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warping-realities · 16 days

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Rich People Problems

This was my tribute to the works of the incredible @callmecallmecrazy (seriously, what are you doing that you haven't read the legend yet?) and the no less amazing dumb-and-jocked, if you're reading this bro know that we all miss you immensely!

Repost with new images and minimal changes to the story.

.....

Cris sighed for what felt like an eternity before stepping into the luxurious and refined ballroom of the Country Club. This was going to be a painful experience. An engagement party, out of the blue. His mother, Carol, had been widowed a few years back and since then had thrown herself into her work as a lawyer. She was a staunch defender of human rights, fighting hard in court for the less fortunate. Cris greatly admired his mom's work and never judged her for her absences; what she did changed lives, and from an early age, he understood the importance of her work. Even so, because of that, he had always been a lonely kid—absent father, distant mother, and a social awkwardness that kept him from making lasting friendships. Books were his greatest companions, ranging from children's classics to true masterpieces, and it was through reading complex political works that he decided to become a journalist to fight against the ills and injustices of the world, just like his mom.

So, you can imagine Cris's enormous surprise when he found out that his mother had decided to marry the notorious multimillionaire Archibald Sutterland III, a guy with a rep for being a hard-ass boss and totally averse to workers' rights. “The Third,” muttered Cris with disdain. Rich people and their pretentious names, he thought, rolling his eyes as he stepped into the room.

He walked through the place, crawling with pretentious people, all dressed to the nines, casting judgmental looks his way. But he didn’t let it get to him; this was, after all, his mom’s engagement, and he’d wear whatever the hell he wanted. Not that he had time to find “appropriate” clothes for the occasion. Having been snatched by a couple of giant security guards from his college dorm earlier that day, bundled into a private jet, and taken to a stately mansion, where a pompous outfit awaited him on the bed of a room bigger than his former home, he decided to ignore the getup despite the protests of his “guardians,” who, finally defeated, dumped him in a freaking limousine and dropped him off in a place that felt totally alien and hostile to him.

“How does crap like this even happen?” he muttered to himself as he searched for his mother, determined to confront her about this madness. Speaking of madness… he finally spotted her, standing by the bar, wearing a dress he could never have imagined, a goofy smile plastered on her face. Just one more piece of info for the list of absurdities of the day.

“Mom? What the hell is going on?” he asked irritably.

“Cristhian, my dear, I'm glad you made it in time! But what are you wearing? Archibald made it clear to the staff that you should be handled properly!”

“Handled? What the hell, Mom! I'm not some puppy to be 'led' around. And what the fuck is going on anyway? What ridiculous idea of marriage is this?”

“Just be quiet, please, Cristhian. Don't embarrass me in front of the society.”

“And since when do you care about ‘society?’” he said, emphasizing the word with obvious disdain. Forcing a smile in hopes no one noticed the altercation, his mother pulled him aside as she spoke.

“Calm down, let’s talk…”

….

Watching the scene from afar was Archibald Sutterland III, accompanied by his longtime partner and friend, Forrest Gordon-Lenox IV.

“You have to admit, the boy’s got some flair, Archie.” Forrest was one of the few allowed to use that nickname since they’d known each other since childhood, but only when they were alone.

“I should’ve seen it coming that the boy inherited some of his mother’s fire, but if I’ve molded her into an impeccable example of a woman, believe me, I’ll get the brat out of the way. In fact, I think this might be the perfect opportunity to test my own heir,” he said as he saw a handsome young man approaching.

“Good evening, Father. Good evening, Mr. Gordon-Lenox. Looks like Carol is having some issues with her son,” said the handsome muscular blond young man with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Good evening, Chadwick. Your father and I were just talking about your future brother’s peculiar ways.”

“Chadwick, the time has come. I could do it myself, but soon you’ll graduate, and you'll need to step up. I don’t care much for society gossip, but something like this could have negative repercussions on business. So I need you to take care of the kid.”

“Yes, Father, with the greatest pleasure,” replied the young man with a sneaky smile.

….

“Mom, it feels like I’ve walked into a bad adaptation of Stepford Wives! This makes no sense. How can you drop everything, years of career, to marry an old man and become a housewife?”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful with words spoken in such an environment, my friend,” said a sassy voice. Turning around, startled, Cris came face to face with a handsome young man in a light blue suit, matching his eyes, which were currently assessing him with a predatory look.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Chadwick Sutterland.”

“So what…?”

“So what, friend, if we’re going to be brothers, we might as well agree on some things.”

“Brothers???”

“Chadwick is Archibald’s son, Cristhian, so after the wedding, he’ll be your brother.”

“How wonderful,” replied Cris, exasperated.

“Indeed, I think we’re going to get along just fine, Cristhian.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it!”

“Cristhian! Enough of that!” Carol whispered, anguished.

“Let me handle this, Carol. Your son and I just got off on the wrong foot, but let’s fix this together. Cristhian, can’t you at least try this for your mom?” Chadwick concluded in an accusatory tone. Seeing the anguish on the face of the most important woman in his life, Cris relented.

“Okay, since it looks like this craziness is going to happen anyway… but I’m not wearing that pompous crap.” He responded, disdainfully eyeing his future “brother’s” attire, not caring if it offended him.

“Apparently, someone always has to be on top. I think I’ll call you Topper, brother, and since we’re among bros, you can call me Chad.”

“You can call me whatever you want; this ‘brotherly’ relationship won’t last long. So come on, I need a drink.”

“Excellent, follow me, please. Carol, if you’ll excuse us!” Chadwick finished, dragging Cris with him across the hall.

….

“Drink this, bro,” said Chad, handing Cris a glass of bourbon. He had pulled him into a locker room near the Club’s gym. The pompous and polite demeanor faded, replaced by a relaxed attitude and carefree vocabulary, which made Cris’s initial dislike for the guy diminish considerably.

“What you need to understand, now that you’re joining our circle, is that appearances are everything—the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, the way you dress… so this behavior won't help you Topper!” He continued, using that stupid nickname, apparently a bond between brothers or something, and no matter how much Cris protested, Chadwick was Chad, and Cristhian was Topper. After some failed attempts, Cris finally stopped objecting; after all, he intended to have as little contact as possible with Chad after that night.

“I don’t give a crap about that, Chad. My mom can commit this madness if that’s what she wants, which I still have a hard time believing. But once tonight’s circus is over, I’m going back to college without looking back.”

“I understand your indignation; I was also blindsided by my dad’s decision. My mom passed away less than a year ago. So understand, you’re not the only one upset here, bro. But my father is used to getting what he wants, and he wants your mother. He met her a few months back in court, oddly enough. She argued her case against one of our companies with such ferocity that it warmed something in the old man’s icy heart. Since then, he’s been courting her relentlessly until she accepted the proposal last week. It might’ve seemed sudden, but as I told you, my dad gets what he wants, when he wants,” concluded the boy, bitterness creeping into his voice. This earned him a few more points with Cristhian. Maybe not everyone there was that awful. But still full of indignation he continued to complain.

“I don’t understand why my mom didn’t tell me anything; it’s not like her.”

“Bro, you know how women are; no one can predict their crap.”

To avoid an unwanted discussion with someone he was trying to create some kind of sympathy with, Cris let the sexist comment slide.

“Still, I don’t understand why I need to wear this!” he said, looking at a suit identical to his future “brother’s.”

“Appearances, brother. Coming here poorly dressed not only tarnishes you, but also your mom, my dad, and our family name. Come on, try it; I bet you’ll feel a lot better.”

With one last sigh, Cris began to undress. As he prepared to put on the pompous outfit he suddenly found himself very close to a grinning Chad, holding a bright red gem in his hand.

“Not yet, Topper; first, we need to make some changes.”

The stone began to emit an intense glow. Afraid of what he was seeing, Cristhian tried to escape. But suddenly, his legs went rigid and immobile, as if glued to the ground.

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

“Silence, now is your time to listen. You will only speak when I say so.” Cris felt his lips tighten, not painfully, but still totally unable to form a sentence; his vocal cords incapacitated from producing any sound.

“I like you, Topper, really, you’ve got some guts. I think we could still be real brothers. But the way things are, it won't work. Do you know why? Because of what you are. Or what the people who matter think you are. And do you know what they think, Topper? I’m sure many in that hall looked at you and thought: a nobody. But what they haven’t thought of is what you really are—an opportunity.” Chad continued, grinning with a disturbing glint in his eyes, reflecting the gem strange glow.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a bench. And Cris felt compelled to sit down, the movement returning to his legs. But when he tried to turn and run, he ended up sitting right where Chad instructed him.

“Such a good boy,” sneered Chad, the red gem held in his hand.

“You know what that is, Topper? That’s why your fierce mother became a trophy wife-to-be. And that’s also the key to the future—mine and yours, bro. So I guess I owe this version of you an explanation.

“This stone has been in my family for generations, passed down from father to son, ensuring our lineage, our money, and our name continue to live on. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the reason old Dorrance Sutterland, the founder of our line, got his passage on the Mayflower. But I confess, for some generations, the Sutterland men have used it for more… mundane purposes. When you have everything money can buy, it’s hard to find something that really needs the use of this little beauty.”

“I didn’t lie to you when I said my dad met your mom in court a few months ago; that’s the absolute truth. And I wasn’t lying when I said he tried to woo her either; he did… but was rebuffed, which only ignited the fury inside him even more. And the more the fire inside my father grew, the more the desire to dominate and extinguish his mother’s flame consumed him.”

“You see, this stone has power over reality itself; there’s nothing it can’t do, with few limitations. The curious thing is that my dad doesn’t know this; my grandfather never told him all its potential. To him, it’s only capable of influencing people’s minds, shaping their wills, and even redefining their personalities. But he never suspected it could do so much more.”

“It’s all because my dad has always been a huge jerk. With his stupid rules, his obsession with control, his insufferable rigidity—and the biggest problem of all, his boredom. My grandfather would’ve loved to use the stone on him, but that wasn’t possible; that’s one of the limitations of the stone’s power—it doesn’t work on men of our lineage. We’re the only ones who can use it, but never on ourselves, although there are some interesting ways to at least partially circumvent these rules. Furthermore, each Sutterland man can use it only once in his lifetime.”

“So, my grandfather was forced to live with his boring son, who, despite having a great knack for finances, always showed a total inability to enjoy the pleasures of our way of life. So, as a small form of revenge, he withheld essential info from my father but told me everything, as I was a much better heir to our legacy.”

“My father used his chance with the stone to turn your mother into his trophy wife, Topper. After all the speeches, all the scolding, all the talk of responsibility, he used the stone to win over a woman, just a few months after my mother died! How undignified is that? And when he refused to hand me the stone, he even had the audacity to repeat the usual litany.”

“The same litany that isolated me my whole life, that prevented me from having a true friendship, from living the life I’m entitled to. For my dad, everything I wanted was frivolous; everything was a waste. And everyone looked at me with pity, pity for the poor rich boy. Of course, my peers accepted me and never had the heart to do anything to me; I’m a Sutherland, and that name means a lot. But not even that name can create a real bond. Maybe if my dad had put me in a boarding school, things would’ve been different; maybe some real friendship could’ve been established. But no, I needed to be under his constant surveillance.”

“While my buddies are enjoying their holidays in Ibiza or the Alps, I’m stuck sitting next to him in a dusty office! Even my frat brothers, as much as they talk about the unbreakable bond that unites us, don’t really see me as one of the guys; they respect my name and my position, but it’s clear I’m among them because I’m a legacy. Can you imagine how it feels to see all your ‘brothers’ getting ready for Spring Break, knowing you won’t be able to make it? My dad denied me not only my grandfather’s name but also the opportunity to live my life the way it should be lived by our people—with respect for traditions, sure, but above all, with fun. Yes, with fun! What’s the point of having mountains of money if you can’t enjoy yourself? That’s all I want, Topper—fun!

“You don’t have the slightest idea how much I wanted to get my hands on the stone, but the old man took precautions to keep it away from me, as if I didn’t have my own means. And today, thanks to this outrageous engagement dinner, I finally managed to get my hands on it. And thanks to you, Topper, I’m finally going to find a way to enjoy my life the way I deserve!”

So, put a metaphorical smile on that face because you’ll be enjoying everything with me, bro!” he sighed, concluding his long villainous monologue with a maniacal grin.

Christian, motionless, lips sealed, listened to all that madness, unable to believe it. That was impossible. But so was his current situation. And the story, as absurd as it was, provided an explanation for his mother’s altered behavior. Still, that was all impossible, wasn’t it?

“My grandfather informed my father of specific rules and ways of speaking and ordering the stone, instilling a fear of what might happen if those safeguards were not used, in addition to the obvious omission of its full power. My grandfather was diligent in his revenge, Topper. Thanks to him, my dad lost his chance to achieve something truly extraordinary, but I won’t lose mine. The stone doesn’t need specific and detailed orders; those things only limit its functioning. It’s intimately connected to the deepest desires of its bearer, so just ask, and it will provide. Goodbye, Cristhian; welcome, Topper, bro!” he concluded.

The stone began to emit an intense red glow in great waves, which, in Cristhian’s vision, seemed to distort everything around him, with Chad’s hand becoming a blur.

“That shit was real,” was his last coherent thought before being enveloped by the red light.

…..

Memories came in waves—totally alien to his identity but intrusive, forcing their way in. Two blonde toddlers, so alike you’d think they were twins, in an elegant living room, arguing animatedly about whose father owned the bigger yacht, eliciting giggles from two pretty blonde women, their mothers.

“Yes, he and Chad knew each other from the cradle. No, no, what the hell was that?”

“Their mothers were best friends, college roommates, and in the same sorority, and their fathers had common business interests, so it was natural that the friendship extended to their kids.”

“No, his father had been a college professor, not a businessman, and his mother had never been in a sorority. And for God’s sake, what kind of spoiled brat talks like that?”

Seemingly the same kind of kid who spends their afternoons on the tennis courts at the Country Club while their parents excitedly discuss business. Occasionally pausing to flash an approving smile in his direction, in Cris’s… Topper’s case. Or a stern look in Chad’s.

“Uncle Archibald was always a pain in the ass, but spending time with Chad and Dad was awesome.” It was the thought that popped into Cris’s head while that memory solidified.

Thinking about his father brought up an old and painful memory of Cris, which was quickly overridden by the overwhelming power of the stone. The memory of a thin, brown-haired boy, on a cold winter afternoon, feeling lost and alone was replaced by that of a blonde boy, physically active but with the same feelings of sadness marking his face. But that gradually faded when he felt his best friend’s hand on his shoulder, a warm feeling spreading through his body, knowing he had someone with him.

Although that feeling was interrupted by a flash of irritation when he saw his “Uncle” Archibald whisper something in his mother’s ear. His father had just died, and there was ambitious old Archie harassing his widow, no doubt imagining a way to cash in.

Cris struggled with the conflicting and confused feelings inside him; he knew that none of that was real—not the anger at a man he didn’t know, not that great friendship, not that warmth. But at the same time, it would’ve been nice to have a friend by his side when his father passed away… it had been so nice…

After his father’s death, Cris became responsible, at least in name, for the family’s legacy. His mother, contrary to what one might think, was a true lioness; she took over her late husband’s business with great interest, expanding the family fortune and ensuring every wish of the heir was granted. But at the expense of the son’s loneliness. Christopher Lauder Hawthorne IV, Prince Topper, fourth of his name, heir to a fortune, surrounded by everything he could want... and alone. The exception was his friend Chadwick Sutherland, but even if the two wanted to spend all their time together, that wouldn’t be possible. But his mom made it happen! He didn’t know what kind of deal she made with Archibald, but sometime after his dad died, Christopher, along with Chadwick, was sent to a boarding school.

What would have been torment for other boys was liberating for both of them. Away from his father’s stern gaze, Chadwick enjoyed life for the first time, while Christopher found in his friend a true brother. There was nothing Topper wouldn’t do for him. The two formed a beautiful pair—handsome and charming—soon surrounded by a growing group of friends. Topper, with his outgoing ways and the certainties in life that only the very rich or the very foolish possess, and Chad, with a more cunning way of thinking, but still eager to have as much fun as possible. Leaders among their own.

But anyone who thought those boys were stupid was dead wrong; Chadwick could never let his grades slip, under penalty of losing the ironic freedom the school had granted him. As for Topper, well… he had Chad to help him with the complex stuff and a mom willing to overlook her precious son’s academic incompetence. Even more so when it became clear that the boy had a natural talent for sports when they joined the school’s lacrosse team, which soon morphed into a passion for all sports they could participate in. Topper’s tactical ability on the field and court demonstrated something his poor academic record failed to do: he was incredibly intelligent and capable when he wanted to be. The truth is, most of the time he just didn’t care. The exception was sports, which became a true obsession, which Chad shared to a slightly lesser extent.

As a result, the two muscular men who finished school barely resembled the two boys they once were. Topper cherished the photograph taken with his friend after their team winned the intramurals.

No, no, no! I’ve always been a good student; I have no idea what the rules of lacrosse are. I’ve never been to boarding school, and I’m certainly not some pretentious mountain of muscle who thinks he has the world at his feet," Cris thought.

"But I am," Topper replied, making Cris freak out, not knowing where the strange voice inside his head came from, while new memories flowed.

With the end of school and before college, which both boys would attend together, Archibald decided he wanted Chad by his side to instruct him in the truths of life or some such nonsense. As if Topper would let his brother be stuck in an office all summer. Negative. The two of them would have fun, even if he had to kidnap Chad to do so. Which wasn’t necessary, because once again, Carol Lauder Hawthorne used her magnificent powers of persuasion to ensure her beloved son had his best friend with him during those vacations, where they explored the Old Continent together, taking yacht trips through exclusive islands across the Mediterranean, a brief pause to ski in the Swiss Alps, and the cherry on top: the craziest sexual experiences in Eastern Europe.

“Ah man, the flexibility of that girl in Prague,” Topper reminisced fondly about that particular night.

“I’ve never been to Prague, or on a yacht, or in the Mediterranean, and I’d certainly break my legs if I tried skiing,” Cris argued.

“Nonsense, I’m a natural athlete,” Topper replied.

“But I’m not you,” Cris shot back, finally losing the ability to perceive the strangeness of the situation.

“Of course you are, you idiot. Who else would you be if not me? I’m such a dumbass!” Topper laughed inside Cris’s head, echoing:

“A dumbass, he he he.”

And suddenly, he also burst out laughing, their laughter mingling as if they were one.

After an unforgettable summer, college time finally arrived. Continuing the established partnership, the boys rented a luxurious apartment near the campus. Archibald had the nerve to try to send Chad to a shared dorm, as if Topper would allow it. He’d never agree to live in a dorm; he deserved the best, and the best was having Chad by his side. This time, Carol’s intervention wasn’t necessary; Archibald simply wasn’t informed of the arrangement, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t bother him. Of course, such an arrangement would be temporary. Both boys were legacies and would soon be inducted into their parents’ old fraternity.

Chad had no option but to choose business-oriented subjects to study, knowing ahead of time that his major would be in business. Topper briefly considered studying sports sciences due to his love of sports, but it wasn’t like he needed it, so why bother? He then decided to enroll in the same subjects as his friend without worrying much about it. After all, college was much more than listening to half a dozen stilted old-timers; it was about making contacts, having new experiences, and above all, having fun!

“But I’m a great student, and business? I’m going to be a writer, aren’t I?”

“Ha, I couldn’t even write the grocery list if I didn’t have someone to do the list and the shopping for me… and great student? I’m always great, even if the grades say otherwise. If I tried a little harder, I know they’d be a lot better, but it doesn’t make any difference in my life.”

“No, education is important!”

“Of course it is; that’s why I studied at the best schools and went to college. But those things only get you so far. When you want to go further, your name and your contacts do more for you than any major.”

Speaking of contacts, Chad and Topper were perfect fraternity material. The two made it through Hell Week unscathed, quickly rising within the organization.

Now, nearing the end of their junior year, the two held positions on the chapter’s board, strong competitors to assume the presidency.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Topper knew that one day he’d have to take responsibility for the family business, but he had no interest in taking on any real responsibility before it was necessary, and he wouldn’t let his best bro do it. Archibald would certainly put pressure on his son, having been president in his day, even if the sour old man never understood anything about what fraternal life really was. No, it was Topper’s duty to make sure his friend had some kind of fun. Helping organize the parties, managing the house, and guiding the newcomers, showing them the path to follow, was more than enough. Man, how he loved to see the terrified looks on the pledges when the blindfolds were taken off, and it was his face they saw first, not knowing they were looking at the guy who would make them men—the right kind of men. They were a family, after all, and he took great pride in being the cool big brother role model.

“It would’ve been nice to have so many friends, to feel part of something.”

“Yeah, man, I love this.”

However, not everything had been perfect; unexpectedly, the angel of death struck the pair of friends again. Sybil, Chad’s mother, died of a sudden illness. And suddenly, Topper found himself in the opposite position from so many years ago. Chad was a grown man and not a boy, yet Topper saw his long-ago image reflected in his friend’s sad eyes on the day of the funeral.

The funeral forced Chad to present himself in a way that his father found appropriate, making him say goodbye to the long hair and stubble he had developed in his time away from him. Topper, as a good friend, supported him, even though he didn't care in the slightest about the grumpy Archie's opinion. Knowing the power of a helping hand, he stayed by Chad’s side the entire time. This was a pain that could only be eased with time, so Topper decided to numb it the best way he knew how. That night, he took Chad to a bar with the intention of drinking him into a stupor.

“Thanks, bro. I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side… Oh god, I’m sounding like a crybaby.”

“Chad, your mom just passed away; today you have the right to look like a crybaby, dude. Which doesn’t justify you being one for all the years we’ve known each other, bro,” Topper replied with a smile.

“Asshole…” replied Chad with a sad smile.

“Speaking of assholes, how’s Uncle Archie doing?”

“Being himself, if you know what I mean? You’d think his wife’s death would soften the old man, but no, he didn’t even give me a hug…”

“I’d hug you, brother, if it put a real smile on your face. But I think I have a better solution.” Topper pointed to a pair of beautiful girls standing on the other side of the bar.

“Oh man, I don’t know…”

“They’re hot, bro. Look, your mom would want you to get on with your life, and right now you need a distraction, soooo… blond or brunette?”

“Both!” Chad replied with his first real smile in a while.

That was a wild night. To avoid unwanted attention from the parents, they took the two women to one of Topper’s apartments in the city, and there, washed down with a lot of alcohol and weed, the four of them ended up in bed in a foursome.

“That was freaking awesome.” Said Topper.

“Yeah, dude, freaking awesome.” Agreed Cris.

Chad spent the next few months in a mood that ranged from depressed to euphoric, usually with a little help from Topper, but gradually improving. Until a new blow hit the duo. On a sunny afternoon less than a week ago, during a college break, as the boys rode through the huge Hawthorne property, they were called by Carol for a chat.

“Boys, an announcement is coming soon, but both Archibald and I would like you to know in advance. This summer, he and I are getting married.”

“What the hell is this, Mom? Are you kidding?”

“Language, Christopher. And no, I’m not kidding. I’d like you to think of it as a… business arrangement—a very beneficial arrangement for both parties.”

“A beneficial arrangement? Mom, we have more than enough money.”

“Christopher, my dear, I raised you better than that; there’s no such thing as enough money.”

“And Aunt Sybil? Your best friend’s body has barely cooled down, and you’re ready to swoop in on her husband. Sorry, bro!” Topper concluded when he remembered who he was sitting next to. But the friend didn’t respond, preferring to direct his attention toward Carol.

“How long? How long have you two been planning this… arrangement, Carol?” The “aunt” was unceremoniously dismissed.

“Archibald and I have been discussing this for some time, and it’s going to be very profitable.”

“Profitable and convenient, isn’t it? You’re still a young woman—not even forty yet. And I must say you hid it wonderfully well, but now looking closely, I can’t help but notice the signs. When can Topper and I expect our brother or sister to be born?”

“Chadwick! How can you say…”

“Drop the act; only something like this would make sense!”

“Okay, I really am pregnant; I never imagined this could happen. Boys, you must understand, nothing happened between me and Archibald while Sybil was alive. Chad, his parents were my biggest source of support after Topper’s dad passed away. Sybil was truly my best friend, and when she left, I felt… empty. Imagine how you would feel without each other? Archibald may seem cold, but he also felt her loss, and in our grief, we ended up supporting each other. One thing led to another, and one night after a few glasses of wine, we ended up…”

“Fucking,” interrupted Topper!

“Christopher, that’s enough; I’m your mother, and I deserve respect.”

“Respect? How can you talk about respect after telling us this?”

“Topper, it’s okay; she’s right; there’s nothing more to be done. Getting rid of the baby isn’t an option; the scandal if this story leaks… I imagine the wedding will be soon, to allay suspicions, although it’ll probably still raise some eyebrows…”

“Yes, it’s the best arrangement we could come up with. Christopher, my dear, I’m really sorry, but it’s for the best. Besides, you always wanted a brother.”

“I already have a brother,” he replied, looking towards his friend.

“Yes, Christopher, and now you will indeed be brothers for real. Think about it. And you, Chad, Topper told me all about how you feel about Archibald, and I’m no idiot despite what anyone might think; I see the way he treats you. I can be a very powerful ally; never underestimate my powers of persuasion, especially when I’m carrying Archibald’s son. You may not believe it, but all his behavior comes from the hopes and expectations he has. It will be very good for you to have someone to share that weight with.”

“Just think about it, brother. We will be real brothers, on paper and in life, and with one more of us on the way. Doesn’t look so bad. Even more so if that way you can get your dad off your back,” Topper said, letting himself be carried away by his mother’s notorious power of persuasion without realizing it.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad, not really, brother,” Chad concluded, smiling back at his friend.

And so the two ended up at that event at the Country Club, where they had spent most of their lives, commemorating the future union of their parents, which would formalize their status as brothers. Topper arrived late, and accompanied by his friend, went to the locker room to put on appropriate clothes before heading to the ballroom. And now the two of them were there, face to face. Topper looking down at his friend’s distorted hand, the glowing red stone emanating constant waves.

“Quite a… quite a story… but… it’s not real… none of it is… real.” Cris reappeared, gathering what was left of his energy.

“Dude, of course, it’s real. If you want it, it’s real; I want it, and I’m you, so it’s real!”

“No… I’m not you… you’re an… invention, you’re nothing but… a rich asshole… who thinks he owns the world… who thinks… has… the world at his feet… your life is all about money… and… parties and…”

“And fun, and not worrying about tomorrow, and friends, real friends, and a mother who does whatever I want, and a brother—a real brother who was always there for me… how could that be something bad?”

“No… no… no… it wasn’t real… no… it couldn’t… be real…” Still, new memories rushed toward him, like a giant wave of red, flooding every inch of his consciousness until there was no empty space left.

Chad studied the face of the young man with glazed eyes and an empty expression sitting in front of him.

His hand burned with heat as he gripped the stone, and he couldn't help but think that maybe it was too much, that maybe he had messed up beautifully.

“It has to work, it has to work…” he muttered. Then the stone emitted its most wave, momentarily blinding him. Upon regaining his sight, he found himself in front of a completely different man. Sitting naked before him was an example of male perfection. A face that looked like it was carved from marble, golden hair in beautiful curls, with the broad, defined musculature of someone who could easily be a fitness model. For a moment terror dominated him, as it seemed that Christopher tried to resist the process with greater intensity, however it did not last more than an instant as another waves come and soon the gargantuan figure that replaced Cristian began to feel and test his gigantic muscles almost automatically with a distant and unfocused look, gradually being replaced by one of extreme confidence and arrogance. If Marvel ever decided to reboot Captain America, the man in front of him wouldn’t be a bad choice—except for the fact that he’d never put himself in that position… unless he thought he’d have fun with it.

And how did Chad know that? He knew this because he suddenly remembered a whole new life, which made his previous life look pale and gray—all thanks to the man in front of him, Topper, his best friend, his brother! And with a smile on his face, he woke him up to reality:

“Hey bro, you okay?”

“What? Chad, bro, sorry I kind of zoned out; damn jet lag. But it was worth it; you should’ve gone with me; Brazil is everything we were told.”

“Not everyone can afford to fly all the way to Rio and hook up with a supermodel whenever they want, bro.”

“True, but we can.”

“Speak, for you, brother.”

“I speak for both of us. If there's one good thing to come out of this whole situation, it's that my mom will get Archie off your back, and we'll finally be able to enjoy life the right way,” Topper concluded while opening a closet and pulling out some clothes. Putting on pristine white boxer briefs, more immaculate than a virgin's soul, but which ironically would make many virgins fall into sin just by looking at the man wearing them. Before putting the other garments he flexed both arms and admired himself in the mirror. “I’m so swole, man.”

“Something had to make up for the lack of brains, brother!”

“You only say that because you're jealous of me, tiny boy.”

"I wouldn't call anything about me tiny.”

“True, but nothing compares to my size, little brother!”

“Some of us prefer classic beauty, Topper.”

“And some of us decided to be real men, Chad.”

That was Topper's mocking response as he walked past his “brother" and gave him a playful pat in the groin.

“Dude, leave the gems alone!”

"Stop being a whiner, I wouldn't do anything to hurt my future nephews," Topper said as he admired himself... again. “Dude, I’m fucking hot!”

“I didn't know jt lag caused brain damage, bro. I thought we'd already been through this whole discussion about your ridiculous handsomeness. Be careful; you don’t have much brain in that head of yours to waste.”

"Asshole, your envy doesn't faze me, try as you might," he replied, finally putting on his suit, the same shade of blue as Chad's.

“So how are the lovebirds doing? I imagine the news about him having another boy to torment has given Archie a break from his usual boredom.”

“Incredibly, yes. Your mother really has a hold on my father; he pestered me a lot less than usual. Although I don't think he's very happy about your delay."

“I couldn't miss the chance to see Archie's eyes pop, especially since he knows he has no power over me. Soon, he won't have any power over you, and I promise you, he won't have any power over that baby either. When he’s born, you and I together are going to show the little one how to live. Now come here, brother; you may not be as handsome as I am, but we still make a great pair.”

….

The two returned to the hall together, always attracting attention from everyone around, but they were used to being the center of attention, and frankly, they deserved it!

They found their parents sitting together at a table, and to both their surprise, Archibald looked more relaxed than they had ever seen him, while Carol turned to both of them with a Cheshire smile.

“Hey boys, we have news. But since Christopher took up so much time, maybe we should save it for another moment…”

“Carol, boys will be boys, so let them be.” Archibald intervened, making the two boys look at each other in disbelief. His expression seemed softer and less predatory than usual.

“Anyway, what Carol was trying to say is we've decided to have the wedding in early summer in Malta, and the good news is you're going a few weeks in advance to get everything ready. We count on you—don’t hold back on effort or money,” Archibald concluded, not seeing the sly smile that Carol gave behind his back, which made the boys' jaws drop—metaphorically, of course, since neither of them would commit such an indignity in public.

….

And so it was that in early July, Chadwick Sutterland found himself enjoying the best that life had to offer on an exclusive Mediterranean island alongside his lifelong best friend, Christopher Hawthorne IV. Thinking about a red gem and gray fading memories of a reality that, for the world, had never existed. He had done really well, in his own opinion. His father was dominated, so much so that he didn't even bother with his son's behaviour in the last months. He had a fierce ally ahead of his family business, even more so now that she was expecting a Sutherland boy, who, when the moment came, he would deliver that stone to be used in a time of need. An unforeseen but very favorable outcome, the stone indeed acted in the best interest of the wielder if its power was allowed to act freely. And the greatest proof of that was his best friend, the brother he had gained, who was at his side talking to him at that very moment.

“Hey bro, what’s with the serious face? You should be enjoying your first real vacation paid for with your dad's money, dumbass,” Topper said with a smile.

“Fine, you asshole,” Chad replied, assuring himself the stone was safe and looking at his brother. “Let’s have some fun!

#male tf #reality change #mind change #corruption #jockification #musclegrowth #mental transformation

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fuckyesnessian · 4 months

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Creator Highlight #10 - @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk

Today we'd like to highlight @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk! With one of the most gorgeous nessian fics in the fandom, it feels wild it took us this long to get to her. Every fic is a masterpiece, though we have our favorites (see them below!).

@whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk's talent is taking the bones of what canon gave us and turning it into something beautiful. Nesta and Cassian never feel more real, more alive, than when they're beneath her fingers.

Check out some of our favorites below, or check out their masterlist HERE:

Begged and Borrowed Time:

To save her sisters from starvation, Nesta married Tomas before Feyre went over the wall. When Feyre returns to ask her sisters for help getting the second half of the Book of Breathings, Nesta is dragged into the conflict above the wall, and brought into contact with a certain Night Court General, who she can't help but be annoyed by and drawn to in equal measure. Stuck in a loveless marriage that no longer serves a purpose, Nesta meets Cassian at entirely the wrong time-- but that isn't enough to stop either of them.

Semper Eadem:

It’s 1575, and Nesta Archeron, lady-in-waiting and favourite of Queen Elizabeth I is trying incredibly hard to forget about the bastard nobleman who, eight months ago, stole her heart before leaving to be a privateer. Now, at the Kenilworth pageant thrown in the queen’s honour, Cassian is back and trying to win Nesta round all over again— but there’s no way she’s going to let him off easy.

Promise:

This began as a one-shot fixing the scene in ACOFAS that made my blood boil: the scene where Cassian walks Nesta home. Here, Cassian realises how much she's hurting and actually does something about it. This will be a three or four part bridge between ACOFAS and ACOSF. Pretty much no plot except fluff and eventual Valkyrie antics, because I would die for Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie.

Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form HERE

#nessian #pro nessian #creator highlight

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drconstellation · 11 months

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Once and Future Royalty

Just, stay with me on this one. I know its going to look crazy at the start, but trust me, I know where I'm going.

It all started with the 537AD scene in Wessex in the opening montage of "Hard Times," S1E3. Yeah, the one where Aziraphale is supposed to be a knight of the Round Table and Crowley is role-playing the Black Knight, and they are both so super-squeaky shiny clean - not a speck of dirt or mud on them. wtf! It looks out of place, unrealistic, and was bugging the crap out of me, like a stone in your shoe. It just didn't fit. I mean, why put a myth, a legend, into that sequence? Oh, OK, yeah, the preceding stories from the Bible, like the Garden of Eden and the Flood, aren't "myths" as well, you say? Hmm. In the context of the Good Omens AU, being a biblical based story, they belong there far more than the legend of King Arthur.

King Arthur, who supposedly united Britain under his rule during the late 5th century and early 6th century, was shown to have the divine right to rule by wielding the mighty sword Excalibur. Some stories tell of Arthur pulling Excalibur from a stone. Some tell of him receiving Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake. Either way, it was bestowed upon him by divine grace. Despite his triumph in battle, he left no heirs, as his queen, the fair Guinevere, was barren. She had a long-running love affair with the greatest knight of the court, Sir Lancelot, but despite this being an open secret in court Arthur would not put her aside. The knights of the Round Table in the court of Camelot were near-paragons of Christian virtue, and there are many tales of their search for the Holy Grail, the cup from the Last Supper of Jesus Christ.

In the end, mortally wounded in battle, Arthur was taken away for healing, and never seen again. It was said he would return when Britain was at it most direst hour to save the day once more. A "messianic" return.

The Once and Future King.

Now, I'm no Arthurian novice; I drank up all of T. H. White as a teenager, read the Dark is Rising multiple times, Marion Zimmer Bradley's interpretation and what ever else I could lay my hands on for a good couple of decades. And there is LOTS of King Arthur stuff around. You are not left wanting for anything new to read or consume. And I'll bet there are a fair few of you also out there who know a quite bit about the legend as well. Oh, and I can't tell you how many times I have watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I still walk around quoting it day-to-day, like the good little Gen-Xer I am, having grown up on that stuff. So I really should have listened to my intuition when bits of Monty Python kept popping up in my brain in response to other parts of GO I was thinking about. (Staaay, I said, stay with me here....)

I kept chewing away furiously on the Wessex problem, growling in feral frustration at it, but also kept reading and sorting out some other ideas and metas at the same time. Eventually I found the key in a tiny little post, about a small detail in the 1941 Blitz episode S2E4, of all places. I wanted to slap myself with how much was staring me in the face so obviously once the door opened. And the damn beauty of it is, that I already written about some it, out of context, without knowing the why.

OK. Where to start this journey...hmmm, back to Monty Python, because, guess what - the Wessex scene is actually riffing off one the more famous skits out the the Holy Grail. The scene is a masterpiece of political satire, from start to finish, but the relevant part here is this sequence:

In case you missed the salient points: Arthur claims he is king by divine providence, because he was given Excalibur by the Lady of the Lake. Dennis the peasant protests this waterlogged method of determination, mentioning ponds, watery tarts and a moistened... well, I hope you get the idea about where this is going.

Meanwhile, in 537AD, Wessex, as the mist swirls around them:

"It is a bit damp," complains a shiny silver Aziraphale.

Yes, Excalibur would be a bit damp after it emerged from the Lake. (vidavalor! Get your mind out of the gutter! I'm trying to have a serious discussion here! Please! And I wasn't even going to go anywhere near what the sword in the stone is really meant to be referring to...it's not even relevant to the discussion at hand, I swear! Well, there is going to be sexual relations mentioned but - oh, never mind...)

Right. Where were we. Lets leave those super-clean elite pretendy knights to swim off through the swirling mist back to their dry homes to write and file reports to head office, along with Patsy and the hired Igors, and Dennis can keep playing in his lovely muddy filth after he finishes protesting being repressed by the divinely-deluded Arthur. I've got a bit more to say about what Aziraphale and Crowley might represent here later but you need some more context first, so lets move on. I just needed to show you the first bit so you can see the Arthurian theme stretches across both S1 and S2, and will likely appear in S3 as well. More about that towards the end.

Ah, before I forget...another ref from the Holy Grail we need to cover:

This GIF, unfortunately, doesn't have the full exchange between the peasants, which is this:

P1: "Who's that then?" P2: "I don't know. Must be a king." P1: "How can you tell?" P2: "Because he doesn't have any shit on him."

Ah. Er. OH!

Have you made the connection?

Who have I been emphasizing as being unusually clean in their Arthurian setting? That's right, Aziraphale and Crowley.

What's this implying? That they are royalty. Celestial royalty. Maybe not kings, but how about princes? You know how we've been discussing whether Crowley was a once at least an Archangel, and there is even a hint that he was a fallen prince of Heaven given during the replay of Gabriel's trial? (Not the prince, but a prince - a seraphim) And that Aziraphale may have once been Raphael, and may be again in the future? Once and future royalty. To me it adds weight to the past discussion, and helps to explain the assumed authority expressed in these two scenes here: On the left, Aziraphale takes control inside the book shop as the angels and demons argue who is going to punish Gabriel and Beelzebub (finally found it after several months!) and on the right, Crowley is shouting at the assembling demons in the street that they are "out of order."

Onward, Patsy. (I hope you're still with me.)

1941, the Blitz part 2, minisode.

We've found Excalibur! On to Camelot!

[Edit note: I've added a few GIFs and screen shots into the sequence of parallels above because I was thinking over a few things since I posted and felt this actually sat better. To try and explain, as they don't exactly match as I would like, in the Holy Grail movie, King Arthur and the knights he has gathered rock up at the foot of Camelot and gaze up in awe at it. "Camelot!" Arthur declares to the party. "Camelot!" Galahad echoes in excitement. And a third "Camelot!" comes from Lancelot. What do we get in GO? Aziraphale leaps out of the Bentley (Crowley's black horse) and declares "The theater! Sophocles! Shakespeare!" I swear, if you put the two side by side, they would match. It's not just a reminder of how much time Aziraphale has seen pass by, or that we are seeing a tragedy play out. But damn it, I could so just see Aziraphale attending a Sophocles performance in Athens back in the day...]

Camelot was King Arthur's castle and home of his court. In S2 of GO the Windmill Theater is established as our court of Camelot where our 1941 Blitz-era Arthurian drama is to play out, involving Furfur and the zombies.

Yes, poor old Furfur. Two's company, three's a crowd, as they say. Now we know we're in Camelot, we need to be reminded of the central tragedy of the Arthurian story, that ultimately led to the golden kingdom's fall. Lady Guinevere, Arthur's queen, famously loved Sir Lancelot, and the two were passionate lovers. It was essentially a love-triangle at the top, with Arthur being jilted, but he wouldn't/couldn't discard his queen. Where do we see this playing out in 1941?

Furfur, pleased with himself for catching an angel and a demon in the act of consorting together (with the help of the zombies,) barges into the backstage dressing room, and confronts the lovers with their crime. But who is playing who in the Arthurian love triangle? I would say Furfur is clearly caught in the role of Arthur here. Consider the following exchange:

FURFUR: Hmm, well, well, well… What have we here? AZIRAPHALE: Sorry, have we met? FURFUR: Oh, no, you never had the pleasure, but… we have, haven't we? CROWLEY: Have we? FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember? CROWLEY: I remember going into battle, I don't remember being there with you. Sorry. FURFUR: I was right next to you. We did loads together. You use to jump on me back, little monkey in the waistcoat. Anyway, whether you do or whether you don't, it doesn't matter. I'm here to inform you, as a representative of the Higher Powers of Hell, that you, Crowley, are in breach of the Infernal Code. Consulting and collaborating with an angel, Fell the Marvelous, aka… [opens book] Azirapalala. Azirapapap. Aziphapalala. AZIRAPHALE: [annoyed] Aziraphale

Furfur claims a past intimate relationship with Crowley, which Crowley spurns offhandedly. Crowley is playing Guinevere here, jilting Furfur/Arthur, which leaves the demon-smiting Aziraphale standing in for the handsome hero Lancelot (with his French connections, no less), and doesn't he make us weak at the knees when he drops his voice an octave in dominating disgust. (Is it suddenly getting hot in here...? Phew!)

Interestingly, looking back in S1 at 537AD Wessex, though, I would say that Crowley was Lancelot as the Black Knight, a role that Lancelot sometimes played in the legends, and Aziraphale would then be the fair maiden Guinevere. It certainly plays into Crowley's long term role of playing the knight who comes to the rescue of Aziraphale's princess in distress. Excalibur was no where in sight, perhaps still beneath the waters of the lake. Nor Arthur. Perhaps it was still too early in the story then...

I had originally suggested in my very first post that Furfur was given a stag as his demon avatar because he was wearing horns for being cuckolded by Crowley. But I wasn't quite thinking about it in context with the Arthurian legend! The stag is also often associated with royalty, plus while wandering around the medieval bestiary website that someone linked to, it interestingly notes that the enemy of the snake is the stag and the stork (Shax's avatar.) Ah ha!

So how can we extrapolate this knowledge into a possible appearance of the Arthurian theme in S3?

Will we see the love triangle of Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot come back into play and cause more chaos? I'm wondering if it might have something to do with the Fall.

Or will our lovers bring down a divinely-appointed ruler via their committed behind-the-back defiance of expected propriety?

Will Excalibur appear from beneath the waters, perhaps in another form, to declare a new king?

Could it even be a combination Jesus/Arthur, King of the World, returned? And they turn out to be a very naughty boy, disappearing into the night clubs of Times Square, New York, and that's how they lose him? (Social media viral sensation, anyone?)

I wouldn't be half-surprised if Greasy Johnson's name turns out to be Arthur, actually.

And no, I haven't forgotten that Adam's dad was named Arthur as well.

Bring on S3!

**Bonus**

If you've made it this far and you're thinking:

Let me leave you with this last connection.

In the back stage change room, remember Furfur delivers these lines:

FURFUR: What do you mean "have we?" You know we have. We were in the same legion. Just before the Fall. Doing dubious battle on the plains of Heaven. Remember?

On the first level, he is referring the Great War in the Good Omens AU.

On the second level, Furfur is paraphrasing Milton's Paradise Lost.

On a third level, I can (and will in a future meta) connect this back to the training initiative paintball fight at Tadfield Manor in S1.

And even deeper on a fourth level, if you do know the Holy Grail movie well, you'll remember there is an odd little subplot in it, that infers that the whole King Arthur and his knights thing is merely a full-on violent cosplay that is murderously rampaging across the countryside in the present day with the police in hot pursuit. It's a strange juxtaposition between reality and dream, and you aren't quite sure what it is real or not. The ending is bizarrely and abruptly surreal as the two story lines collide in the heat of battle, as the police turn up and arrest the combatants. A bit like this:

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feyres-divorce-lawyer · 1 year

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*claps and rubs hands together* alright you miscreants, behold! epic literature provided by moi

~ You Might Be King Of Half The World, But You’ll Not Own Me As Well by WickedTheRedHorse (a literal masterpiece, i’m being so serious rn. when i say i only ship fanon darklina, this is what i mean)

~ the reports associated with my existence have been significantly misconstrued by davidstennant (multi-media fics aren’t usually my jam, but this, this is good jam. exquisite jam. would gladly slather it over some challa bread and feast) [note: hasn’t been updated since may last year]

~ Liar’s Waltz (based on the poll) by @sunlightsage (first rhysta fic i ever read🤌🏾🤌🏾)

~ House of Mirrors by ae_neon (love a widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances — @ae-neon)

~ Burial Rites in Crepuscular Hours by Existential_Teatime (badass alina rights, badass alina wrongs, when she makes the darkling question his intelligence>>>)

~ #8024 by SimplyAnotherWriter (marinette in arkham. that’s it)

~ The Journey to You by Thisishowitbegins (responsible for my resolute belief that timinette is the superior maribat ship, can’t believe this the author’s debut fic) [note: updates may be long as author grew incredibly busy]

~ Feylin Oneshots by Bookish_Gal (let’s be honest here, it’s by @bookishfeylin, need i say more. if you haven’t read it, what are you doing? alexander and adora live on my heart. also dragon tamlin, like hello???)

~ A Court of Frost and Embers by Midnight_Wishes (i made a whole, 6 minute long tiktok abt this on my first acc (that got banned because that clock app is so damn sensitive) really took my feycien obsession from brainworm to brainrot. the absolute longing and devastating angst because lucien knows feyre needs to break the curse yet falls for her anyway, but feyre doesn’t know so she just thinks lucien’s avoiding her for no reason. crushes my heart in the best way. and their calanmai scene, whew) [edit: @goforth-ladymidnight is the author’s tumblr)

~ heaven can’t help me now by disarmed (completed, perfect, there aren’t enough feycien infidelity fics out there)

~ The Girl and the Wolf by MythNinesevenine (miss janet dreams that she was as good at writing as @longsightmyth, DREAMS, i said)

~ A Court of Family Secrets and A Court of Flames and Shadows by flamesandshadows (feyre not going back to rhys after she finds out, nesta not going on that stupid hike, feycien friendship revival, eris and elain sibling relationship, elucien, azris, feyre ruling hewn city. literally all i could ask for)

~ Riddles in the Dark by flamesandshadows (feyre never gets sa’d utm. that’s it)

~ Sacrifice by flamesandshadows (rhys doesn’t get his powers back in acowar)

~ Reputation by flamesandshadows (nyx learns that his family isn’t as innocent as he grew up believing, especially his father. my favorite part, he goes absolute ape shit and deadass almost kills rhysand when he finds out what happened utm)

~ The Great Ikea Game by IcedAquarius (have you ever played hide and seek in ikea with your brothers and then you meet a girl that helps you with god-like magic because she’s bored? well that happens to damian wayne) [first work in an incomplete series but this work itself is completed]

~ Second Best by stormpill (Second Best Cinematic Universe is an actual collection with 75 works across 15 fandoms, Inspired by Second Best - stormpill is an actual tag. SB was a cultural reset. two sun summoners? genius. fjerdan barbie is the best inside joke i know. this shit was so good y’all, i’m so sad it was deleted)

~ Dragonlight by Anonymous (tgt/asoiaf crossover. alina lands in king’s landing (ha, get it) and ends up in a sacrifice by that mad king dude to bring back dragons, except due to her small science, it works. so now alya’s a dragon mama to six firebreathing cuties. alina and that rhaegar dude (that’s his name right?) marry to protect alina from his father cuz bro is called the mad king for a reason. political intrigue, yum.) [sporadic updates]

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas — A Series by Dragonfly08 (@dragonfly0808 S4 REWRITE IS TOMORROW🥳🥳. best winx rewrite like ever. netflix wishes, WISHES, that they could ever be as good as writing winx as dragonfly is. btw A Withering Pretense is the best rewrite, argue with your mother)

if you don’t read at least one of these, i will cry🙂

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wrishwrosh · 9 months

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re: tags on labor in historical fiction post, would be very interested to hear what the four examples you mentioned are!!

ok u know what that tag WAS bait, thank you for taking it. technically speaking these aren't works dealing strictly with labor in historical fiction, they are my four treasured examples of BUREAUCRAT FICTION (so not NOT about labor in history?) i was gonna try to make this post pithy and short but then i remembered how extremely passionate i am about this microgenre i made up. so sorry.

bureaucrat fiction is not limited by genre or format but criteria for inclusion are as follows: long and detour-filled story about functionary on the outside of society finding unexpected success within a ponderously large and powerful System/exploring themes of class and physicality and work and autonomy and what it means to hold power over others beneath the heartless crushing wheels of empire/sad little man does paperwork. also typically long as hell. should include at least one scene where the protagonist is unironically applauded-perhaps for the first time in their life-for filling out a form really good. without further ado:

soldier's heart by alex51324. the bureaucracy: british army medical corps during wwi. the bureacrat: mean gay footman/new ramc recruit thomas barrow. YEAH it's a downton abbey fic YEAH it's a masterpiece. i've talked about it before at length, my love has not faded. the crowning moment of bureaucracy is a long interlude where thomas optimizes the hospital laundry (this actually happens twice or maybe three times)

hands of the emperor by victoria goddard. the bureaucracy: crumbling fantasy empire some time after magical apocalypse. the bureacrat: passionate late-career clerk from the hinterlands cliopher mdang. i reread this book every winter bc it is as a warm bath for my SAD-addled brain and every time i neglect all my responsibilities to read all nine billion pages in three days. it puts abt 93% of the worldbuilding momentum into elaborating all of the ministries and secretaries and audits necessary to run a global government and like 7% into the magic and stuff. there are also several charming companion novellas and an equally long sequel that dives more into the central relationship between cliopher and the emperor which i highly recommend if you like gentle old man yaoi and/or magic, but there's more bureaucracy in HOTE.

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. the bureaucracy: court of henry viii. the bureaucrat: thomas cromwell, the real guy. curveball! it's critically acclaimed booker prize winning rpf novel wolf hall! mantel is really interested in particular ways of gaining and maintaining power in delicate and labyrinthine systems like the tudor court, specifically in strongmen who use both physical intimidation and metaphysical manipulation to succeed. under these conditions i do think my best friend long-dead historical personage thomas cromwell counts as Bureaucrat Fiction (as do danton and robespierre in a place of greater safety. bonus rec.)

going postal by terry pratchett. the bureaucracy: fantasy postal service of ankh-morpork. the bureaucrat: conman, scammer, and little freak moist von lipwig. this is definitely shorter and lighter than the other three entries on the list, sort of a screwball take on the bureaucrat. but the mail is such a classic bureaucracy thing? who doesn't love thinking about the mail? also contains a key genre element which is a fraught sexual tension with the person immediately above the protagonist in their hierarchy, who is also their god-king and boyfriend-dad. you can't tell me vetinari isn't torturing moist psychologically AND sexually.

anyway sorry about all this. if you've read any of these come talk to me about them. bureaucrat fiction recs welcomed with the openest possible arms.

#this post was very challenging to write bc i cannot spell the word bureaucracy to save my life. EVERY time i forget where the U goes #long post #asks #bureacracy. beaureaucracy. bereaucracy. fuck french

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mariacallous · 2 months

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Classical music lovers can debate for hours over which Mozart melody has made the biggest impact. Maybe the first movement of the “Jupiter” symphony, perhaps the Queen of the Night aria from The Magic Flute, or what about the “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” serenade? Those who know the great 18th-century Austrian composer only through the movies have an easier time of it—the sound they’ll remember best may not be music after all but the whinnying, immature, and disobedient laugh heard throughout Milos Forman’s masterpiece Amadeus.

Amadeus, commonly accepted to mean “beloved by God,” was not technically part of Mozart’s name. (He was baptized as Joannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, with Theophilus having a similar translation.) After his death, however, the moniker stuck as a way to venerate him. It’s perfect for the title of this movie, in which rival composer Antonio Salieri allows his jealousy over Mozart’s genius to build into a personal war against God. But expanding on some fudged truth is also in keeping with the spirit of the entire project, as the movie’s central conflict is almost entirely made up. (Even better, then, that the original trailer featured the tagline “Everything you’ve heard is true.”)

Based on a Tony-winning play by Peter Shaffer (inspired by a short 1830 play written by Alexander Pushkin, itself inspired by gossip that Salieri was somehow to blame for Mozart’s early death), Amadeus is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year. As such, a new 4K restoration is screening in specialty theaters across North America in advance of a new Blu-ray release. This, plus an eventual availability on streaming, is the first time the version that people originally saw back in 1984 will be available in years. (More on that in a bit.) An upcoming British television miniseries based on Shaffer’s play is in production currently, but we’re skeptical it will have the same magic.

The film’s story is told in flashback, with an old, institutionalized Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham) “confessing” how he murdered Mozart (Tom Hulce). We are then witness to how Salieri, court composer to Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones), has his world turned upside down when Mozart bursts onto the scene. His musical instincts are on a level no mortal can comprehend and clearly, Salieri feels, handed down directly from above. But while Mozart’s work is divine, his demeanor is coarse and bratty, which turns Salieri’s understandable envy into an existential rage.

As the winner of eight Academy Awards, including best picture, best director, and best actor for Abraham’s Salieri, Amadeus’s legacy is secure, but any excuse to get more people to see this perfect film is a good one. I can personally report that not one, not two, but three millennial friends of mine came to this movie kind of dragging their feet, watching it only out of an obligation to check every Oscar winner off their list. Each one of them was blown away with just how funny and poignant and entertaining it was.

“I thought this would be boring, not bitchy!” one pal beamed after a recent screening I hosted with Paul Zaentz at New York’s Paris Theater. That energetic spark is evident in the script but catches fire in the movie thanks to its director. Forman’s resumé is one of the best from the 20th century, but Amadeus is something special, not just because it is about a maverick artist who has to do things his way (a recurring theme in both Forman’s life and work) but because the expatriate who fled communist-era Czechoslovakia to follow his calling was able to shoot the movie in Prague and Kromeriz. As Mozart cackled in the face of propriety, so Forman was able to poke his thumb in the eyes of those who had previously censored him.

Forman was born in the town of Caslav in 1932. Both of his parents died in Nazi concentration camps. He attended a school for war orphans where he befriended future filmmaker Ivan Passer and playwright-turned-politician Vaclav Havel. He began working on documentary crews and eventually made short films of his own that blended fact and fiction, getting better material from non-actors than trained professionals. His first feature, Black Peter (1964), focused on a timid teenager, and its follow-up, Loves of a Blonde (1965), was a similarly naturalistic look at awkward romance. Its deadpan, somewhat bleak style ran counter to the splashy films coming out of Italy and France at the time. Both films are early entries to what became known as the Czech New Wave, leading to Forman’s first bona fide masterpiece, The Firemen’s Ball (1967).

While The Firemen’s Ball—Forman’s first film in color—was understood to be a grand metaphor for the inefficiency of the political system at the time, one doesn’t have to know a damn thing about Eastern Bloc history to respect it as an iconoclastic farce not dissimilar from something like South Park. It was immediately banned in Czechoslovakia, but it and Loves of a Blonde were both nominated for best foreign language film at the Oscars.

Forman was in France raising funds for his next project during the Soviet invasion of Prague in August 1968. He was fired from his Czech production company and ended up emigrating to the United States. His first Hollywood film was the 1971 counterculture farce Taking Off (in which square, bourgeois parents try to get groovy with their kids, to embarrassing effect), which led to one of the most influential movies of the 1970s, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

After the anti-authoritarian Cuckoo’s Nest—which won five Oscars, including best picture, best director, best actor for Jack Nicholson, and best actress for Louise Fletcher—came his adaptations of the musical Hair (1979) and E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime (1981). With that all under his belt and his hands on the rights to Schaffer’s hot play Amadeus, Forman went back to Prague in triumph.

Amadeus is set mostly in Vienna; still, Prague, which was generally left intact after World War II, certainly looks good on camera. And Prague was also an important city for Mozart. He made two lengthy visits there and found a very welcoming audience. Indeed, he wrote Don Giovanni with the intention of premiering the opera in Prague, which he did at the Estates Theatre in 1787. And it was at the Estates Theatre where Forman filmed many of the movie’s best scenes—ones of Mozart conducting opera, filmed with the alacrity and exuberance normally reserved for an action-adventure sequence. (The use of pyrotechnics in the Don Giovanni scenes caused a lot of worry on set, what with the old theater’s interior being mostly wood.)

Shooting a Hollywood movie behind the Iron Curtain naturally had some hardships. (Fruit and fresh vegetables, rarities at the time, needed to be trucked in from West Germany.) Given Forman’s background, the eyes of the state were on them. During that recent New York screening, Zaentz, who worked as a production coordinator on the project and is also the nephew of film producer Saul Zaentz, said secret police were essentially hands-off, except for one time. During off-hours, some members of the crew would hang out and watch VHS tapes of Hollywood movies and were unaware that some of those titles had been banned. The company was soon requested to keep to only approved films.

Perhaps more poignant was when they were shooting on the Fourth of July during one of the opera scenes. The Czech crew surprised Forman and the actors during one take. Expecting to hear the music of Mozart play back from a PA system, some well-wishers instead cued up “The Star-Spangled Banner” while others unfurled an enormous American flag. Everyone stood up and sang along, except, according to Forman, the 30 or so secret police who had been dispersed among the extras.

One can easily read the moment as a victory for Forman. Alas, Mozart’s fate was a little different. Though no one knows for sure why he died at the young age of 35—other than the fact that every case of the sniffles had graver implications back in 1791—the movie shows how Mozart’s queasiness with authority shaped him as a hand-to-mouth freelancer and how his lack of a permanent position and persistent money woes were bad for his health. After Amadeus, Forman continued to make movies about troubled-yet-visionary mavericks: Andy Kaufman in Man on the Moon (1999), Francisco Goya in Goya’s Ghosts (2006), and, um, Larry Flynt in The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996).

As for the Salieri yarn? There’s no historical evidence to suggest that the two composers weren’t just colleagues. (It’s true that Mozart did have a paranoid streak and maybe did think that “the Italians” at court had it in for him.) Salieri certainly did not live in chastity out of some pledge to God in exchange for musical inspiration. Indeed, he had eight children. He was also plenty famous at the time of his death and, later in life, was a tutor to Mozart’s youngest son. Nevertheless, no one should let reality get in the way of watching this incredible movie.

This 40th anniversary rerelease is especially exciting for old-school Amadeus-heads as it restores the 160-minute theatrical cut. All one can find out there now is the “director’s cut,” which is 20 minutes longer. As Zaentz explained to me, that version came out in 2002 during the first DVD wave, when home-video distributors were loading up packages with deleted scenes. Rather than have isolated bonus chapters, Forman decided to just release the longer version instead, though never really considered it the definitive cut. However, over time it became the only version in circulation.

While the longer version has a few splendid moments (some backstage zings with Christine Ebersole as Caterina Cavalieri), it also contains one scene that I am happy to see once again excised. In it, Salieri goes a wee bit too far and humiliates Mozart’s wife, Constanze (Elizabeth Berridge). It’s important for Salieri to be a scheming twerp but also someone who still holds your sympathy. The controversial scene only found in the director’s cut pushes him too far into the role of villain.

So sometimes edits are important! It is said that Mozart never revised, that he took dictation from God. As with so much else about the man, the truth is a little different.

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Paint and Bubble Baths

ship: Feysand type: pure fluffy drabble warning(s): none word count: 1k words summary: Nyx and Rhys decide to paint something for Feyre and it escalates a little

"Rhys!" Feyre expresses, voice high-pitched and tinged with nothing but surprise. With her eyes wide open she stares at the scene that unfolds itself in front of her. There is nothing but colour, and mess — a colourful mess and in it her two favourite boys.

Her mate, the High Lord of the Night Court, is sitting on the ground in her art studio and he, just like his son in his lap, is covered in paint…from head to toe. In this moment he looks so un-High-Lord-like, grinning from one ear to the other, his hair ruffled and no part of his body without colour.

"We are painting for you mummy." Little Nyx grins up at his mother, his eyes sparkling behind his in colour covered lashes. He grins from one ear to the other and claps his hands, still-wet colour splashing into every direction. Rhys behind him laughs loudly, nothing but pride reaching Feyre through the bond as his chest rumbles with delight.

The High Lady folds a hand over her chest, smiling at her mate and her son, her heart filling with warmth and love. "Oh Gods…" she breathes and looks at the painting in front of her mate and son. You can't really make out anything, but the thought counts. It looks like the two of them just splashed colour onto a canvas and they probably did, but the thought alone is so cute it brings tears to Feyre's eyes.

"You painted this for me?" she asks again and crouches down on the ground, observing the painting. Her eyes trail over the canvas but she can't make out what it is supposed to be — there just is colour.

"What did you paint?" she asks, trying not to laugh at the sight of their paint-splattered clothes and the colour on every part of their bodies. Nyx's romper that has once been a beautiful light blue, is now decorated with all colours of the rainbow.

It should be you in the art studio, he really tried his best. A lop-sided grin appears on Rhys' face when Feyre meets his gaze, chuckling. Well…she can't really make out herself in this painting but she will pretend she can. "Oh! You painted me," she then says, acting surprised.

Nyx hops up from his father's lap, beaming as he waddles to his mother. "Yes, mummy, this is you and brushes and paint."

"Of course, this is me!" Feyre expresses in a happy voice, reaching her hand forward to brush her thumb over her baby's cheek. Her heart swells with love for her two favorite people in the world and then she looks back at the painting. There is a mix of handprints, finger paintings, and splatters of paint on it which all merge and should create Feyre, she chuckles and the happy rumble reaches Rhys through the bond and makes his heart warm.

"And a little heart, because we love you so much!" Nyx happily steps from one foot to the other, his hands clasped in front of his body, beaming at his mother.

Beaming with pride, Rhys says, "We made a masterpiece because it is what you deserve."

Feyre is touched by her mate's words, and a single tear slips out of the corner of her eye. "We will put it up in the kitchen, yes?" She nods happily and Rhysand dips his chin. Of course, we will.

With a happy smile on her face she embraces her little artist, not at all minding the colour.

"You both are amazing! I love it so much!" she says, feeling so incredibly happy and loved amidst her favourite boys. "But now we need to get you both cleaned up."

Laughing, Rhys gets up as well, picking up Nyx and lifting him into his arms. "Bubble bath?" he suggest to the little boy who immediately loves the idea, clapping his hands, giggling and chirping loudly. "Yes! Yes!" he cheers and looks between his mother and father.

With magic they clean up the mess in the art studio and then walk upstairs to the bathroom.

Nyx laughter fills the room as he is trying his best to wipe away the streaks of color on his body after Rhysand helped him take off his tiny romper. He picks up his son then and carries him over to the bath that is already magically filled with water and bubbles and he carefully places Nyx in it. Obviously only after checking that the temperature is alright and won't burn him.

Rhysand playfully squirts a little water from a duckling onto his son, helping him clean off all of the paint. Feyre joins him, sitting down next to the tub, a sponge in her hands. She wets it, pulling faces at Nyx to keep him distracted while she moves the brush over his head and cleans his onyx strands form the paint.

Nyx giggles with delight as the fine mist gently falls upon him. The mother quickly joins in, turning it into a mini water fight, laughing as she spritzes some water on her husband too.

With each wipe and scrub, the colourful mess all over Nyx slowly disappears, but the fun doesn't stop. He laughs and giggles and so does Rhys who Feyre urges to also finally move into the tub to get cleaned up.

And so father and son, the little baby boy now playing with the rubber ducklings while getting washed, sit in the bath and Feyre helps them get cleaned of the colour.

"Next time you maybe should use brushes?" she chuckles and Rhys splashes a handful of water onto his mate.

"We did use brushes," he grumbles, but has to laugh.

"But with brushes it is boring, it is better with hands!" Nyx waves his little hands in the air, demonstrating his points.

Feyre laughs and leans forward to kiss her baby's forehead. "Of course, my love. Of course, it is."

As the two of them sit in the bath, Feyre still cleaning out colour from her son's hair and later from her mate's, the High Lord recounts how the little boy couldn't stop giggling and chatting and saying how much he loves his mummy when painting.

"I love you so much, you two," Feyre hums, embracing her little baby boy in a tight hug when Rhys lifts him out of the bath and she wraps him into a big, fluffy towel. "My boys."

~~~~~~~~ tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#feysand #feysand son #feyre x rhysand #nyx archeron #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #acosf

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katerinaaqu · 23 days

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Okay after I talked about the casting of Telemachus in the iconic RAI mini-series "The Odyssey" in 1968 time to talk about an even greater casting! Penelope! Penelope was given life in this masterpiece by the Phenomenal Irene Papas (Ειρήνη Παπά)

For those of you who enjoyed her as Anticlea in the 1997 movie "The Odyssey" I can guarantee you there is no better cast for the role of Penelope than her!

For startes like with Telemachus casting her age is simply PERFECT! Irene was born in 1929 making her 39 during the shooting of the series in 1968, which is probably one of the realistic possibilities of her age (somewhere in her mid-final 30s till early 40s given how she was still courted for her hand and hoping to bear heirs so she probably was not in the same age group as Odysseus)

Not only that but Irene Papas originally was born in freaking CORINTH! She was literally born in PELOPONESE! Which is also for your information the same geographical compartment of Greece Sparta is located in (Penelope's birthland). Irene Papas was "critisized" (not really because she was phenomenal actress) that she had a very heavy peloponesian accent. Guys the next best thing would be for her to be born in freaking Sparta itself!

As you reember from my little analysis on her appearance she simply is perfect! Tall, stoutly and regaly built and exceptionally beautiful woman for her age (the type of beauty that would make 108 men turn their heads to look at her!) and with beautiful ivory-shade skin with her light olive shade to match her description! Her curls and her black hair simply make her the perfect cast!

Her chemistry with Bekim Fehmiou (Odysseus) and Renaud Varley (Telemachus) is simply unparalleled as well as the way she plays her role! Her dignity and the sadness inscribed in her eyes! Is just *chef kiss*

One of my favorite moments of hers is her emotional collapse when she realizes her son has also left for a trip even if he is not trained to navigate. She basically yells to her maids how they hid this from her and Euryclea stands in the middle defending them and immediately Penelope sits down defeated mumbling why now her son is left (especially since she knows how much in danger he is in! The collapse of a woman that had enough pain already is simply and yet amazingly portrayed!

I also loved her prayer scenes! The director not only makes her handmaids chant together in repetition like an ancient greek tragedy choir but also they are clasping their fists together making noise to send away evil. Penelope is also seen praying by clanging two bracelets together while pacing up and down her rooms.

And of course the scenes with Odysseus!!! Just can't! In fact she immediately goes to disguised Odysseus when he describes the robe and the brooch he wore by saying "Odysseus! Is that you?" and the longing in her eyes is unparalleled! And of course Odysseus backs up coming up with a lie. But their chemisty is just amazing!!! The way Fehmiou cries watching her and Papas brings the longing of Penelope out! I also loved that she didn't really abandon completely her instict because when Euryclea arrives to wash Odysseu's feet she says "He has the same age as your master but his torments aged him prematurely" like...yeah she knows deep down she was not wrong!!!!

GUYS!!! This adaptation is just gold and diamonds together!!!!!

#greek mythology #the odyssey #tagamemnon #odyssey #homer odyssey #homeric poems #penelope #irene papas #l'odisea 1968 #the odyssey 1968 #odysseus and penelope #bekim fehmiou #renaud verley #odysseus #ulysses #odypen #telemachus #the odyssey 1997 #anticlea

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the-dork-urge · 5 months

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Wicked Urges || Durge X Gortash

SUMMARY: Durge has a hard time getting a certain man out of her mind. She tries one final distraction. But to no avail.

WORDCOUNT: 1387

NSFW

Her turmoil knew no bounds; Enver Gortash lingered in her mind. Not even the crimson stain of her darkest deeds could purge the persistent ache that gnawed at her soul, pushing her to the brink of madness. In the night's embrace, she would slip away into the shadows, her blade gleaming with the promise of release. Yet, even as she carved her path through the flesh of her victims, their anguished cries, once a cacophony that drowned out the clamor of her inner turmoil, now played second fiddle to the relentless image her own mind had conjured – his eyes, piercing into hers, his large hands exploring her flesh with invasive intent, her nails digging into his skin with desperate urgency.

To entertain the notion of a Banite, to allow herself to be drawn into the gravitational pull of Gortash's allure, was to court damnation in its purest form. And yet, with each rendezvous in the recesses of her mind, she found herself dancing dangerously close to the edge of her Father's disapproval. Thus, she stood before her final avenue of escape.

He was exquisite, graceful, and lean, with gentle eyes and soft skin—a fair elf. His aesthetic starkly contrasted with the one she struggled to expel from her thoughts. The courtesan batted long eyelashes as he extended his hand. She accepted it, more than just taking it—she claimed it as her own. He was now hers, to employ as she pleased.

She pushed the elf down onto the bed, his graceful body sinking into the red, silken sheets, eyes fluttering, fixed on the ceiling. The scene was almost familiar, reminiscent of a morbid masterpiece—a body displayed against a canvas of blood.

Urgency gripped her as she shed her armor, each piece clattering to the floor. Naked she crawled onto the bed, her skin bare and exposed, mirroring the man beneath her. She prowled over the elf, her hands gliding over his soft skin, her mouth nuzzling at his slender neck. Beneath her touch, she felt the steady thrum of his pulse. Despite his ethereal beauty, he remained as mortal as any other.

It was a thrilling thought, the realization that he remained oblivious to her true nature, unaware of the depths of her capabilities. To allow a killer to come so close, to let them feel the steady pulse of life beneath their touch, all while remaining ignorant of the potential for sudden cessation—it sent shivers down her spine.

Perhaps, she thought, she ought to kill the Banite snake, for slithering his way into her brain. Making a canvas much prettier than the one she saw before her.

She leaned in to kiss his neck, pushing aside thoughts of Gortash. Moving up to his jaw, his cheeks, the taste of inexpensive cologne lingered on her tongue as she delved deeper into his mouth. Hunger drove her as she sought his tongue, while his hands roamed over her scarred body, tracing delicate fingertips over her healing bruises. He responded in kind, wrestling with his tongue, his hands finding their way to the back of her head, pulling her closer. Their mouths melded together in a fervent kiss. She sank her teeth into the elf's lower lip, drawing blood. She kissed him again, with even more intensity, savoring the ironic taste on her lips and in their mouths. Yet, amid the heightened moment, thoughts of Gortash intruded—his lips between her teeth, the sweet tang of his blood on her tongue, and the fantasy of his body beneath hers.

Feeling the stirring of desire within her, she allowed her hands to glide along the elven body, envisioning Gortash beneath her fingertips instead. As her touch trailed down the smooth chest of the elf, she imagined Gortash's dark hair, always peeking out from his clothing, his gentle curves where she now felt muscles, and the trail of hair leading down as she settled between his legs. The elf shuddered at her touch, twitching under her palm as she teased him. She wrapped her hand around the elf's cock, before she slowly started stroking. Every whimper or moan he let out was stifled by her mouth on his. She wondered what noises Gortash would make as she touched him, and what it would feel like if he'd run his hands over her skin. She tried to dispel the improper thoughts of him again, but they lingered, like a cheap perfume.

The prostitute's hands wandered towards her thighs and his fingers travelled upward to her heat. With gentle fingers, the elf teased her, spreading her wetness. As she kept stroking his cock, he moved his fingers inside. They were too slender, and she longed for Gortash's plump fingers. She cursed at the intrusive thoughts. But the thought of it set her body alight and before she could stop herself she spoke: "More," her voice a sultry command, as she pressed herself against him. The elf responded, adjusting the intensity of his touch to meet her craving. Despite the disparity between his fingers and the ones she longed for, the sensations he evoked stirred a primal desire within her. "Fuck me." The tantalizing thoughts proved too arousing to resist, and she abandoned the struggle against the fantasy. Bhaal. Father. She pleaded for his forgiveness.

Her mind swirled with imagined sensations - the scent of Gortash, the phantom touch of his hands, the image of his cock inside her. With a deep breath, she positioned herself just above the elf, gradually lowering herself down. His head eased in slowly, and she couldn't help but groan at the fantasy of Gortash stretching her out. As she sank down, taking all of him, she clenched around his cock, relishing in the illusion.

"You feel fantastic," the prostitute whimpered, his voice shattering her brittle illusion.

"I didn't pay you to talk," she bit out, covering his mouth with her hand as she started riding him. With each thrust, she immersed herself once again in her fantasy. In her mind's eye, it was Enver's cock pumping between her legs, pounding into her again and again. Though she dared not speak his name, it danced on her lips, stifled by the bite of her lip. In her visions, she heard him vocally - grunting as sweat dripped down his chest, cursing as he filled her up.

As the fantasy unfolded in her mind, she felt every imagined sensation with vivid intensity. Enver's hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements as he thrust into her relentlessly. Each powerful stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, building a mounting tension that threatened to consume her completely. She moved her hand toward his neck, slowly digging her fingers in, relishing in the sensation inside her wet cunt. Softly, she whispered his cursed name as it seemed to burn on her lips.

Reality faded completely as she saw Gortash's eyes staring back at her from beneath her, pleading, glistening with desire.

With every movement, she felt him deep inside her, stretching her to her limits and igniting a primal desire she could no longer suppress.

In her mind's eye, she visualized Enver's powerful thrusts, his hips grinding against hers in a rhythm as old as time itself. The image of his sweat-drenched chest, his muscles straining with each movement, fueled her arousal even further. She imagined the sound of his voice once again, low and guttural, filling the room as he voiced his desire for her, his words sending shivers down her spine.

As she rolled her hips forward even faster, drawing her own orgasm, a scream escaped her lips, followed by his name, "Enver."

For a moment, she released her hold on his neck, her body shuddering as she rode out her climax, spilling her wetness. Beneath her, the man's body shuddered as well, and she smiled as she pushed herself off the bed, his semen spilling down her legs.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Durge found herself returning to reality, breathless and spent. Yet, even in the aftermath, the name of her obsession lingered on her lips.

"Enver Gortash. Really?" The prostitute's amused whisper cut through the silence, his grin betraying a hint of curiosity.

"I told you not to speak," she warned him, her tone sharp as she scanned the room for her belongings. A thought crossed her mind, dark and insidious, as she considered the consequences of leaving a witness to her forbidden desires.

With a calculated calmness, she retrieved her clothes, her mind already set on a course of action. There could be no witnesses to her longing for the Banite snake; it would be a stain on her honor that she could not bear. He had to die.

"Come and get your pay, elf," she beckoned as she watched him crawl from the bed, wrapping the crimson sheet around him. It was perfect, she thought, a sly grin spreading across her face as her hand trailed to the knife concealed in her clothes.

Atleast this way she could please her father. But it was a long road to make up for her transgressions. One she was afraid she just started traveling.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #dark urge x gortash #durgetash #enver gortash #bg3 gortash #gortash

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lilly-onthevalley · 29 days

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Tips for my girlies in university and early work

I decided to make this post based on what has made my life easier these past few years. Every woman wants to cultivate beauty; make themselves put together, be taken seriously, and find a partner who is equally yoked if you're into that. As an old tumblr girl shifting in and out of the scene, I wanted to make another tip post like the old times that's accurate to what helped me.

A lot of the older/retired girlie's where amazing advisors, however one thing that created a barrier was that they were were endowed with large wealth and their society paved a path for them, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, I love to see it actually. I wanted to make a post looking back to what has helped me make my own steps to now be able to utilise the old girl's advice as it was supposed to.

Hair

Learning a basic blow out is necessary. If you're starting out, you don't need all of the fancy brands, and you'll notice that technique is what differentiates the quality of a blowout. Get a good round brush that conducts heat well, mid range but reliable (Babyliss) blow driers, flat irons, and curling rod. Invest in a heat protectant too. Sweet talk the hair dressers and ask where they get their stock from. Get yours hands on some pro hair sheers to get your own trims and layers going.

Silk scrunchies and pillow cases are an underrated and feminine must-have. I'm a lazy girl who always has a silk press if my hair is out and I can get away with collapsing onto a silk pillowcase with no head wrap and still manage to have a lovely style in the morning. I would say order these from a small business. Many girls have businesses dealing with small textile projects like scrunchie packs and average size pillow cases, support them! :)

Learn to do your own cornrows and invest in a half wig especially if you're busy with classes and don't have time for the whole round brush ordeal.

Don't be scared of wigs, and don't be ashamed of not having enough time to pull off a dazzling natural masterpiece. There's a reason why wigs are in high demand from women of all races. People are all over busy. You can start with a natural synthetic and move on to better hair.

I learnt the art of hair when I was 15, so I've been doing it for a while. However, because of this, I can tell you the importance of having a lovely crown on your head. I have received hundreds (not joking) of compliments from years, whether my hair was real or fake, and that shows how important it is for a first impression.

Nails/Feet

Don't forget to take care of them. Walking all the miles, wearing the mandated courts, sitting in one place. You will indeed develop calluses, perhaps even athletes' foot and hyperpigmentation from a lack of circulation.

Get yourself a basic pumice stone or a scrubber and use them when need. Massage yourself as well to maintain mobility and flexibility.

If you can, get yourself an affordable gel set. It might seem a bit expensive, but it'll save you the time and money of the upwardly costly nail appointments. You'll find out when you get up and socialise more that what tops the cake of classy is a glossy basic nail. Natural nudes and whites are always a go to.

Scent

Scent connoisseurs are going to absolutely hate me for this, but girlie's, if you can't get that Jean Paul Gaultier or Baccarat Rouge, get the damn arabic fragrance. Back in high-school when me and my girls were starting up, setting ourselves apart and getting invited to important places, Lattafa was our favourite. Social media is currently finally going crazy for them. (The African/Arab girls got them first 🤭.) I loved my floral Haayati with a mix of Zakra (other brand, heavy masculine oud tones for my peace of mind), and my best girl loved her gourmand Yara and her vanilla oils.

I love to talk about fragrance because it talks first for you. Nothing is better than a delicious light smell accompanying your presence. It shows you hold yourself to some esteem.

Skin

Face Essentials - gua sha stone, gentle cleanser, exfoliating cleanser or serum, sunscreen, thick moisturising butter, anti fungal or bacterial essential oil, lip moisturiser, clean cloth.

These will help you start out on a basic level to having healthy looking skin. Exfoliating is very important towards a glow. When you're stuck working with a bright light in your face, soaking up the harsh morning air full of car exhaust, sweating as the hours go by - what will make the difference is making sure that you get rid of that excess dead skin every 3-7 days.

Gua sha is amazing for getting rid of the stress if you clench your jaw during moments of stress. Say you have to present an assignment or address and debate a crowd, that takes a tole on the jaw and the facial muscles. Using a gua sha is great for ironing those knots and that tension out.

On the topic of massage, spas can be unaffordable at times, time is could also be a problem. Get into a habit of using every minute you have. That 5 minutes that you sit and doom scroll on tik tok, take out a wood tool, grab a moisturiser, and press those muscles to release built-up tension. Taking care of the vehicle you have is so important. Your body and mind are separate but complimentary. Take care of her, and she will take care of you. Don't forget that every second, she's pumping the blood that facilitates your social meetings and work hours.

When it comes to body, get yourself exfoliating mits or an abrasive rag. Once again, exfoliation, exfoliation, exfoliating. It's great for blood flow and circulation as well as moving your muscles and tissues that may be constantly seditary from a desk.

Dry brushing is something I also swear by. Once again, absolutely wonderful for circulation and waking the skin up.

Get yourself a foam roller... I press such an emphasis on these tools that stimulate the muscles because we often forget how much our bodies are taking multiple hits from working. Joint issues are something that's prevalent when you're a working girl, coming straight out of high-school and going into the world outside the home of your care taker. Roll those legs out, release that back into the grooves. It makes a world of difference!

Clothing

I loved to dress like a blank canvas back in my early days when I decided I want to make something of myself. Nothing beats good denim pants and a white t-shirt. Especially when you're starting out and want to begin establishing outfits for everyday, you'll notice the blank canvas approach will prevent you from looking crazy on crazy days. Stock up on 3 white tees, white and blue jeans, yoga pants, well fitting good quality skin tone lingerie, a belt, a watch, some fake pearls, black or white dress, a ring and a necklace and my all time favourite, a pair of shades.

Ugh, I can't get enough of combinations like this. I grew up and was educated by women who followed this but fancied it up with a bold Goyard St Louis, a 3 stone engagement ring with a gold band, a local pure and heavy polished silver bracelet and some Loro Pianas. Absolutely gorgeous women, who knew how to constantly present themselves as nothing less than reliable, stylish and beautiful.

You might say that, 'Omg Lilly, that's so boring', that's not the point here 😂. As a green girl with a good head on your shoulders, you're going to get a lot of new opportunities. Whether it's internships, parties, socials with the girls or the guys, dates, fund raisers, club representative workshops, you're going to be expected to show up well and put together. Say you have a social evening at a club house, in the morning you have an internship and the next day you have to manage and represent your society. Those 3 white shirts paired with a rotation of basic bottoms and versatile shoes will make things a lot easier for you especially if you're starting out in a foreign country where you don't know what is to be worn exactly.

Makeup

Those who have known me are well aware that I'm a retired goth girl and was killing it with the cut crease and James Charles tutorials back in the day. Makeup is something that has seamlessly became part of my life. Unfortunately or fortunately, I grew out of that creative phase and started wondering what actually makes my natural features and face pop. What presents me as healthy, bright, and hyper-feminine (in contrast to the basic clothing)

I came up with the recipe of 'Biology' makeup. Blush because it signifies healthy blood flow and interest in the person you're interacting with. Healthy full eyebrows, non-matte evenly toned skin with naturally bronzed dimensions. A healthy hydrated pink lip. Some extras are a little liner to enhance the eye, flirty lashes from carefully applied mascara and/or lashes and some depth and glitter to draw attention at the eyes.

Very basic, very safe, very attractive, very reliable. This is a routine that can be executed within 8 minutes.

Moisturiser -> sunscreen base -> full coverage foundation or concealer watered down with sunscreen to make it more glowy and allow the natural dimensions of the face to peer through->bronzer/darker powder-> semi heavy blush combined with some loose banana powder to calm down the concelar-> light wing-> lashes-> wipe the lips and eyebrows-> fill both in and end with a natural colour applied to both.

Inspo below

E.T.C

Other important notes:

Yoga, cardio and pilates to maintain mobility, lubricate those joints, crack those bones back into place. Sweat is amazing to get those toxins, lose a bit of unnecessary weight, blow off steam, improve skin health, get your blood pumping and much more.

Save your money, all these things are meant to make life simpler for you so you are in a place where you are investing into things that are truly important like rent, food, tuition, remittances, dental work, medical aid, insurance, etc till you have someone who could assist with that :)

Remember to keep a balanced diet. Oh lord, when I went out to a new country, thank god I was young, but I became close friends with the local McDonald's and knew all of the door dash delivery men by name. Please, for the love of God, buy your fresh food and meal prep. The temptation is so real after a long night, to drop a bunch of pounds or euros on a quarter pounder and some zinger wings but it will not nourish you to survive another active day with decent cognition and drive. Especially if you were living alone and stressing out about making your own path, don't feed the delivery demon. You'll lose useful money, and mess your hormones up.

Instead to reward yourself, buy your place some flowers. If you want to eat go to a restaurant which serves whole food. Buy some new fancy stationery, party, get a spa or cosmetic treatment that you've been wanting, travel or take a train to somewhere scenic! Perhaps I'm too harsh but addiction to quick fixes is real when you first drop into a state of independence whether it's financially or physically. Don't abuse it by splurging. Understand moderation through strict monitoring then after a while, go get that Wingstop or whatever after knowing how to access real food and that it's an affordable and doable option first! (me and my guy friends literally never ate any real food for a month straight while gallivanting in Europe because we were so codependent on Taco Bell and used our lack of knowledge of the city as an excuse to take the easy way out 🤣.)

If you can do something really well, make a mini business out of it.

Network, network, network. Ask questions, ask for opportunities, get numbers and business cards.

Self defense starter kit (Google it according to the laws of your nation)

Lastly, make friends, call family, volunteer at an animal shelter every now and then to remind you of what love is 😂 because in the fast paced assimilation into new environments, you do forget and only notice when suddenly you're sadder than usual, and have anxiety during basic interactions.

⭐️

#lilly rambles #self care #levelup #leveled up mindset #leveling up #hypergamy #hyper feminine #hypergamous #advice #divine femininity #femininity #university #international student #feminine #levelling up #level up

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mj220991 · 21 days

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Finally i finishedddd Cang Lan Dao, this is a masterpiece really. Its been a long time since i cried reading a webnovels. This one i just so so good.

I post the snippet of the scene where the ML just killed the emperor by hand, glad to tell you that later he will have another murderfest in the court. Remind you this happen with only like 5 chapters left 🥲.

Spoiler

Like your typical revenge story. The ML is the only person left in his clan. His family is your usual heroic border generals family, we know what will happen to them. Ofc the other aristocrats hates them, the emperor grow suspicious of them too. Short story, the ML executed his own family with his own sword under the emperor order. And becomes his sword.

Comes our FL, a doctor lived a pampered life but her family fell into political schemes. Ofc she has problems, short story on her way to exiled she exhanged identities with a killer. Then she employed under our ML.

I know the novels is just sooo long, MSB longest novel i think at 195 chapters. But so worth it.

Im tagging another novels guru @mercipourleslivres @dangermousie @aysekira

#Cang Lan Dao #Mo Shu Bai #Cnovels

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comeonladiesitstime2yearn · 1 month

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Teehee following up on my Princess Diaries 2 fountain scene Elucien headcanon I had posted about a while back, I wrote a lil somethin somethin up

This was also inspired by this incredible art work by @sad-scarred-sassy !

You can read it on AO3 as well :)

I Hate How Much I Want You

Summary: Elain is fed up with her distant mate, Lucien Vanserra, and his growing absence from the Night Court. Tensions explode when he arrives for Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony, the first time he has been near her in months. What could happen when a much needed confrontation occurs?

Warnings: Light Angst, cursing, Elain using a fan as a weapon

Elain was seething.

It was the hottest day of the year in the Night Court, which typically had more mild temperatures during the warmer seasons. Elain had been up since before dawn, frantically ensuring all of her carefully planned preparations for Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony that day were in line. She had been planning it for months, happily insisting on taking on the task despite not being required to. She enjoyed feeling like she had a purpose, as the Inner Circle often left her out of most court discussions, and she did not have much interest in training with Nesta and the priestesses at the House of Wind. So she had thrown herself into planning the most elaborate, magical celebration she could with the advantage of using Rhysand’s endless line of credit.

Everything was in place. The main courtyard in the vast gardens of the River House had been flipped into a botanical masterpiece of a setting where her sister and her mate could traditionally accept their bond surrounded by friends. Chairs wreathed in vines and various floral arrangements were carefully placed in the plush grass before a large willow tree. The leaves of the willow tree were swept to the side, gathered in vines, and curtained a slightly raised platform that practically glittered with the sunlight that poked through the tree’s foliage. Magical fae lights floated above the courtyard that would illuminate the area once the sun began to set. There was a designated area for socializing, catered by a restaurant Cassian had mentioned was his favorite in Velaris. Elain had even secured an ensemble of musicians that often performed in Velaris, as Nesta loved their style of music.

Her sister was beyond happy and grateful for the work she did. Everything looked gloriously perfect and many guests had taken the time to compliment her work. She should be happy, proud of her efforts and excited for her sister’s big day. But she was standing at the edge of the courtyard, furiously fanning herself with a lilac fan embroidered with roses that matched her dress, as she watched him across the lawn.

He had not visited Velaris in months. Had not attended Winter Solstice and opted to spend the holiday with his human friends beyond the wall. With Vassa . He was here now, though. She had even known that he arrived the night prior, simply because the shock of the proximity of his mere presence had flooded her every sense.

And now he stood feet away from her, had not acknowledged her once, not even a polite greeting, and was laughing with and standing very close to a female from the Dawn Court. She was gorgeous, long black hair that fell nearly to her waist and gleamed in the sunlight. Her features were sharp, dark up-tilted eyes paired nicely with her golden-brown complexion. She had one hand that appeared to be made of golden metal, though it did not take away from her beauty. Elain watched as Lucien leaned closer to her and whispered something, looking around cautiously. The female’s cheeks flushed, eyes wide, as she let out a surprised laugh and then playfully slapped his chest.

Elain was seeing red. The heat of the day mixing with the heat of her rage and making her insides feel like they were about to boil over. She knew, rationally, that she did not have much grounds to be angry with his neglect toward her. He likely believes that his disregard for her in the past months is what she wanted, given her adamant avoidance of him and his feeble attempts at getting to know her. However, after not only losing her fiance because of him , because of this bond , but also Azriel’s rejection which she found out was enforced because of what he might do, the rage within her had inflamed. Was she the only one ruined for any chance of romance because she was bonded to him? And he could just ignore the bond and live his life, fooling around with human women and any courtier he wishes with no restriction?

If her life, her happiness, was being dictated by her bond to this male, surely he should make more effort? Rather than going on with his life ignoring her as she suffers the consequences.

Sweat was pouring down Elain’s back as she watched the Dawn female lean close to Lucien’s face, brushing a hand over his temple as she peered at his mechanical eye. She was so close, too close, and Lucien’s relaxed demeanor around her was a state she had rarely ever seen him in. He shows up after months of nothing and has the audacity to not only continue to ignore her, but flaunt another female right in front of her?

Elain’s thoughts were interrupted by Feyre’s soft voice, “The hydrangeas look absolutely lovely with- Elain? Are you alright? You’re downright flushed.” She whipped her head toward her younger sister, still rapidly fanning herself as the heat was unbearable. Feyre had a concerned look on her face, eyeing the fan and then flitting her gaze back to Elain’s chest that was rapidly rising and falling.

“I’m… I… I think I just am overheated I-” Elain sensed a new set of eyes on her, burning into her skin. She glanced back at her previous target, finding Lucien had turned away from the female, now watching her tentatively with furrowed brows from across the courtyard. Her eyes locked with his for a brief, scorching moment, and it was all too much.

“Excuse me.” Elain turned on her heel away from her sister, from the prying eyes of her mate, and began swiftly walking down the path that led deeper into the gardens that she knew so well. She didn’t stop to look back once, willing her erratic breathing to get under control as she approached her favorite spot in the garden, the spot that she went to when she needed to think, be alone.

There was an area decked in lavender and sunflowers, a small willow tree overseeing the flowers, and a gurgling fountain with lily pads nestled next to a wooden bench. Elain often came here to read and escape, the sound of the fountain setting her at ease.

With a deep sigh, she plopped down on the bench, closing her eyes as she willed her heartbeat to slow down. Still gripping the fan in her hand, she breathed in through her nose and exhaled slowly out through her mouth. She removed the pearl clip from her hair, freeing the top layers of the locks and ran her fingers through them, smoothing out the tension that had built up.

Her eyes were still closed as she tried to focus on the calming fountain before her, but a strong scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke accompanied by the scuffing of boots on stone interrupted her meditation. Shooting her eyes open, she looked up at Lucien Vanserra before her. Dressed in dark brown trousers that hugged his muscular thighs perfectly, and a loose white shirt with billowing sleeves covered by an evergreen vest, he was the depiction of elegant masculine beauty. His hands were casually placed in his pockets as he inspected the tall bushel of lavender to his side. He met her gaze and held it, standing less than five feet away from her now.

“You have single handedly rivaled the Spring Court’s gardens with what you have achieved here. In the Night Court of all places.” He glanced around them then brought his gaze back to her.

She simply stared at him, slightly hunched over as she sat on the bench. He raised an eyebrow at her, a silent indication that screamed let it out . So she did.

She rose from the bench to stand, still a safe distance from him and though he towered over her she wanted to impose as much dominance as possible. “I don’t know what sort of business you and Rhysand have, but you might as well be a stranger to this court. You have been gone for months . What are you even doing here now?” She had balled her fists at her sides, not entirely sure what exactly she wanted to say to him, just letting the words tumble out.

Lucien removed his hands from his pockets and gestured around him with both hands, “I was invited.” He stated.

Elain exhaled out her nose roughly in annoyance, “Why bother? You clearly are more than happy residing as far away from the Night Court as possible. It is not as if Nesta would have been offended if you chose to forgo the invitation.” She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning back on her heels.

“Forgive me, my lady, but you are sounding far too put off about my distance than the female I knew before. The female that repelled my presence, would refuse to even look at me when I was in the same room as her. I would think you’d be delighted at my absence.” Lucien shot back at her, sending an oily twinge of guilt down her spine. He was right . She was not willing to back down, though.

“Do you understand how many problems you have caused in my life by merely existing? I will forever be defined by this… this thing that binds us! It is as if I have lost free will because I am tied to you. Meanwhile, you are able to go dally with your human queen, or the lot of eligible females in Prythian. Nobody to stop you on my account .” She was exposing too much, but she could not stop her stream of consciousness vocalizing itself in her frustration.

Lucien took a step toward her, his eyebrows knitted together, “Be sure, Elain, I have no intentions to stop you from pursuing what- who you want. Although, it sounds as though you have issues with me spending time with other females? Do you wish for me to sit around for the rest of my days alone hoping for you to come to me? When you have clearly demonstrated your disinterest?” His voice had risen, causing Elain to lean back where she stood a bit, but she straightened her spine and dared a step even closer to him.

“You come here after months of silence, and do not utter even a “hello” to me. This cursed bond is supposed to be sacred to the fae yet you come here and cling to another female right in front of me. Yet I am unable to pursue other males.” To her surprise and displeasure, Lucien’s lips quirked up on one side, just slightly, exposing a deep dimple on his left cheek. His shoulders relaxed as he replied.

“I could be mistaken, but you sound as if you are perhaps a bit jealous, my lady?” His eyes scanned her face before dropping down to her heaving chest, where her blush had spread. He had leaned dangerously close to her, his face now inches from her own as Elain glared at him, her eyes locked on his as he arrogantly smirked down at her.

Elain had never been more flustered in her life. Stamping her foot like a child, she clutched the fan still fisted in her hand and swatted the right side of Lucien’s chest, just below his shoulder. “I loathe you.” She blurted out. Lucien looked down to where she had hit him in shock for just a moment. For a split second, Elain almost considered apologizing for her hideous behavior, but Lucien snatched her wrist in one hand, using his other hand to take the fan from her grip and then to her utter shock he swatted her left shoulder back. Not enough to actually hurt, but the sentiment was clear.

“I loathe you .” He snapped back at her. Elain’s mouth had dropped open, she was scowling at him, seething as she locked eyes with him and burned all of her rage she could conjure into his gaze. They held eye contact, both breathing unevenly, in silence for a few devastatingly long seconds before Elain made the mistake of dropping her gaze just a fraction. To his lips.

His full lips were perfect. Elegantly angled at the corners to make a mischievous smile. His bottom lip was slightly plumper than his top lip, creating an almost pouty resting state, and it looked impossibly soft. Elain could not tear away her eyes from his lips, her thoughts immediately switching to a drastically different place in her subconscious than the rage she was feeling before. She had relaxed her hands, previously balled into tight fists, and felt her shoulders sag. Without realizing it, she had leaned forward enough that the tips of her shoes brushed his own. She stopped for a moment to steady herself, about to regain her control and look back up into his eyes, but a warm, calloused hand slipped behind her neck and pressed her forward.

Her lips found his with ease. She shut her eyes automatically and sighed into the kiss, wrapping her hands around his neck. They moved rhythmically together, their heartbeats synchronizing as she sunk further into him. Lucien’s grip on the back of her neck angled her head so he could deepen the kiss, teasing her bottom lip with his teeth. Elain let out a gasp as his other hand slid down her side, squeezing her waist, and he swept his tongue into her mouth.

She was lost. Could not even remember how this began or why, she was just so relieved to feel him. She wound her hands in his soft, thick hair, scratching his scalp as he let out a rumbling groan into her mouth. His hand kneaded her hip, sending shocks of pleasure through her as she attempted to press herself closer to him.

Slowly, Elain felt her left foot lift off of the ground, raising up as her calf bent at her knee and she leaned more into Lucien to maintain balance as she stood on only her right foot. The only other time this had ever happened, was the first time she kissed Grayson. That thought was enough to break her from her stupor and her eyes shot open wide. “Mmmmh!” She exclaimed into the kiss as she shoved at his shoulders.

Lucien stumbled back, breathing heavily as he looked at her with a playful look in his eyes. Elain scowled at him as she huffed out a sharp breath, “How dare you! You can’t just go around kissing people thinking it will solve problems!” She turned quickly and began walking away from him, every nerve in her body tingling. It was a moment of weakness, she told herself, nothing more.

She heard footsteps follow closely behind her as she approached the babbling fountain, “Why not? It seemed to relax you.” Lucien’s voice held a humorous tone as his hand closed around her upper arm, twirling her around, “Do you want to kiss again?” He smirked down at her, that gods-forsaken dimple appearing once again.

“You’re just trying to confuse me.” She quipped. His eyebrows furrowed in mock-confusion.

“What’s confusing about a kiss? You were enjoying yourself.” His infuriating smirk returned and Elain ripped her arm from his grip.

“It’s just this bond. This bond is making me think I like it, and you know that so you are taking advantage of it!” Elain was shaking, mostly from the ecstasy that she had just experienced, but also from her incessant need to defy these feelings. Lucien chuckled, delicately fixing the strap of her dress that had fallen off her shoulder in their escapade.

“I think you’re scared. You’re scared that possibly, it is not just the bond that draws you to me.” Lucien leaned in so his lips were right next to her ear, eliciting gooseflesh to rise up on her skin. “Do you know why I have not been to the Night Court in months? Because when I am near enough to you, I can see your dreams . Those naughty dreams you have about me, about us. They were fucking torturing me.” He hissed against her neck.

Elain was mortified, trembling with horror at the revelation that he had shared her scandalous dreams of him. The dreams that had her waking in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, impossibly wet between her thighs and moaning in need. For him.

Shoving her embarrassment aside, she stepped back from him, the back of her knees knocking into the side of the fountain’s pond and she almost slipped. Lucien shot out an arm to steady her, and in her stubborn haste to swat him away she lost her footing and gripped the sleeve of his shirt as she tumbled into the fountain, dragging him in with her.

She flailed beneath the surface of the surprisingly deep pond of the fountain before breaking out of the water and sucking in a mouthful of air. A lilypad covered her head and she snatched it off, tossing it back into the water. She heard Lucien resurface just beside her, refusing to look at him. Lucien was silent for a beat as he shook out his hair, then began laughing . Elain looked down at her drenched lilac gown, plastered to her skin and basically translucent now. She practically growled as Lucien continued to snicker beside her.

As she began to wade her way to the edge of the fountain pond Elain shot at him, “I have an idea, why don’t you go back underwater, and I’ll count to a million.” Lucien stopped laughing and began scrambling through the water to get to her.

“Elain, wait. Just hold on a second-” She had already exited the fountain and was pressing with determination towards the courtyard. Nesta’s ceremony was to begin any minute and she would not miss it to go change her ruined clothing.

When she reached the courtyard, discreetly taking her seat in the front row next to Feyre, she smoothed out her soaked dress and tucked her wet hair behind her ears. She felt Feyre’s incredulous stare from beside her but refused to acknowledge it. “Do not. Ask.” She spoke firmly as she stared straight ahead right before the musicians began playing the song Nesta would descend to the altar to.

The ceremony was beautiful, just as she had intended, and Nesta and Cassian had their hands bound together in black ribbon, signifying the tether of their mating bond. Elain’s thoughts were swirling, staring at that symbolic ribbon, at the adoration in her older sister and her mate’s eyes as they officiated their bond. Her heart clenched almost painfully, and she clasped her hands together in her lap in an attempt to ground herself.

Hesitantly, she turned her head towards the row to the left of her, where she knew he would be seated. There he sat, equally as disheveled and drenched as her, sharing the state of her ridiculousness, and he was already staring right back at her.

As the music accompanying the ceremony reached its crescendo, she held her stare with Lucien once again, his eyes firm and intense as he stared back at her. She found that she dreaded him possibly leaving the Night Court tomorrow, not to be heard from for months, or who knows how long. Though she was fighting it with all she could, she wanted him to stay .

Slowly, Elain held his gaze as she hesitantly offered him a slight smile, a silent indication of how she truly felt. Lucien returned it, his russet eye sparking with some understanding between the two.

#acotar #acotar fanfic #elucien #pro elucien

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imzadi-caskett-huddy · 5 months

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It Started With a Kiss (5/?)

Thanks to everyone for reading and for the comments on the last chapter! I told you guys to give it time and Josh would go away, lol. I’m so glad you are all enjoying this so far!

This chapter is based around the episode “One Life To Lose,” which aired on March 21, so for timeline purposes, we’ll say it’s been about 3 weeks since the events of the last chapter and Beckett ended things with Josh. This chapter picks up at the end of that episode, where Castle gives her the photo and goes from there.

Just a reminder, the story follows along with the course of the show…the only different aspects are the added or reworked scenes that I write.

I still don’t own Castle.

xxxxx

Beckett had never been so happy to have an interesting case in her life as she’d been when she got this one. A murder on a soap opera. It was right up Castle’s alley. She couldn’t help but feel like he was pulling away from her. She’d wanted to tell him that she had ended things with Josh, but she hadn’t had the chance yet. She’d barely seen or heard from him since the dirty bomb case. He’d stopped by the precinct a few times, but when he’d realized it was a paperwork day, he hadn’t stayed around long. Then there had been last week when she was prepping a case for court with an ADA, so she hadn’t really been available. And telling him about Josh wasn’t something she wanted to do via text message.

But during this case, he’d seemed like his old self. They’d seemed like them again. They had bantered, built theory…it didn’t feel like he was pulling away from her at all, and so Kate thought maybe she’d just been imagining things. He had even agreed to join the boys and her at The Old Haunt for drinks after she finished up the paperwork on the case.

She looked up from her paperwork when she felt his eyes on her and found him standing in front of her desk with a manila envelope. “What?”

“I got you a present,” he offered her the envelope with a smile as he sat in the chair next to her desk.

She took the envelope and couldn’t hide the small smile as she opened it and pulled out a signed cast photo from Temptation Lane. “How did you even get this?” she asked.

“I know people who know people,” he shrugged.

After studying him for a moment, Beckett shook her head, the look on her face saying she had given into his antics to tell her why she was a fan of the show. She watched as he leaned on her desk and cupped his chin in his hand, giving her his full attention. “Okay. I was 9 and I had to get

my tonsils taken out and I was miserable. And so, my mom took time off of work and stayed with me and cuddled up in front of the TV on the couch and we would watch episodes of Temptation Lane. So, every time I see it now, it just…it makes me feel like home and safe. So, there you go. Judge away.”

Castle listened patiently and offered her a smile. "My DVR would make yours look like Masterpiece Theater. But I am glad to know this about you.”

She offered him a smile, her eyes meeting his for what felt like the first time in weeks. “Castle, thank you for the photo.”

“You’re welcome.”

She tugged her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before deciding to continue. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner after drinks at The Old Haunt?” she asked softly.

He inhaled deeply and put a smile on his face for her benefit. “Actually, I think I’m just going to make it an early night,” he declined her offer. He would love to have dinner with her…but he’d asked her to pick him only to watch her ride off into the sunset to Motorcycle Boy. It had been 3 weeks; she hadn’t said anything to him about it, so he assumed she really had chosen to stay with Josh. Continuing to work with her as friends was one thing, but he couldn’t put himself through the torture of seeing her outside the precinct.

The feeling that he was pulling away from her suddenly returned with a vengeance. “Some other time, then,” she said quietly, doing her best not to let her disappointment show.

“Yeah, maybe,” he continued to force his smile.

“I’ll see you with the boys at The Old Haunt. I just have about ten minutes of paperwork left, and I’ll be right behind you,” it was her turn to force a smile now.

“Sure,” he nodded, heading for the elevator.

The fake smile on her lips faded as he disappeared into the elevator. It wasn’t even half an hour later when she entered The Old Haunt and frowned when she saw the boys, but no Castle. “Hey, this Castle’s seat?” she gestured to the empty barstool next to Espo.

“Nah, he actually just left,” Espo shook his head.

“Yeah, he said something about making it an early night. But, drinks are on him tonight,” Ryan grinned, taking a drink of his beer.

She forced a smile as she took his abandoned bar stool and ordered herself a shot of Vodka along with a Vodka martini, downing the straight shot quickly while she waited for her other drink. Tonight beer just wasn’t going to cut it.

xxxxx

“Alright, Kate, spill. I was gonna give you until after your first glass to open up about whatever is going on, but you’re just staring into it like it’s got the answer to the secret of life,” Lanie said to her friend a couple of evenings later as she sat across from Kate at her kitchen counter, a bottle of red wine between them.

Kate looked up and took a big drink of her wine. “I think I messed up.”

“With Josh?” Lanie asked, her voice softening. She knew Kate had ended things with the doctor a couple of weeks ago, but she had sworn she was fine. Maybe it was finally hitting her.

“With Castle,” Kate shook her head.

“So tonight isn’t about Josh…the boyfriend of over 6 months that you recently broke up with; it’s about Writer Boy?” Seeing Kate nod, Lanie took another drink of her wine murmuring, “I don’t know if I brought enough wine for that...” Seeing her friend’s look, Lanie put her glass back on the counter. “So you’re not upset about Josh?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m upset that I hurt him, sure. But I’m not upset that I ended things. It wasn’t fair to him anymore, Lanie. We weren’t going anywhere...at least not where we should have been considering how long we were together. His heart was in his work…asking him to stay here wasn’t fair, not when…”

“Not when you realized you have feelings for Castle,” Lanie finished for her.

Kate gave her friend a knowing look before draining her wine glass and then putting her face in her hands for a moment. “Castle kissed me…I kissed him…we mutually kissed…” she tried to explain, rubbing her face and propping her forearms on the counter.

“What? When?” Lanie was shocked by this news.

“Which time?”

Lanie’s eyes just about popped out of her head. “Which time?! Girl, how many times have you and Writer Boy locked lips?”

Groaning, Kate held up 3 fingers as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “He told me he’s in love with me.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this? You need to give me details.”

“Which time?” Kate asked again.

“Which…girl, if you don’t stop saying ‘Which time?’ and just start giving me all the details, I’ma smack you,” Lanie warned her. Clearly something had been going on for awhile, and Kate hadn’t bothered to keep her best friend in the loop.

She sighed and poured them both some more wine, finishing off the bottle. “You remember the Lockwood case, when Ryan and Espo were taken?”

“Kate, that was two months ago…” Lanie realized. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I guess I thought I had everything under control.”

“Honey…I know you’re this badass detective, and you’ve got this whole Miss Independent thing going for you. But certain situations call for a girl's night with your best friend. Keeping all this bottled up inside is why you’re going to end up with an ulcer,” she told her friend sympathetically. “Now start at the beginning, and don’t leave out any details.”

That was exactly what Kate did. She started with the kiss during the Lockwood case that was supposed to be a ruse to fool the security guard, how later that night Castle had confessed he loved her and kissed her; continued with the undercover date at the nightclub and how Castle had wanted to start a scholarship to honor her mother's memory; how she and Castle had spent Valentine's Day together when he needed cheering up and Josh was stuck at the hospital, and how she had kissed him that night; how Castle had once again told her he loved her and asked her to pick him over Josh during the dirty bomb case; finished with Castle’s behavior from just a couple of days ago when he’d turned down her dinner invitation where she had been planning to tell him she’d ended things with Josh and how he’d left The Old Haunt early, probably to avoid spending anymore time with her.

“Damn, Kate. Can you really blame him though? The man actually said the words, ‘Pick me, choose me, love me,’ and then watched you walk away with the tall, dark, and handsome doctor you’d been dating for half a year! No wonder he didn’t want to go to dinner with you. He thinks you chose Josh over him! Castle is a lot of things, but he isn't a masochist.”

“But I didn’t!” Kate insisted.

“But he doesn’t know that. You never told him.”

“That’s why I invited him to dinner a couple of days ago…so that I could tell him,” she explained.

“Why didn’t you tell him right after you ended it with Josh?” Lanie pointed out.

“Because…” Kate trailed off with a shrug.

“Because why?”

She was quiet for a few moments. “Because I wasn’t ready to just jump into a relationship with Castle.”

“And you’re ready now?” Lanie arched an eyebrow.

Taking a deep breath, Kate sighed. “I…don’t know.”

Lanie gave her friend a sympathetic smile. “Honey…you have to talk to him. Even if you’re not ready to be in a relationship with him yet, you need to put the poor guy out of his misery. You have to at least tell him you ended things with Josh. You owe him that,” she told her softly.

“How am I supposed to do that, Lanie? It’s not like I can just reveal that bit of news while we’re standing over a dead body at a crime scene like it’s no big deal.”

“You have his phone number. Text him. Call him. Hell, show up at his front door. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but you need to tell that man if you want any chance at a relationship with him in the future. Or do I need to remind you what happened last May when you didn’t speak up soon enough and he moved on with his ex-wife?” Lanie asked pointedly.

“No…no.” Kate drained the rest of the wine in her glass as Lanie brought up the catastrophe that was her attempt at maybe starting something with Castle months ago. That was the linchpin event that started this whole disaster of a mess she was in right now.

“You know…the way you felt watching him walk away with his leggy, blonde ex-wife is exactly the way he felt watching you get on that elevator with Josh,” Lanie pointed out.

“If he hadn’t walked away with his leggy, blonde ex-wife, Josh wouldn't have been in the picture,” Kate countered as she buried her face in her hands. But Lanie was right; she knew it. She knew how heartbroken Castle was because that’s how heartbroken she had been for the entire summer. And Josh had been her rebound…a rebound that had gotten a little out of hand, but a rebound, nonetheless.

Lanie chuckled at her friend’s snarkiness; that had to be the wine talking, and although her friend was nowhere near drunk, the wine had obviously dulled her filter. “Maybe, but that’s no reason to let Castle be as miserable as you were. Not if you really care about him.”

“You’re right,” Kate sighed. “I have to tell him. But…not tonight.”

“Why not tonight? No time like the present,” Lanie shook her head with a smile.

“Because I’ve had too much wine to trust my judgment around him tonight. Because the last time I was around him after only half this much wine, I would have ended up in his bed if Alexis hadn’t come home when she did.”

Oh yeah, Kate’s filter was definitely dulled. No way would she have admitted that piece of information without the wine. “I don’t think that was the wine,” Lanie smirked. Seeing her friend’s look, she laughed. “Kate, come on. You are head over heels for the guy…you have been attracted to him since you started working together.”

“I have not! I hated him in the beginning,” she insisted.

“I didn’t say you liked him, I said you were attracted to him. I’m still surprised you didn’t jump that man within the first couple of months with the way you two went at it sometimes,” she shook her head.

“Lanie…”

“My point is, you two have always had chemistry. Now you have feelings for each other. I don’t think the wine is what is going to push you into his bed,” she smirked. “And so what if you sleep together? Pretty sure the sex would be phenomenal. And it’s not like you both couldn’t use the release.”

Kate’s head dropped to where her arms were resting on the table. “Lanie…you are not helping!”

“Girl, I’m just giving you the facts as they are. Fact 1– you need to talk to Writer Boy. What you do to him or with him after that is up to you. Fact 2– having sex with the man wouldn’t be the end of the world. You’re both miserable right now; sex would go a long way to improve that for both of you.”

“Or make it worse,” she countered. “It would change everything between us. If we’re not on the same page…”

“Kate. The man told you he loves you…twice. He asked you to pick him over another guy. Those are not the actions of a man who has any intention of walking away from you if you give him the option to be with you. And from what you’ve said, you don’t have any intention of walking away from him. So what are you scared of?”

“What if it doesn’t work? What if I lose him?”

“What if it works out? You could be happy…really happy, Kate. Don’t you want that?”

“Sure, we could be happy for a while. But for how long? He’s a best-selling author…a freaking millionaire. He can do anything he wants, be with anyone he wants. I’m not an actress or a model…I’m just a regular cop with a lot of emotional baggage. Eventually, he’ll realize he’s bored, or he’ll get tired of dealing with someone who is closed off and broken, or I'll do something to push him away, and I’ll lose him. And that will destroy me.”

“Kate…” Lanie started softly, reaching for her friend’s hand. “If you don’t even try, you’ll eventually lose him anyway. Because at some point, one or both of you will move on, and it will hurt too much to see the other with someone else. You’ll repeat this same process until one of you can’t take it anymore and walks away,” she countered. “Look, I’m not telling you it will work out between the two of you. No one can. Love doesn’t come with a guarantee. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The man created a character, an entire book series based on you…it’s obvious to anyone who has read Nikki Heat that he’s crazy about you. Just…think about it, ok?” she offered a smile. “You owe it to yourself to be happy. And he could make you happy.”

Kate rubbed her hands over her face, digesting her friend’s words. She finally sighed. “I’m obviously going to tell him about Josh. But I don’t know that I’m ready to risk my heart. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to.”

xxxxx

I know…what a way to end the chapter, right? I hope you guys enjoyed this one, and I look forward to any comments you all may have on it!

#castle #caskett #kate beckett #richard castle #castle fanfiction

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