know this, Ser.” She spat out “ser” with the same tone he had used “miss” earlier. “Kukusedi and I would never plot against Kaelric, we need him. He manages an imperative part of the company which is the management of the ports, in fact, this entire ordeal severely stagnates our operations.” “Ah, but leaving the Castilles alive would’ve hurt you, wouldn’t it? Never did give up the idea that poor Stefan was your fault, did they?” “Stefan is alive, I actually bumped into him last night. He abandoned me out of his own will, not mine. Frankly, anulling the marriage was the best choice I’ve done. I actually have his linkpearl with me and it is fully functioning, should you need it.” “But it was such a blow to the family honor, wasn’t it? Though Stefan surviving really did mean he got off lucky, now, didn’t it. Peculiar how death follows your every step, isn’t it?” He tapped the blackjack on the edge of the table, each time making a hard whump sound. Sasha scoffed. “I don’t care about my family’s shallow idea of honor. If I did, I wouldn’t have married a miqo'te. ” The woman narrowed her eyes, “And… death follows my every step? Really? How so?” “How’s your mother feeling?” Sasha let out a sardonic chuckle, “You think that’s funny? She’s dead.” “Speak with your father lately?” She knew exactly where this was going: “He died, and based on my family’s health records it’s pretty obvious why.” The woman locked her eyes with him, “What’s next? Sebastian? Going to really rub it in ? Like I didn’t suffer enough already?” “Sebastian was next, yes, how kind of you to be proactive. I’m just pointing out it’s rather interesting how everyone who gets too close to you ends up a corpse or missing. How’s your new husband? What was his name again?” It took every fraction of her willpower not to roll her eyes there and then, and instead, it resulted in her eyes coldly holding his gaze, “X'elo Maimhov,” she said in a rather robotic tone. “Didn’t even bother taking this one’s name, hmm?” Sasha exhaled from her nose sharply, “He’s a mi-” She stopped herself from finishing that thought, a pang of guilt crawled down her spine. “Why does that even matter? It was a personal choice. My name is tied to my company.” The lieutenant kept staring at Sasha, irritation slowly rising to the surface. This wasn’t working, and he knew it. He rifled through the case again, and didn’t say anything for quite some time. It was clear he was running out of cards to play, but still had something up his sleeve. Sasha frowned at the silence slightly, every tick of the clock she could hear without a word made dread weigh heavier upon her shoulders. Calm down, don’t let him piss you off. He’s trying to get to you. Keep going. “Ah, here we are.” He drew a single sheet of paper from the case. “How’s dear old Caroline doing? How was Sharlayan? I’ve never been, myself. Bit too much love for Ul'dah, you understand.” “I went to Sharlayan for medical treatment. I can’t say I had a lot of fun considering my physical condition and the heavy restrictions they place upon foreigners, despite our blood bonds. Caroline is doing fine, an old, bitter bitch, as usual. Glad you asked!” She finished her sentence with mocking smile. “Sounds expensive. Sounds like trouble she’d only go to if she cared about you. Is that fair to say? Caroline wouldn’t be pleased to see her granddaughter dead?” “Of course she wouldn’t be. It’s one of the reasons she wants me out of Ul'dah. She thinks this city is too dangerous and corrupt – but that’s what any Sharlayan would say.” He drew one more set of pictures from the case. It depicted an even more grisly murder - an entire family wholesale slaughtered at their dinner table, down to the youngest child. Blood and viscera were everywhere. Some of the bodies were posed in ways that suggest they were the victims of more than one form of violence. As far as the good lieutenant was concerned, Sasha didn’t need to know that some of it had been embellished. “So when Caroline gets a letter from an officer held in high esteem amidst the Brass Blades saying he’s concerned for her granddaughter’s well-being, with some copies of these attached as examples of the powers he’s certain she’s meddling with, what’s she going to do, do you think?” The woman turned away from the pictures, tensing up as she frowned: “Confront me about it, probably. If she thinks I’m in immediate danger, most likely drag me out of this city to somewhere she deems 'safe.’ Most likely Sharlayan, which I would be incredibly against — So I don’t advise you do that. In fact, I strongly suggest you don’t do it. After all, I am helping you to the best of my ability, and I wouldn’t be much help if I were in Sharlayan.” For the first time the entire interrogation, his lips curled into a wicked smile. “Oh, but you see, my sworn duty as an officer of the Brass Blades, the very oath I swore when I enlisted and reaffirm every day of my life is to protect the citizens of Ul'dah. All citizens of Ul'dah. How am I to live with myself if I didn’t help a poor, confused, innocent girl escape a situation which could very well end in her looking just like Edith Castille? How am I to disobey my duty when you’ve given me nothing?” She clenched her jaw slightly. “You don’t benefit from my departure at all. I am providing you with information to the best of my ability. I’m sorry it’s not helpful, I don’t know what I can pluck out of thin air that would benefit you. What are you looking for? A culprit? I don’t have one, hells, I don’t even have any information on Gerrith, but I’m trying to help, and sending a letter like that would only soil on your efforts to solve this case.” “Well see, Miss-” He slammed the blackjack against the table, rose from the chair and started stalking around to Sasha’s side of it - “-Rochester, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve given me nothing at all. I don’t believe half of what you’ve told me, frankly, and I’m getting tired of playing at politeness. More people will die, and it’ll be on you. Let’s work out a logic puzzle, hmm?” He leaned in, ilms from her face, his voice a terribly low whisper. “You’re a smart woman. If you’re here, and you’re guilty, and I can’t nail it to you, then you can kill again. If you’re here, and you’re innocent, you may end up a victim yourself. If you’re across the sea, and you’re guilty, then that’s unfortunate, but it means you can’t hurt any of my people ever again. If you’re across the sea and you’re innocent, well, at least you won’t end up crawling on broken kneecaps while a madman chokes the life out of you.” “Missus. I’m a married woman.” Gods, shut up, shut up! You’ll piss him off! Stop! The woman gulped, hardly able to hold his gaze. She fell silent, gears struggling to turn in her head as fear began to take over. Fear of ending up in Sharlayan, and fear of ending up killed by the blades. Either result would be hell or death for her – neither seemed very appealing. “I don’t know what you want me to say… I don’t — I don’t know anything. I’m as scared as any other reasonable person is right now. I mean — W-what question have I failed to answer? Besides those I have no clue about.” The lieutenant lightly tapped Sasha’s cheek with the leather weapon. “Think harder.” He’d found a weakness in the armor and was now gauging how far he would take it, how much reward could be gotten from this path. The woman hissed, “T-there’s nothing I know that’s terribly relevant to this case, u-unless you mean that Kaelric got sick. I-I… Or are you talking about my relationship with Sebastian? You asked me so many things I just – Why would that even be relevant!?” “The beautiful thing about these is they don’t leave marks. The word of a suspected criminal versus a distinguished Blade, well, no contest there. Here’s a thought, though - maybe your husband knows something about this. Maybe I’ll just ask him, instead.” He lightly tapped the blackjack against her cheek one, two, three more times, and then hauled back and slammed the fourth…flat against the table. As the noise faded, he stared her dead in the eyes. “What do you think, Sasha? Will he break before you would?” The woman furrowed her brow, “If I know nothing, he’d know even less. Do not involve him in this, I’m the one with ties to Voss, not him. ” Her eyes narrowed into what could only be described as a hateful glare, “If you care about justice in this city, you will spare the innocent and know when to stop pushing. I’ve told you all I know. Now please let me leave.” “Maybe he saw some secret problem going on. Maybe he orchestrated the whole thing. Maybe we’ll haul him in to ask him some questions, too. Either way,” the lieutenant said, straightening up again, walking back to his side of the table. “Twenty-two innocent lives were lost, and those responsible will meet justice.” He started  packing the case back up. The tiniest, tiniest hint of disappointment slipped through his facade. Sasha took a few deep breaths, seemingly a little more relaxed then, “I’ll help… I’ll help in any way I can.” A lie, of course. Crisis averted

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 59: Rising Tides, Crashing Skies

“I guess it’s pretty bad, but what’s a regular old guy like me supposed to do about it?”

Heyyyyy Ronaldo.

Y’know, this episode isn’t as bad as I remember. Watching it the first time, it stuck out mostly for its terrible timing after an episode as powerful as Sworn to the Sword, and looked even worse when its Steven Bomb was done: Keeping It Together, We Need to Talk, and Chille Tid are not great company when you’re only a middling episode. Even now, I think it would’ve been smart to put this just before Reformed as a coda to the human-centric chunk of early Season 2 episodes, or right after Chille Tid as a buffer between Malachite and the Week of Sardonyx. But watching it again, I can admit that Rising Tides, Crashing Tides isn’t a terrible episode.

Now, it’s not great, but what it lacks in substance it (sort of) makes up for in comedy. Where Crying Breakfast Friends is self-parody in show form, Ronaldo is self-parody in human form—which by the way further solidifies placing this episode nearer to Reformed or Cry for Help, which both feature CBF—so he’s a great lens to show a human reaction to the Homeworld Gems’ return. And if you’re going to use a gimmicky character, you might as well use a gimmicky format.

The saving grace of this episode is its lovingly accurate portrayal of a teenager’s crappy documentary. With the exception of the trying-too-hard reenactment jokes (the flopping fish for Nanefua and Ronaldo’s hand for the handship), I laughed way harder than I thought I would at its format-specific humor. Ronaldo’s terrible cutting is perfect, as is that weird but universal obsession with “official-looking” title cards (undercut by Comic Sans and plodding text effects).

But if you’re mining for comedy gold, look no further than the description assigned to each character. Some are general jokes (Kiki’s is “Pizza Heiress” and Mayor Dewey’s is “Mayor Dewey”) while others reveal Ronaldo’s perspective on his interviewees (Sadie’s is “Horror Movie Enthusiast” and Jenny’s is “Intimidating Teenage Girl”). Still, the obvious winner is Steven.

Still, the jokes directly from Ronaldo are, as always, hit and miss. Considering there’s not too much to talk about in Rising Tides, Crashing Skies besides the humor, I’d like to take a moment to examine what makes him so inconsistent.

Subtlety is where Ronaldo flies highest and falls hardest. I’m sure it’s difficult to use a light touch on such a broad character, but Zachary Steel is great enough at going full ham that he doesn’t need that much help from the writers. Ronaldo’s obliviousness is bound to make him say dumb things, but this sometimes makes incongruity itself the punchline when it should be the bare minimum for a gag. There’s a reason why everybody almost everybody grows out of “so random!” comedy, and it’s because there’s no depth to it beyond the standard surprise that most jokes have.

Still, this shallowness isn’t limited to lolrandom humor. Take, for instance, Ronaldo’s narration over his nighttime exposé. He looks right at the camera and talks about how brave he is to be sneaking around with a camera. You see, normally a hero doesn’t have to say they’re being brave, so we wouldn’t expect someone to say that they’re brave. But he does. That’s, uh, that’s it. That’s the whole joke.

There are tons of ways to show that a character is self-important that don’t involve them essentially telling us “I am self-important.” And Steven Universe usually does just that: Ronaldo’s brooding in Full Disclosure, his smug yet incorrect explanations of how the world works in Keep Beach City Weird, and smatterings of this very episode (like calling his home movie “an investigative report shot camera vérité”) all reveal how pompous he is. Which is great, but it only makes his “I’m so brave to be doing this” line more frustrating, because it’s not even teaching us anything new about him.

But on the flipside, the understated interviewee descriptions I mentioned above and small moments of Ronaldo acting like a real person as he futzes with the camera work so well because he’s usually so broad, and seeing him act like a real person is an incongruity that adds fuel to the joke (rather than being the joke itself). So you have to make him annoying and loud to make the quiet moments land, but not too annoying and loud because then we just hate the guy and the jokes get lazy. 

Again, this can’t be an easy balance for the writers—and I haven’t even mentioned the additional pressure to provide constant humor with a flat character whose only role is to be funny—but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy when the scales tip too hard on the obnoxious end. The reason Ronaldo works best in small doses is because the longer he’s on screen, the more likely it is that the writers will slip up and make him go full Ronaldo. Rising Tides, Crashing Skies does surprisingly well, but there are still plenty of moments where its hero is a pain to watch.

One thing that helps any wacky character is a straight man, and Peedee ably fills the role despite his own quirks. Atticus Shaffer hasn’t had much to do since Frybo beyond the occasional line, so it’s great to hear him spend a whole episode grounding Ronaldo with his signature blend of solemnity and anxiety. We already know from Keep Beach City Weird that Peedee understands his brother better than anyone, so putting him on the documentary team provides some much-needed commentary on an episode about commentary. I appreciate his introduction as an interview subject to reestablish his character, considering his lack of focus throughout the series, before making him Ronaldo’s semi-willing sidekick.

In terms of that whole subtlety thing I was going on about, I love that Peedee’s maturity and capability isn’t overplayed: he fumbles through filmmaking just as much as Ronaldo and spends as much time freaking out as he does calmly explaining things. Peedee is unusually responsible, and Ronaldo’s behavior makes him look particularly competent, but he’s still a normal kid and not a flanderized child prodigy. We already have one extreme character here, and I’m glad the crew doesn’t make the mistake of thinking we need another one to balance him out.

But it’s the third Fryman that gets the line of the episode, summing up what an adjusted adult almost has to be in Beach City. He’s aware of how powerless he is in a world of magic and monsters, but he sighs and accepts it instead of letting this knowledge cripple him. He’s got a family and a business to take care of, and he seems to be succeeding at both, so there’s nothing to be gained by worrying about things that are out of his hands. Most of the documentary’s interviewees have the same mindset, highlighting that Ronaldo is distinguished by his unwillingness to normalize weirdness rather than being the only one who notices it.

I’m surprised we don’t see Pop Fryman’s counterpoint, Kofi Pizza: Beach Party is an entire episode about Kofi facing a similar sense of powerlessness as Mr. Fryman with the same righteous rage as Ronaldo, so he’d fit right in (plus we see everyone else in his family, so why stop at Nanefua?). Perhaps having someone who actually agreed with Ronaldo would dull the episode’s message, but it would’ve been nice to see someone acknowledge that despite his many faults, our documentarian is correct.

The Crystal Gems are responsible for Beach City being a magnet for disaster, and seeing them from the point of view of an endangered civilian could make for a fascinating episode. Beach Party and Rising Tides, Crashing Skies come closest, and Lars’s own acknowledgment of how horrible such daily dangers can be in The New Lars is a turning point in his characterization, but otherwise we don’t see the consequences of being the Crystal Gems’ neighbors in a serious light until the end of Season 4. I feel like there’s a way to throw Ronaldo a bone in this regard, but considering it’s Ronaldo, I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.

Okay, what else. The Crystal Gems are obviously gonna be funny in a Ronaldo episode, as I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing him treated with open disdain (so long as the characters aren’t actually cruel like Lars). We don’t get any introspection from empathy machine Steven about how dangerous the Gems are, partially because he already did that in Beach Party but mostly because this is a breezy episode despite its pointed criticism of our heroes. It’s great that Ronaldo only wants them back because he selfishly wants a weird city regardless of the risks; that is, it’s great in a character sense, because Ronaldo is despicable and this lack of concern for others is true to who he is.

I don’t know for certain if the final shot is a reference to Ronaldo’s polarizing nature, but I’d like to think it is. Especially because, despite myself, I’d be clicking the same button as Steven. If you hated this episode as much as I did when I first saw it, I’d suggest going back and watching it on its own: it’s much better by itself than it is as a dead stop to a marathon’s momentum.

Future Vision!

“Wait, so the hand wasn’t here to snatch up humans for a human zoo?”

Ronaldo brings up the Beach City Wind Farm, which isn’t a thing that we see at any point in the show, but Little Homeworld is will feature a prominent windmill, so maybe this is another proper prediction?

Still no word on if the Great Diamond Authority thawing out the cryogenically frozen pets of the one percent, but considering Ronaldo’s track record I wouldn’t be surprised. I guess if you squint it could be a reference to the bubbled Corrupted Gems, but his theories are usually more concretely proven.

(But seriously I think Ronaldo might actually have a future in intergalactic diplomacy.)

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It’s not as good as Keep Beach City Weird, but that doesn’t mean Rising Tides, Crashing Skies is bad. In any case, it’s sort of an entity unto itself: it’s strange to categorize it as something other than a Ronaldo episode considering he’s the main character, but the unusual format puts it in a whole other category for me: this is the Documentary Episode, featuring Ronaldo.

Top Fifteen

Steven and the Stevens

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Winter Forecast

On the Run

Warp Tour

Maximum Capacity

The Test

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Future Vision

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

No Thanks!

     4. Horror Club      3. Fusion Cuisine      2. House Guest      1. Island Adventure

[augustusatmousai-blog]

Para || First Date

WHO: August + Eli WHEN: A few months ago WHERE: August’s car WHAT: (NSFW! Very, very NSFW). On the way to their first date August and Eli get a little too risky and then things devolve into sexy. Starts with Skype formatting and turns into Chatzy formatting.

"We could order pizza instead, stay in..." Eli grinned at the man, still too new to be a good friend but too interesting to just be an acquaintance. He didn't hide the suggestion in the statement, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he leaned against the threshold of Augustus' house, close enough to be poking into his personal space. "You thinking red or white wine with pepperoni and olives? I feel like it would go with...what was it called, merlot?" He mispronounces it, mer-lott. "Ooor you could step out of that tiny comfort zone of yours and have a craft brew."

"Or we could bite the bullet and go for In N' Out... then come back here and eat, stick to the staying in theme." There was a strange excitement bubbling in Augustus' stomach. This was the closest he'd come to a date since his divorce - and while he wasn't exactly sure how he'd do (or if this even was an actual date?) it was still a thrill. "Please tell me I don't need to give you pronunciation lessons for wine," he drawled, emphasizing the Southern drawl the best that he could for added effect. "I'll even try this craft beer of yours but I'm going to need you to ensure it's the best of the best. Don't doubt my ability to tell when something's cheap as dirt."

Hands still in his pockets, Eli took a step forward so that they were nearly chest to chest, casual and unimposing despite having an inch on him in height and being broader by half. "Cute accent. I don't need lessons, worked bussing tables in a fancy ass place in the city all through junior year. Maybe you could teach me another thing or two later, though. After we go out," he tacked on, stepping back again into the doorway. "We can play it by ear. Come back here if we get bored of the fancy dinner scene and get acquainted with some burgers and beer instead." This time he did pull his hand out of his pocket, offering it to August with a raised brow.

Augustus leaned in easily, taking that last step forward and keeping the tone as casual as Eli somehow managed to. The "what kind of things?" was murmured against Eli's cheek before he pulled his head back and smirked a little. As into the idea of going out as he was it was still his hope to get the other man back in his apartment later. "Works for me. Best of both worlds." Augustus took the hand with barely a moment of thought and nodded towards the Bentley in the driveway. "You driving or do you want to take my baby?" He left the question hanging in the air, only grinning with a quick tilt of one side of his mouth. 

Eli wasn't shy by any stretch of the imagination but he did like to play it on the mysterious side, occasionally. "Your baby?" He took a look over his shoulder at the Bentley and laughed. "That's a death trap. Looks like fun, let's do it." August's hand in his, he headed to the car and opened the driver's side door for him before leaning in to catch his lips in a quick, barely-there kiss. "Lead on, fancy pants."

"She's surprisingly safe... when someone else is driving her." The admittance had his lip quirking up, but the kiss had him seeking out another that ended just as quickly before he slid into the driver's seat. His first instinct when Eli settled in was to offer up the coveted iPod for him to choose the music. It was an easy way to learn about someone and if current information was anything to go by Eli generally had good taste (at least he really, really hoped that extended to music). "Please tell me you don't stick to Top 40."

Eli slid into his own seat comfortably, taking the iPod to flip through tunes. He liked music, all music really, but it was nice to see that August had plenty variety to choose from. "Don't hate on Top 40, I can always fuck with Timberlake." He found some Hozier and hit play, turned the volume low enough to talk over but still have ambient sound. The car was fast and, despite being a death trap, kind of exciting - another fact he attributed to the man driving. "I like variety, depending on my mood or whatever I'm doing. Top 40, R&B, jazz, blues, rock. Whatever suits. So you're an actor, huh?"

August couldn't hold back the snort as he made the necessary turn out of the neighborhood. "Timberlake was good back when he first went solo but I can't get into the newer stuff." The song was a personal favorite of his and here or there he'd sing along low enough to barely be heard, almost like the singing was subconscious.  "Nice transition. More of a rock fan myself, but yes! Future actor. I've got a place in Los Angeles so I don't have to crash in hotels for auditions. Which extreme, I know, but I like having the option to head out as needed.  You happy working at the medical center or do you have bigger dreams?"

"Oh come on. I love some Sexyback as much as the next guy, but TKO? Should be on every sex playlist. Feel free to make fun of me for having sex playlists," he added with a laugh, happily straining his ears to try and hear August sing along to the music. "Don't need big dreams, already doing what I'm supposed to be doing right now. What's LA like?" Curiosity had him leaning over the center console, bracing himself on August's seat back so that he could lean in without pushing on him and disrupting the driving. And then he disrupted anyway, laying kisses down August's throat as casually as he held down the conversation. "You have a nice voice."

"It'd be pretty hypocritical given I've got an entire playlist of Hozier and Clean Bandit and the like tucked into a NSFW playlist." Augustus grinned readily as he stretched his legs in the driver's side and listened with full attention. "This what you always dreamed of? It's... loud. So loud, with people everywhere. Some areas are seedy and some you wonder if you'll run into millionaires, and the food is less hipster and more delicious. I'm debating moving there altogether after graduation... but my pups are attached to this house and living by the lake," he admitted, body arching in an instant reaction to the sensation of Eli's lips, free hand going down to grip at Eli's thigh the best he could. "You have nice lips. Don't even need to be singing." He started humming along to Take Me To Church quietly and emphasized certain parts in his own form of retaliation.

"Its what I'm supposed to be doing," Eli repeated, with his mouth still working on a spot on August's neck that had the man's breath hitching in a nice way. "The dogs are right, Tahoe is great. Less great without you in it, but I can see the appeal of LA. New York of the West coast." Eli scooted closer as much as he could in the tight space, pressed right up against the center console. He didn't touch August with anything but his mouth, even if he wanted to. Lips trailed up to his ear and teeth experimentally took the lobe between them. "Good song," he whispered. "How far?"

"New York of the west coast.... So accurate...." August's mind was already wandering and the control it took to focus solely on the road was pretty great. His hips wanted to jerk up even if the kisses from Eli were relatively PG-13 but he forced himself to stay still and just [i]enjoy[/i] himself. "How far?" His brain was starting to fog up just enough that it took August a second to realize what he was even talking about. "In the song? Oh! Oh, fuck. No ah... we've got.... fifteen minutes or so. I think." A quick glance at the GPS told him he was right and his free hand went over to squeeze Eli's thigh in the only show of just how much he wanted to be getting his hands on the other man right now.

Eli grinned against the skin of August's throat, the man's reactions everything he could have hoped for. He was flustering the great Augustus Abbott - not that the 'great' part meant much to him other than in a nominal sense, he didn't know August the Billionaire Businessman. Who he did know was August the guy with the fast car who got flustered by neck kisses, who loved to dance and loved his dogs. That was enough for Eli. "Keep your eyes on the road, August." He left quick nips along the other man's skin, taking his hand and moving it from his thigh to his crotch to show him that he wasn't unaffected despite his calm, reasonable tone.

"Says the walking, talking distraction. How does anyone get any work done with you around?" The words were said entirely without heat - at least of the irritated kind, the heat currently spreading was a lot more of the kind that would lead to them never making it to the restaurant. Elijah's prominent boner under his hands /really/ only made it worse and when he squeezed the clothed cock it wasn't without August's own measure of teasing.

His laugh was deeper than usual, into husky, throaty territory as his arousal deepened his voice and had him practically growling against August's warm skin. He could feel the car making its way around turns, speeding through the dark and it was stupid to be distracting the driver as he was but damn if it didn't make it that much more enticing. "Thanks, you're not so bad yourself. Everyone gives me the shitty shifts," he answered, pressing his hips up so that he rubbed against August's hand. His own gripped hard against the seat back and the dashboard as he kissed lower, past where shirt covered up the other man's chest and bending to go lower at an angle that would be awful if he didn't do yoga. 

His free hand on the steering wheel was tightening to the point where his knuckles could easily turn white. This was the most reckless thing August had done in a long time but sometime over the last 10 minutes he'd hit a point where he just couldn't bring himself to mind. "Can't let you work busy shifts or the nurses would be walking into walls and adding to the patient list." It was such an easy thing to lift his hips up to encourage Elijah, but August was  barely resisting the urge to let his eyes drift shut so he could just enjoy it. It was almost a rhythm to turn the wheel just so and let the heel of his hand grind against Eli at the same time. Kept him steady. For now.

"Hey, it comes in handy when we gotta give the trauma patients something to live for. Seeing my mug is as good a reason as any." There's a spot just above the hem of August's pants and below his shirt where a sliver of skin peeks out. Eli slid his tongue along it, pressing just beneath the waistband above where he wanted to be. Intent on teasing as he's being teased, he didn't use his hand to unclasp the pants yet and only covered the bulge with his mouth, moaning to send vibrations into August's cock. 

"Not gonna lie, I get into a pretty severe accident I'd definitely stay alive for that angel face.... but I expect kisses and I'm betting most of them don't." It was the closest to sweet he could get with Eli's mouth this close to his crotch. For a second August's eyes wandered and he had to pull them back to the almost-empty road as his hand tightened and did its best to stroke along the curve of Eli's cock. Jerking someone off with clothes still on was a first, one he did his best to give solid attention as those lips found where he'd hoped they would and made the most delicious sensations. "Trying to tease is cruel, E."

"You'd get more than that, but only if you got better." The hand rubbing him off through his jeans was distracting, making it hard to think rationally. What had started as a simple tease because he wanted to see August's reaction had spiraled and Eli wanted to taste him. Finally his hand came down to undo August's pants, pulling his cock free of the confines of his clothing as Eli gave it a couple quick strokes and twisted even more over the center console to slide his tongue along the shaft.

"How much more are we talking? Blowjob in the nurse's office? Quick fuck in my office? My mind went to all the most inappropriate work scenarios...." The cool air hit him but was quickly overpowered by Eli's mouth, his most base reaction to work his way under Eli's pants as best he could at the angle and try to get his hand properly around him. It was getting harder to see anything /but/ Elijah and looking down happened more and more often until August felt the car drift and had to slam down hard on the brakes before twisting the steering wheel as much as he could when August saw a car move in front of them as they inched into the other lane.

One second Eli was reaching between his own legs to help August get access, only getting started on his administrations, and the next there were squealing brakes filling his ears, a car horn, and a million horrifying images flashing before his eyes. Car crash cases, from severe to horrific, flipped through his head like a filofax, all the facts and statistics listed out so clinically, such a stark contrast to the pounding in his chest. He had been thrown against the dashboard, knee crashed onto the floor in front of his seat and his sheer bulk and the lack of space the only reason he hadn't gone into the windshield. "Jesus," he breathed when he finally realized they were both okay - stopped in the middle of the road with their dicks out but okay. "Jesus, August, I'm so sorry. Are you okay? Jesus."

The other car speeding off with a flipped off middle finger instead of stopping to help was something August saw out of his peripheral vision and he couldn't breath enough to stop them. The way he'd been relaxed had kept him from tensing up too much and doing any real damage - or freaking out and making the almost-accident any worse - but his heart was slamming in his chest before answering he was already giving ELijah a once-over to make sure there was no damage anywhere. "Yeah, yeah. Bruised up a little I think. Fuck. Are you okay? There's no blood, I don't see any blood." Not that it'd been enough to cause that kind of damage but the whole thing had been a shock and August's mind was running a hundred miles a minute as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.

Eli pulled himself up from the floorboard, and though he felt like he maybe should have been shaking he wasn't. He was calm. Unnaturally calm now, hyperfocused on every detail - from the way August's breathing stayed too fast, his knuckles on the steering wheel, every ache in his body. "No blood. I'm fine. A twisted knee, that's all." His eyes were licked on August, on someone he liked. Maybe even cared about, who he'd put in danger. Because, what? He wanted to blow him in a moving car? His voice was even and low, hand reaching out to cover August's on the wheel even as his gut twisted. "We're okay, no one got hurt. Can you pull over to the shoulder? We can stop until...until we're cool to drive again."

"We can get ice. We can get you ice and - do you know what to do for it? That's a dumb question, of course you were." The words kept spilling out and Augustus couldn't stop the flow that had turned to something akin to rambling. There wasn't a second thought before trying to loose his hand from the steering wheel so he could turn it over and lace their fingers together.  "Yeah. Give me just a second?" A few breaths and August was slowly manuevering the car over to a safer area and only letting his eyes slip shut when they'd parked. "Never gotten in a wreck," he finally admitted. "About the only wild child thing I never put on my paparazzi record."

Eli pulled August's hand to his mouth in unconscious automation, kissing the back of it gently as they drove slow to the shoulder then let it go again so that he could park. As the engine cut out, Eli tucked himself back into his pants, not exactly hard anymore, and let out a slow breath. "Went upstate once when we were ten, Albany or somewhere I think. Took my mom's cousin's Chevy for a joyride and got about a block before wrapping it around a stop sign. J took the blame." He didn't know why he said it, it wasn't the first thing he thought of. ER codes for a pileup, a car rolling off the highway, Augustus on a slab. The thought terrified him, cooling him to ice somewhere deep down. "I'm sorry."

Following in Eli's footsteps seemed like a simple way to calm himself down. Tucked back in to his dress pants, buttoned and zipped and properly concealed. For a second he was worried that maybe the incident would be the end of their evening together but... maybe not the best time to worry about that.  "What made you decide to go on a joyride? Perks of having a twin." His smile was a little shaky still but it didn't take quite as long for his heartbeat to even out at least. "Why are you sorry? I felt myself drifting and never asked you to stop. Didn't want to ask you to stop. Didn't even consider the consequences. Felt good, and I..." He trailed off and gave a slightly more awkward smile. "Now we know our limits right?"

"It was there, no one we knew in brooklyn had a car." Eli still felt shaken, still felt that cold seeping into his bones, but the feeling was ebbing with the distance from their almost-crash. The flashes of massacre have faded and August real and safe beside him was taking precedence. He reached over to take his hand again, palms together and fingers laced. "I shouldn't have been pressing like that...It was stupid. Dangerous." He turned to face August, pulling him him gently to meet him halfway and setting his free hand against the man's cheek to draw him into a slow and gentle kiss. "No more foreplay in moving cars seems like a solid rule of thumb."

Augustus could soak up the feeling of having someone close. Someone who seemed to innately know how to calm him down. "Stupid seems a little harsh. Dangerous fits, though," he admitted, the kiss enough to make him forget what happened for the time being. At least for a few moments. Elijah had a way of making him feel everything wholeheartedly and the kiss was really no exception. Easing into it was exactly what he needed to start feeling like himself again. "Doesn't mean we're erasing foreplay altogether, right?"

Elijah: Eli considered pulling back, but the closeness in the dark car surrounded by quiet nighttime was as much a balm on his anxiety as anything. With a few minutes of peace in his system now he was starting to miss that rush of excitement, the adrenaline that came with doing something dangerous and, yes, stupid. He ramped down on it, distracting himself with the very nice feel of August's mouth on his. He couldn't remember when he'd last made out with someone in a car. College, probably. "Hell no," he answered, grinning against August's mouth. He let go of the man's cheek to reach down and cup his crotch, as unsubtle as ever. "Didn't say anything about parked cars, did I?" He rubbed through the pants one good time and then pulled his hand away to rest against the other's thigh instead. "Unless you want to get going. I can probably behave myself."

Augustus 's vivid flashes of negative images were rapidly fading from his brain and it was the biggest relief. "Not so worried about flashing police lights, hot stuff?" It was as far from an actual complaint as Augustus could get - the slowly chubbing up boner was a clear sign of that. He was already leaning into him when the hands pulled away and he let out the most audible whine as he sought after the now-missing kiss. "No. No, we should most definitely not behave. Behaving is solely for moving vehicles and those without the imagination to get sexy wherever they want."

Elijah: "Cops? Nah. Been down that road before, not so scary after the first time you're arrested for public indecency." Man, that whine did things to him. Eli stayed just a tiny bit distant, his hand moving back to the growing bulge in August's pants but stopping just shy. "You sure about that? We could just forget about the whole foreplay thing. Go on to dinner..." He leaned in to press a kiss to August's neck under his ear. "...Have some of that wine you like so much."

Augustus 's laugh was loud and bright, spilling out into the night air. "How many times have you been arrested for public indecency?" Both hands went up to Elijah's (very impressive) arms and did his best to keep them in place, maybe a little needier than usual after such an emotional rollercoaster in such a short span of time. "Only way dinner sounds more appealing is if you're blowing me under the table," he teased. Mostly teased. Fifty percent...? Whichever, as long as you're not stopping what you're doing."

Elijah: "Twice, but only charged once and I was a teenager so it got purged from my record. Squeaky clean." There's an edge of desperation that usually isn't there for Eli. He'd normally be content to tease August until neither of them could stand it, but the air is charged with the excitement of just being alive, palpable relief clinging to their skin. He slides his hand under August's waistband to get better access to what he wants, returning to the man's lips with another, more solid kiss. "Dont stop this?"

Augustus "Squeaky clean? Mmm surprisingly, all nefarious acts in cars aside, I can see it. You're just so wholesome." August's hands wander over a clothed chest, palms brushing nipples before resting back at his neck - like giving himself an order to behave, for now. "Yes. That. Don't stop that. Your hands are free to go wherever the hell they want to go right now. As long as it's mutual."

Elijah: Eli had to laugh at the wholesome description, certainly the first time he could recall being called that. His hand wraps around August's shaft, not thst there's a ton of space in the confines of the pants to work with. "My hands want to be right here," he says, pressing his forehead to August's as the man grazes his nipples, sensitive from the piercings he'd opted to wear for their dinner out. Wishful thinking, maybe, but maybe warranted considering where his hands are. "Definitely mutual. Fuck, August. You're goddamn sexy, you know. And this tiny ass car is not made for shit like this. I feel like I'm about to get friendly with the gearshift here."

Augustus gave the middle console a thoughtful look before his own palm slid down to grope at Elijah through the few barriers left between them. "Fuck," he breathed out, back arching up and body automatically curling in towards Elijah in the process. "How inappropriate is it to turn the car around right now and head back to mine? Pressing you back against a bedroom pillow sounds that much more enjoyable right now." His cock twitched against Eli's hand, all subtlety thrown out the window as something like need took over.

Elijah: "You want to wait that long?" Eli pressed into August's hand, a low groan in his throat as he tightened his grip on August's cock. His he and felt too constricting again, but he wasn't about to let go of his date just yet. He pressed hot, needy kisses all along August's jaw as he undid the button and zipper of the other man's pants again. This time the car wasn't moving, he could focus entirely on August, on the way he was reacting and the way Eli's own body responded to him. "We should have stayed in, I can't keep my hands off of you." He laughed, a little huff of breath against August's neck. "Not that I want to try my self control tight now."

Elijah: *His jeans felt

Augustus "No. No I really don't. Right here's great, I'll pay off any cop that stops us." August moved to push the center console up and out of the way, wanting as little distance between them as possible. His hips jerked up against Elijah's hands and he twitched, letting this intense need he was feeling take over the situation. "I say we go for Round 1 here, recovery time, then Round 2 back at the house?" The words were said between pants, hands going up under Elijah's shirt but not wanting him to stop long enough to get it all the way off. His head ducked down to leave small marks over the other man's collarbone, mouth tracing a pattern only he could see.

Elijah: Eli got as close as he possibly could in the confined, dark space. It was truly a good thing neither of them were claustrophobic and that neither seemed to be opposed to as much contact as they could get because Eli was true to his word: he couldn't keep his hands off of August. His head tilted to give the man access to his neck, that hot mouth incredible against his skin, no doubt putting small temporary marks on him. "Sounds perfect. God damn. Keep doing that," he said when August's hand brushed over his chest. His big hand palmed August's erection and stroked, the other one braced on the seat to keep himself from altogether falling and crushing the guy he was making out with, thinking of how much of a buzzkill that would be.

Augustus tilted his head to leave small marks (that'd hopefully fade within the hour) on patch after patch of skin, finally pushing him to let loose just long enough to tug the shirt all the way off. "Keep doing that," he muttered in turn, using his teeth enough to gauge his reaction. This was so goddamn heady and he wasn't sure if it was the man or the chance of getting caught or the adrenaline rush from earlier.... or all three.... but he could easily get used to this. "How tricky would getting on your lap be? I have an idea."

Elijah: Eli's shirt was tossed somewhere in the back of the car to be hunted down later and his hand was only gone just long enough to remove it from the equation. The hint of August's teeth on his skin had him groaning, something between impatience and pure need driving all his thoughts and actions for the moment. He wasn't even thinking about cops catching them, all he wanted was this man's body on his. "Shit. Maybe?" Eli pulled away, already missing the contact, and found the lever under his seat to push it back as far as it would go, hunting down another to lay the back down. Grinning, he unbuckled August's seatbelt and easily lifted the man over onto his lap where he could lean up and kiss him. "Much better," he said into the kiss, pressing the other's hips down with one hand so that he could grind up against him, still clothed form the waist down.

Augustus couldn't accurate describe how damn hot it was that Elijah could handle him like a ragdoll, move him as needed and barely seeming to break a sweat. "Muscles like fuckin' Hercules," he murmured against Elijah's lips, balancing himself with one hand on the side of the seat and the other against the man's chest. "Yeah, there we go..." Was maybe seconds before he was trying to get at Elijah's zipper, wanting them both just as exposed - and maybe hoping for the direct skin on skin that he was already imagining as a hard cock ground up against his and made him damn near whine again.

Elijah: He laughed, another breathless chuckle, and bit down on August's lower lip, testing the waters out some more. They were learning each other and Eli was excited to know every little thing that made Augustus pant and moan and beg, to find all the places that made him shiver and want. He reached down to help push his pants down his hips enough to easily pull his own cock out. He didn't expect August to bottom for him, not by a long shot, but damn was it nice to have him on his lap, skin against skin as he held their cocks together with one hand and the back of August's neck with the other. "How's that?" Frotting against him, Eli smiled into another kiss, wanting to hear August again.

Augustus felt a strange weight lift when Elijah took hold of the proceedings, rocking his body up to get more of that calloused grip wrapped around him and tightening his thighs around Elijah's in the process. "Fuck, that's so good, just let me -" He reached his own hand out to wrap it around Elijah's, pacing the tempo just a little bit faster. Kissing him was damn near impossible without further maneuvering but he kissed at whatever skin he could reach, light peppered kisses that were barely there.

Elijah: Breathing heavy, Eli dropped his head back against the seat to watch, even if it deprived him of those amazing kisses. For the moment, anyway, he wanted to see August and their hands, wrapped around each other's and their own cocks. "You look incredible," he huffed out, groaning and arching up into their hands, rubbing his shaft against August's as he sought out more friction. He was getting damn close to the edge, the combination of adrenaline and the man on top of him, incredibly sexy, pushing him faster than he'd like. "I'm gonna cum if you keep that up." Warning issued, Eli sat up again just enough to drag August into another hard kiss, as much as they could manage it at that angle.

Augustus was so into the small bits of praise, with the way that Elijah seemed to constantly make him feel like he was doing everything right. "So are you. Eli, I..." The question for more and whatever more meant was on the tip of his tongue but when he was pulled up into kiss that was when he let everything still. He so carefully ran his palm over the head of Eli's cock before getting a solid grip again, body jutting to keep the plethora of sensations going. "No. No, not yet. Want to - Have a -" The words fell short but Augustus pulled away from the conversation and tried to settle himself back enough that his mouth could wander down over the other man's chest and stomach, wanting to explore everything thoroughly."

Elijah: Eli focused on the disjointed sentences falling from August's lips, maintaining as much control as he could even as the man handled him so well. He dropped back again as August's mouth wandered, his other hand moving from the back of his neck and into his hair instead with the fleeting thought that it was as soft as it looked. "Fuck, babe, okay. You tell me when." He groaned out a pleading sound following the submission, stroking and sliding his hand along August's length until it was a pain to reach and then just touching whatever skin he could.

Augustus pressed kisses over the curves of Elijah's abdomen, out over his hips and back in again. It was fairly easy to ignore what he knew the other man wanted to make sure he made things even better, including squeezing his body down to its knees in front of Elijah. "Wanna try this first." Once again the words were said between kisses, down his thighs and back again before finally sinking his lips down over Eli's cock, slow but sure. The tugs on his hair were so good and they only urged him on.

Elijah: "Jeeeesus Mary and Joseph, the whole...fucking bunch of them. Youre sure as hell not making this any easier there, Southern." Eli's words were strained, his control nearly slipping as August's hot mouth covered and enveloped his cock. The teasing kisses were great but this was goddamn amazing. Elijah gripped the man's hair in one hand, reminding himself not to push on him or thrust up into his mouth - there was a lot of him, in every sense of the word, and he wasn't about suffocating his dates - while the other hand held a crushing grip on the driver's side headrest. He moved back as far as he could to give August as much room as possible in the tiny space, wishing there was more room to maneuver. "God damn that feels good. I'm not going to be able to hold off, babe...You gotta let me...."

Augustus squeezed Elijah's thighs as he carefully sank his mouth down even further, free hand going for first one ball sack and then the other in what he could only hope was the type of overstimulation that meant at least one more guarunteed orgasm. "There's something so sexy about the way you curse," August murmured, legs folding even further underneath him as he started bobbing his head and quite clearly trying to encourage him to cum. It was something he'd rarely gotten to do, especially quite recently, and now there was nothing more he wanted than to watch Elijah fall apart underneath him.

Elijah: Fall apart he did. Eli looked down at August, head bobbing on his cock, and that's what did it for him. He grunted out something, maybe August's name and maybe another curse word, and empties himself. When it was over he wasted no time, dragging August back up to his level only to flip them so that he was on top trailing kisses down August's neck and unbuttoning his shirt to get to more skin beneath. "Anyone ever tell you've got a hell of a mouth on you?" Once he didn't need both hands for the buttons one of them went between them to grasp August again. He followed by example, squeezing himself down as far as he could so that he could take the dripping head into his mouth.

Augustus is all too eager to take what he can in his mouth and while there still ends up being some dripping down his chin he's quick to clean himself up with the discarded shirt. "All the time," he teased once the situations had been reversed, words cut off by a long moan. Fingers curled tight into the car seat and then go from digging into his shoulders and up to his hair to get a solid grip on the strands. There's a little tugging as the sensation keeps building and he starts shamelessly controlling the pace as much as Elijah allows him to. August's hips start jerking up again, fucking Elijah's mouth, and maybe there's part of him that's hoping he'll show off that strength again and hold him in place.

Elijah: Moaning with his mouth full of August's length, eli's grip on the man's hips tightened. He let him do what he wanted for a few seconds, relaxing his throat to take him all the way in, but then pushed him against the seat. He was showing off a little, strength and skill, and continued to bob his head eagerly while his tongue pressed against the underside of August's cock on each round. Satisfied that he could hold August still with one hand he took the other and slid it down to his thigh, up to his balls to massage them in time with his mouth.

Augustus 's body was on fire. He didn't know where Elijah had learned to take a man apart in less than a minute (and really, he didn't want to know) but he was damn sure happy to take advantage of it. His fingers wind firmly into Elijah's hair and when he tugs it's not to get him to stop, it's to ensure that he keeps going. There's pure heat pooling in his belly and he can feel the orgasm coiling up tight, only needing a little extra stimulation before he's trying to give him a warning tug to pull away just in case, body bucking as he tips over an invisible edge.

Elijah: If he could smile with a dick in his mouth, Elijah would be grinning like a man who just won first place. The sounds August was making, the hand in his hair, the trembling of his muscles, it would be enough to have him hard and ready again if he didn't need a little more recovery time. He felt the telltale signs and wasn't surprised when August came, he swallowed without making any bit of a mess and pulling away from him with a lewd pop and his hand still massaging slowly as he kissed his way back up August's stomach and chest. "Fuck, you're gorgeous. How you feeling?"

Augustus collapsed back against the seat with a low whimper of satisfaction. Every sense felt like it was tingling, like he was hyper-aware of how everything felt, tasted, sounded. It was one of his favorite things post-orgasm but even more than that was seeing Elijah's face coming towards him looking self-satisfied and twice as beautiful. "Says the man that could make the Arctic melt with a look. Fuck I feel good. So goddamn good. Your mouth is a legend and this car's going to the top of my list now. You feeling good?"

Elijah: August looked spent and satisfied and beautiful laying there on the tilted seat. It was nice to uncrouch from his position but even better to climb up on top of the other man and pepper him with kisses. He worked on his throat, wondering somewhere in the back of his mind if August would be opposed to this sort of thing, affection in the afterglow. Just in case, he propped himself up on his elbow, keeping some distance between them as he finally slid his hand away from August's sack to his hip. "I feel incredible," he said, sucking a faint mark into August's neck. "If the goal was to get me to keep my hands to myself while we're in this car I think we missed the mark. Now it's all I'll be thinking about."

Augustus slipped an arm around Elijah's back and pulled him in close again when he tried to back away, enjoying the affection now even more than he had before. There was something so intimate about being able to curl around a person when his body was still recovering from the intensity and there'd only been less than a handful of people he'd been able to do so with. "I think my goal's now to get your hands on me every single time we're in this car. We'll just make sure it's parked. Or during a traffic jam," August offered, enjoying at least one situation where there might be an onlooker. It was difficult not to want to show off Elijah in the most base senses of the word. The kisses still had heat spreading but it was dulled now, more of an enjoyable thing than something intense and needing to be acted on. "Mmm still feeling going out or do you want to head back home and enjoy the afterglow somewhere private?"

Elijah: Eli was glad for the closeness when he got pulled closer but still kept at least part of his weight off of August, aware of his size. Still, he went flush skin against skin when he was urged to and continued the slow and aimless kisses. The idea of them fucking like this in a traffic jam in full view of commuters made him laugh. "Shit, count me in." In the same way that August wanted to show him off, Elijah wouldn't mind showing off a little himself. Who would, with a man as good looking and talented as August under him? "Something hot about going to a restaurant and no one there knows you just got off on the drive over. But," he conceded, sliding his hand up August's hip and around to his was. "I'd rather keep enjoying you somewhere I can undress you with my hands, not just my eyes. Pizza and afterglow?"

[lhugbereth]

LEXX AU Teaser - Ignoct version

Here’s a little drabble from the Lexx AU I’m working on, as requested by @achryathesecond ;D This won’t necessarily fit into the main plot in any way, but I’m trying to develop the characters a little before I get too involved in the storyline itself. 

A bit of background for the majority of you who have never seen the old scifi show called LEXX; 

- Noctis is taken from the sorta main character Stanley Tweedle, a pretty worthless security guard who accidentally inherits the key to the Lexx (Rexx) and becomes an unwitting captain. 

- Prompto is Zev, a prisoner sentenced to be turned into a love slave, but who only received the physical half of the transformation. Is generally badass and totally in love with the dead guy. 

- Gladio is Kai, aka the Dead Guy. He’s an ancient warrior who was killed by the evil overlord, but his body was preserved (for gloating purposes) using protoblood. He’s alive enough to fight and steal the love slave’s heart, but too dead to get it up for the sexy times. Cue obscene amounts of pining.

- Ignis is 790 (renamed IG-N.15 or just “Iggy” in this AU) He’s an android whose head was accidentally separated from his body when Noct was trying to escape the Niff Cluster. His head ended up receiving the latter half of Prompto’s love slave programming, which rewired his circuits to make him extremely flirtatious and unusually “human” in his interactions. 

Anyway, you should totally go watch the show, but also enjoy this little bit of IgNoct teaser, too :D Thanks !! 

(R.I.P. formatting. Fucking Tumblr)

They were lost. Noctis finally had to admit to it after Prompto, for at least the hundredth time, asked if they were there yet.

“No,” he’d answered with as much patience as he could muster (which wasn’t much).

“Okay, but, like, soon. Right?”

“I don’t know!”

“Wait, you don’t?” Crossing his slender arms over his very exposed chest, the blond went so far as to quirk an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know when we’ll get there? Or you don’t know if we’ll get there?”

The corner of Noct’s mouth twitched and he stared out at the empty blackness of the front panels as if he could will the answer before his eyes. “I...don’t know.”

Prompto’s glare spoke volumes. “You,” he said, transferring his hands to his slightly-more-decently-clad hips. “Are supposed to be the captain of this stupid ship.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s not like I have a map of the whole universe inside my head. That’s the Rexx’s job, and someone went and broke its navigation port!”

Blue eyes narrowed. “That was an accident. Gladio didn’t mean to hurt the ship.”

“Of course not.” This time, the dripping cynicism came from Noctis’ left, where IG-N.15’s head rested on the dash of the control panel. The flickering green of his eyes rolled in an exaggerated circle. “Anyone could mistake the brain of a living ship for a shadow demon and put their too-large-not-to-be-compensating-for-something sword right through the middle of it. Certainly, happens all the time.”

Prompto narrowed his eyes to deadly slits. “He is not compensating.”

“Like you would know,” came Noct’s tactless retort -- which sent the blond half-raging, half-crying out of the bridge and (most likely) down to the cryochambers to pine over his dead boyfriend.

IG-N.15’s perfect lips curved into a smile. “To be honest, I for one am completely convinced it was an accident.”

Noctis hopped down from the captain’s post and strode over to the dash and the android on top of it. With only minimal manhandling, he shifted IG-N.15 into his arms and settled down on the floor with his head in his lap. “I think you own Prom an apology for that one, then,” he grinned, meeting that brilliant, calculating gaze. “That was a dick move.”

“If only I had one of those,” the android sighed. “The things I would do to that tight, perky little ass if I could.”

“Iggy!” Noct tried hard not to laugh, failed, and ended up bright red somewhere between gasping for air and the image that had immediately conjured up in his mind. “It’s an expression -- ex-pre-ssion. It means you hurt his feelings.”

“Oh.” IG-N.15 went silent for a moment, his face still as he considered Noct’s words. “Do I hurt the feelings of others often?”

“No. I mean, not really.” The young captain’s deep blue eyes faltered for a moment as he thought back. “I guess...not anymore than the rest of us. You just use bigger words to do it.”

“Noctis?”

At the sound of his name on Iggy’s lips -- in that voice programmed to simultaneously command armies and melt entire packs of butter -- Noct swallowed. “What?”

“I’ve never hurt you, have I?”

“...Plenty of times,” he smiled, and brushed his thumb over the soft, silicon flesh of the android’s cheek. “But I still like you.”

“Hmm.” There was something there, something in the pitch of his voice that told Noct if his synthetic skin could blush, it would be a bright pink in that moment. Iggy’s mouth glitched once, twice, the green of his eyes brightened as he turned them up to meet Noct’s own gaze. “I think I feel…flattered,” he explained. “What does that mean?”

Noctis couldn’t help but smile. Never in his life had he imagined androids could experience emotions in the same way as humans, and certainly not such a wide array of them. He knew, of course, that IG-N.15 was a special case, and that whatever recalibration process that turned Prompto into a raging ball of hormones with perfect thighs had also hacked into the android’s initial factory programming. Everything he learned, everything he felt, came out of the parts of his circuitry that had been inaccessible to the original model -- as if he’d been given the key to an unlimited databank of information. A whole new world of knowledge.

Which, Noct mused, meant that someone had bothered to program the IG-N series with emotional display prompts, entire verses of Shakespearean sonnets, and a very real sex drive.

All in all, the exact kind of robot Noctis himself had dreamed of building since he was old enough to fantasize about metal men.

“Noctis?” Iggy asked again. He was still looking up at the young captain expectantly, likely hoping for another lesson on the quirks of human emotions and how to properly emulate them. This time, however, Noct merely smiled and lifted Iggy’s head out of his lap until they were staring at each other at eye level.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I -- what?”

“Kiss. I want to kiss you. Just, go with it, okay?”

Noctis had never been good with real people. They always seemed to be looking past him, through him, never bothering to give him a chance to prove himself beyond the usual awkward first impressions. But not Iggy. Never Iggy. As he felt the cool touch of pink silicon against his own, warm lips, he knew in that moment that he’d been searching for what he needed in all the wrong places. The answer had been right in front of him -- in the form of a cybernetic humanoid robot head whose circuits had been criss-crossed in an accidental recalibration.

Certainly not how he’d imagined his life going, but, hey. Kissing Iggy felt right, and the android was proving himself a fast learner.

Which suddenly had Noct wondering what else he could do with that mouth of his.

[runwildwithme]

Feathers, Part 4

Hello again, lovelies!! I bring you part four of Feathers. As always, many, many thanks to @charminglyantiquated for creating @elsewhereuniversity and letting everyone play. :D Part 1 Part 2 Part 3   Oh! I’ve also started cross posting this to AO3. you can find it here.

Enjoy!!!

Previously:

Slowly, slowly, he steps aside. You wave your group though the doors, nod as he makes the ‘I'm watching you’ gesture (you'd expect nothing less), and step through.

Part 4:

You spend four days in the library. Well. You spend four days-worth of hours in the library, only seven or so of which really pass. The books you sought were deep, deep in the library indeed.

It's Not-Jenna who finds the treatise, though you think she might not have done it on purpose. She was trailing her hands along the spines of the books you’d all already looked at, and knocked the last in the row off the table. She'd bent to retrieve it, and found herself at eye level with the tome.

(It really is a good thing you're so deep- the squawk she’d let out would have been enough to have you evicted, had a librarian heard it.)

As it is, it took Not-Jenna finding it, and Cat-Eyes to navigate the spell work keeping it on the shelf. You ended up having to pluck it out while Thirteen used a rolled up magazine to beat back the grasping tendrils that kept reaching for it until Not-Jenna and Cat-Eyes could find a different book of the same size to give to them.

You were all quite glad to retreat to the library’s cafe, after that.

(The cafe is not quite in the library- it shares a roof, certainly, but it is completely walled off, and you must leave the library to enter it. You were only a little surprised to find that the librarians’ protection did not extend to the cafe.)

(The cafe is sacred. Coffee and cream and other sweets, energy and nourishment, a meeting place, a place to rest, the traditional realm of story-tellers everywhere and when. It would take much more than what's going on now to violate the sanctity of the cafe. On this one thing, human and fae alike are in a singularly bloodthirsty agreement. The only other place on campus that is so incredibly off limits to the vagaries of fate and the profanities of people and fae alike is the bakery, for very similar reasons.)

(No, really- one time a window in the bakery was broken by a foul ball. Baseball no longer exists within the bounds of Elsewhere U.)

You all order drinks, give the barista their payment and try not to look too hard at their eyes or fingers.

The coffee is delicious.

You settle down at one of the tables in the back, out of range of the afternoon sun; spread out a few books and notebooks to distract from the thing you're actually here for.

‘So.’ Thirteen starts. ‘We have a book.’

Cat-Eyes hums, but looks to you. Not-Jenna is very specifically not looking at you. You think she might not have been supposed to find that book, accident or not.

The book is in the center of the table, and it looks old. Old enough that you are quite sure that if you could convince one of the science majors to do some testing, they might tell you the book is bound in something awful. Like human skin.

You flip the cover open, and the first few blank pages. You leave it open at the first page that has writing on it, stare a moment, and lean back.

The other lean in.

‘...what the fuck.’ Cat-Eyes opines.

Thirteen is confused, but, well, he falls closer to ‘jock’ than not.

It's Not-Jenna that voices it.

‘That's an author's note... in modern APA format?’

You nod, and point out the affiliation. Elsewhere University, Historical Studies Department. Breaking with format, there's no date anywhere to be found.

On a hunch, you flip back a page. The page that was formerly blank now boasts the title of the book in looping, fanciful script that isn't actually English but which you can all read nonetheless.

A treatise on the unique traditions and superstitions of the populations of Elsewhere University- the Underhill, the Overhill, and those in between. Volume 9- on theft, Theft, the differences therein, and the consequences for such Crimes.

By Robert Dove Scyt.

You all take a moment to digest that.

Thirteen speaks up.

‘Robert Dove Scyt? What a name, jeez. ...Oh. Oh, jeez, guys, Rob Dove Scyt. Robbed of sight.’

Oh. Oh my, you think. That is. That is quite a name indeed.

Quietly, Cat-Eyes asks, ‘Think he lived very long after getting that published?’

‘I think he lived for a very, very long time.’  Not-Jenna says, and there is nothing in her voice that speaks of happy endings. She doesn't look up from her coffee.

‘Maybe..’ Thirteen starts, and then trails off. You quite agree.

‘Well,’ you say, only ever so slightly louder than is perhaps necessary, gathering up poor, hopefully-dead-by-now-Robert’s book along with the few others you had out for camouflage into your book bag, ‘that's enough studying for now. We need to go put out out fresh milk. For the cat. Remember?’

The sun, at least, is high in the sky, and the others quickly make noises of agreement and follow you out. You lead your group straight back to Dorm 5, leaving offerings on every park bench, beneath every oak tree you pass, throwing a handful of nuts to the crows, leaving creamers on the picnic table no one ever sits at as you go.

When you get there, you lock the doors and the windows and salt the sills some more and establish your thresholds and light candles even though it's still plenty light out.

Dinner that night is ramen, with wontons from the freezer and soy sauce for dipping, because even Not-Jenna seems to want a little more salt in her blood after reading that. When you sleep, you sleep all curled up together.

---

When you all wake next, you all stay in your pile of blankets and page through the book together, passing it back and forth when the script becomes too much for human eyes.

It doesn't really tell you much more than you already knew- the rules are the rules, and they really haven't changed much at all. Still, it is nice to have a written copy of an account of the Chemistry Majors’ revolt.  It is ..less bloody than you had believed. The price was paid in other ways. The other ways you read about hold ..promise is the wrong word. And yet.

The four of you spend all day like that, passing out mugs of tea to soothe throats and spirits.

As the day winds down- well, as the sun sinks closer to the horizon- you pass out mugs of spirits instead of tea.

Cat-Eyes calls a toast, grim-voiced.

‘To the History Majors,’ she says, and you all raise your mugs to clink against hers.

You drink your drinks, re-pour, drink again.

When you are comfortably floating, fuzzy, you stir, tell the others,

‘I think I have a plan.’

Not-Jenna’s eyes catch on the way you're fiddling with your crow pearls. She doesn't say anything, but she looks sad.

---

The next morning (well, when the sun is back in the sky, anyway. ‘Next’ implies the passage of Tuesday. It's still Tuesday.) you and Not-Jenna set out early, early in the morning with empty bags and backpacks. When you get back, it's nearing on ten, you're both out of breath and grass stained, and your bags are full to bursting.

Cat-Eyes and Thirteen cook breakfast, and then help you and Not-Jenna sort through the food you brought back. You all repack it into a bag, fold a blanket, find an umbrella.

You lead the others to the south quad, where you first started reading and singing to crows, set up your picnic, and wait. None of you eat.

It doesn't take long for someone to approach. You've laid out quite the spread, after all.

The thing that approaches first is pretending to be Professor Grant, from the art department. (You think Professor Grant must have an arrangement, for how frequently she's taken and returned.)

‘Hello, Professor,’ you say, because while this isn't Professor Grant, it does try it's best to teach.

‘Quite a spread you've got,’ it says, and it eyes the smoked meats you have with hunger. You don't bat an eye when its eyes turn to gaping maws in between blinks. Thirteen shudders beside you, and Cat-Eyes quietly removes her glasses.

‘I try.’ You demur.

It swallows, salivating.

‘Surely,’ it says, ‘you'd invite a dear professor to feast with you?’

‘Alas, this picnic is not just for me. I find myself requiring an audience.’ You smile, apologetic.

Professor Grant’s replacement sighs, mournful, and wanders away.

Several others approach you, and you replay the scene each time. Thirteen has become bored of being bored, Not-Jenna has wondered off and returned three times already, and Cat-Eyes just broke out a portable charger for her phone. You're beginning to wish you had remembered to bring sunblock when someone walks right up, flops down on a spare corner of the blanket, insouciant,  and pops a grape in their mouth.

‘So, Girl who Sings to Crows,’ it says, ‘I hear you and yours are the ones who wanted an audience.’

You don't even get up, just fold yourself low over your crossed legs until your forehead is bare inches from the ground, and are glad of the yoga class you took for the improved flexibility.

Still low, you murmur a question.

‘I am unsure as to how I should address you...?’

Magnanimous, it tells you, ‘I am called the Crow Prince.’

On the blanket behind you, Cat-Eyes inhales sharply. You sit up, and yes- hair like the sound of feathers, empty eyes, nails dark and a touch too long. You rather thought so.

Thirteen, who between bouts of boredom has been making good use of google, breathes ‘Royalty?’ To a very still Not-Jenna.

The Crow Prince laughs.

‘Not in the way you mean, morsel. I am no great Name of the Seelie nor Unseelie Court, and may no such great Name ever darken our fair doorstep here at Elsewhere!’ He crows, and Not-Jenna mutters a fervent Here, Here.  

He quirks an eyebrow at you meaningfully, nodding to Not-Jenna, and you pour him a red solo cup full of orange juice.

‘Here, here, indeed.’ He says, raises the cup and takes a draft. ‘No, I am of the Autumn Court, and long may we reign here at Elsewhere!’

Not the Winter or Summer Court? you wonder, but oh, of course: Elsewhere turns on the passing of semesters, not seasons. This is probably one of the only places the Autumn and Spring Courts aren't subordinate to their more well-known counterparts.

‘Though it is good for you that you have come to me now. If it were fall I would not have time for you.’ He pops a cube of cheese in his mouth, then spears a bit of salami on a talon and bites into that as well.

Then he looks-really looks- at the rest of your spread.

‘Where did you get all this?’ He asks, and you have to smile. You and Not-Jenna really outdid yourselves this morning.

‘It's Tuesday.’ You tell him, and he smiles back.

This is the most dangerous thing you've ever spoken to.

After that, he just wants to eat for a while, and you let him. He’ll talk when he wants to, and the longer it takes the less worried you are that Thirteen is going to say something stupid and offensive- he'll get bored of being terrified soon enough, and therefore less likely to blurt out something without thinking about what he's saying first.

He makes idle conversation as the five of you lounge on the grass: what is small talk to one such as him is nonsense to you. He speaks of stardust harvests and celestial poachers and music made to taste like strawberries, and you all answer as best you can.

The Crow Prince is gracious company. He invites you all to eat with him, and you do. You make sure to nudge all the best bits towards him before you help yourself, though, and you can tell by his easy smile and the warmth of the pearls around your wrist he appreciates it.

(Something in you preens at his attention. It's the same part of you that delights at the glint of sunlight on your feathers in your hair, at the way other Involved students look at your pearls, at the way people know who you are. It's the same thing that sat up and crowed when Thirteen called you the Crow Girl.) (the Crow Prince has claim on you, and for more reasons than what hang about your wrist)

(You make deals, yourself, now. Most people at Elsewhere do- a coffee for help studying, conversation for company, iron jewelry for sea salt- but sometimes, you think you can feel the worth of a thing.) (it scares you, most days. some days it doesn't.) (you are fae-touched, you know. You are more fae-touched each day you spend here.)

(You don't really mind, anymore.)

(that right there is the more frightening prospect by far.)

Almost all the food is gone, and the Crow Prince lays flat on his back, legs crossed so an ankle bobs mid air, a taloned hand twirling lazily in the air as he speaks. The light from the sun has gone amber, and it twists the colors of the trees. You are starting to relax, even let your guard down. This too-pretty thing is of the gentry, of the Court, even, but he is more crow than not. With crows, it is intention, not technicalities, that matter most.

You are starting to believe that this thing will not hurt you. (You are wrong. You know this. You know this. And yet...)

When he is done, he rolls onto his feet, and you hear the rustle of wings as he moves.

He folds himself, looming over you, so he can catch your jaw with his talons to make you look up and up and up and up into empty, empty eyes.

‘The dove book will not help you.’ he says, and you’re confused- the dove book?- before you realize he means the book by Robert Dove Scyt. (fear replaces confusion- what need has the Crow Prince for circumspection?)

‘It was an interesting read?’ you offer, feebly. He snorts, and the humanity of it makes your skin crawl.

‘This will be moreso.’ he says, and he is gone in a rush of cackling laughter and wingbeats, wind tearing at your hair and clothes, knocking over cups and stealing napkins and tugging at the umbrella.

The Crow Prince is gone, and in his place is a book.

Above an illustration of a laughing crow, So You Want To Go To Underhill is written in starlight on the cover.