#now all i need is an invite to the grandest game

[clarissaweasley-10]

"Grayson Hawthorne is too good to be a human being"- well he's a rat sooo

[yinyuedijun]

ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

[midwestmade29]

Choose Me (Part 3)

Christmas writing prompt: #20 (A couple broken up get invited to a Christmas party) Word Count: 1,023 Divider by: @benkeibear Be sure to check out @madhatterbri's [full list] of Christmas/New Year writing prompts!

Lots of dialogue in part 3 😮‍💨 and still dripping with lots of angst!

I think I’m gonna have to give @madhatterbri her angst crown back after writing this story. Not my strong suit, but always good to switch things up from time to time.

Only disclaimers I would say part 3 has is manipulation and some cursing 😬

Every story has an ending...but will yours be happy?

“Aww, you look upset. What’s wrong sunshine?” Shayna asked with smug smile on her face. “Please move.” You said sternly, but she didn’t budge. “What do you want Shayna? Isn’t there someone else around here you can torment? Maybe some new executive’s ass you can kiss?” Shayna only laughed at your sarcasm which made your blood start to boil. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous! You only wish you could do what I do. Afterall, I do have the grandest prize of all in my bed at night while you’re all alone in yours. Poor thing, it must be so sad knowing Christian chose me over you!” She said, faking a pouty face. Her words cut straight to your core making you want to run and hide like you have the last few months, but you knew you couldn’t waiver. “Look, I really don’t have anything else to say to you other than you won. You won Shayna! Christian is yours! If he wants you to suck the life out of him again like a God damn vampire, then so be it. He saw right through your bullshit before, so one can only hope he will again. Just tell me one thing. Why? Why would you meddle with Christian and I and tear us a part?” As soon as you asked the infamous question, you regretted it because you weren’t sure if you were truly ready to hear the answer.

“Oh honey, isn’t it obvious? I’m a grown woman and you’re just a little girl! Why in the world would someone like Christian ever stay with someone like you? You can’t give him what he needs! Don’t get me wrong, I applaud you for catching his attention for a little while, but now he’s where he belongs and that’s in-between my legs.” Shayna said victoriously. “You stole him from me, so I simply took back what’s mine. An eye for an eye if you will.” Your jaw dropped at her confession and your stomach started to turn at the thought of Christian being intimate with her. Your head felt like it was spinning as you tried to process everything. You felt like crying and screaming at the same time the more her words sank in, but you had to say your peace. “Sounds to me you’re not as grown as you say you are playing these types of childish games. My life is not a game and Christian is not a prize to be won! We are more than pawns in your sick game. Shame on you!” Fury burned in Shayna’s eyes the more you went on. “You just couldn’t stand that he finally got the courage to leave your toxic ass in the first place! So please, cut the shit and move out of my way.”

Without another word, you walked right past her, feeling 10 pounds lighter having unloaded the thoughts and feelings you had built up inside of you for so long. Your strappy heels clacked on the marble stairs as you walked down them, the sound echoing off the walls. Once you reached the bottom step, you heard someone rushing down them not too far behind you. “Y/N! Wait!” Christian called out, but you kept walking and didn’t look back. He eventually caught up with you and tried to stop you when he grabbed hold of your wrist. “Don’t!” you shouted as you pulled your wrist free from Christian’s grasp. “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave like this. I didn’t mean to ruin your night or to upset you. I wasn’t even sure you were here until I heard someone call your name earlier. Once I saw you, I couldn’t stay away. I had to talk to you.” He confessed. After exchanging words with Shayna, you felt numb, so Christian’s words fell upon deaf ears. When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “When Kris finally stopped chewing me out, I saw you say something to Shayna before walking away. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Feeling exasperated over everything, every thought and feeling you had left spilled from your lips. “You wanted to make sure I was okay? What about Shayna? Shouldn’t you be checking on your girlfriend instead?” He tried to interject, but you stopped him and continued. “You made your choice Christian. I’m not going to beg you to change your mind and choose me instead. If you’re willing to give up everything we had together, then I have to make a choice too. I have to let you go.” Something you said must’ve hit a nerve because he showed his true colors when his next words were coated with condescension. “You have to let me go?” he scoffed. “I did what I had to for my career! I’m all everyone talks about, and Shayna adds to that. I can’t give up that kind of clout! Being with her makes sense for business and that’s what fills my bank account.” In the matter of a few seconds, your entire world caved in once again. All this time you thought you knew Christian, but you were sadly mistaken. You had fallen in love with an imposter and someone who clearly loved fortune and fame more than they loved you.

You pulled yourself out of the stupor you were in, doing your best to hold back the tears that threatened to flow when you replied to Christian. “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re willing to sacrifice true happiness and love for money and notability? It’s evident now more than ever that you are lost. So lost. I hope somewhere down the road you’re able to find your way again Christian. You and Shayna are a match made in hell and the two of you deserve each other!” Without a second glance, you turned and walked away, leaving Christian standing alone in the vestibule just like he left you the night he broke your heart in your apartment. He didn’t even try to say anything further, he could only stand and watch as the best damn thing to ever happen to him walked right out the door.

Phew, glad that’s over 🤣 Now, time to write some smut & fluff!

[starseedfxofficial]

The Ninja Trader's Guide to Mastering the Hull Moving Average and Falling Wedge The Not-So-Obvious Edge When it comes to Forex trading, we all want that edge—the kind that feels like having an unfair advantage (but totally legal, don't worry). Today, I’m going to introduce you to two underrated gems that most traders completely overlook: the Hull Moving Average (HMA) and the Falling Wedge pattern. These two are like peanut butter and jelly in a Forex sandwich, only way less messy and infinitely more profitable. Let's just say, this combo is far better than accidentally buying that extra pair of flashy shoes on sale that you never actually wear. But here's where the real magic happens: not just understanding these tools, but using them in tandem. Let me show you how the Hull Moving Average and the Falling Wedge can turn your trading mistakes into "plot twist" moments—the good kind, not the sitcom disaster kind. Hull Moving Average: A Trend-Smoothing Hero Let's be honest—most traders have a love-hate relationship with moving averages. They love them when the trend looks smooth and hate them when the lag makes you feel like you're always two steps behind. This is where the Hull Moving Average (HMA) swoops in like a superhero in a cape. Developed by Alan Hull, this advanced variation reduces the delay you experience with typical moving averages while maintaining a smooth reading of the trend. Imagine you're running down a hill, and the slope allows you to gracefully glide down without losing your footing. That's what the HMA does for your trades—it provides a smoother descent or climb while showing you the direction with greater precision. Here's why the HMA is different: - Speed and Precision: It’s calculated using weighted moving averages in such a way that the lag is drastically minimized. Think of it as the difference between riding a bicycle versus flying down that same hill on a mountain bike—it’s faster, way more exhilarating, and gives you a better reading of the terrain. - Trend Identification: When the HMA points up, the price is on a nice uphill ride—when it points down, it's time to consider coming down the slope. The real magic is how this average responds much faster than the typical moving average, helping you sidestep whiplash from false breakouts. Now, add a pinch of personality—imagine your trades are racing Ferraris instead of minivans. But…what if I told you the Falling Wedge pattern is the perfect pit stop for these speeding Ferraris? The Falling Wedge: Your VIP Ticket to Reversals Ah, the Falling Wedge. If patterns were invited to a party, the Falling Wedge would show up late but make the grandest entrance. Why? Because it’s a reversal signal hiding in plain sight, ready to launch your trades at the moment everyone's least expecting. For those of you who may have been burnt by unreliable breakouts, the Falling Wedge is like that rare dependable friend who actually comes through—no excuses, no ghosting. Here's what makes it a game changer: - What Is It?: The Falling Wedge is a bullish reversal pattern that forms during a downtrend. Picture the market behaving like a spring—getting compressed tighter and tighter. The moment it can’t compress anymore, it explodes upward, giving you the reversal you've been anticipating. - Structure: It’s formed by two converging trendlines sloping down. These trendlines reflect a loss of bearish momentum. The key? Volume—it’s typically declining as the wedge forms and then spikes once the breakout happens. Now, here’s a little insider secret: The Falling Wedge is most effective when paired with the HMA. The Hull Moving Average helps confirm when the price is ready to change directions. Imagine knowing exactly when the Ferrari needs to leave the pit stop—timing is everything, and that's exactly what this combo can help you master. Why Most Traders Get It Wrong (And How You Can Avoid It) Most traders take one look at these tools and think they’ve got it all figured out. Spoiler alert: they don’t. They rush in, using the HMA without understanding how to adjust its settings or recognizing a true Falling Wedge. So let’s uncover some truths: - Not All Hull Moving Averages Are Created Equal: Don’t just use the default settings! Fine-tune your HMA to a period that matches the pair you’re trading and your timeframe. A 21-period HMA can be golden on a 4-hour chart, whereas a 9-period might work wonders on a 1-hour. Customization is key—think of it like getting a tailored suit instead of grabbing whatever's on the clearance rack. - Spotting the Falling Wedge Like a Pro: If you want to be a true trading ninja, you need to get picky. Not every wedge is worth your time—look for declining volume while the wedge forms. The breakout is often more explosive than a bad reality show reunion when the volume finally kicks in. The Hidden Patterns That Drive the Market Remember when we talked about the Hull Moving Average being a superhero? Well, here’s another layer—pairing the HMA with other indicators, like RSI, can help you confirm overbought and oversold conditions before a Falling Wedge breakout. Here’s a step-by-step way to use this strategy: - Spot the Falling Wedge: Identify a downtrend where the price action forms a narrowing pattern, creating a wedge that is clearly moving downward. - HMA Confirmation: Apply an HMA with a period that matches your trading strategy. The moment the HMA starts to flatten out or turn upwards while the wedge forms, it's a great indication that momentum is shifting. - RSI as a Third Wheel: Add the RSI to your chart. If the RSI is below 30 and the price is nearing the end of a Falling Wedge, this is your green flag for a potential bullish reversal. It’s like that moment in a movie when all signs point to an epic comeback. Emerging Trends: How AI Is Changing the Game Now, let me blow your mind. Imagine applying Artificial Intelligence to analyze these patterns. AI-driven tools can now spot formations like the Falling Wedge even before they complete, giving you a lead time that’s almost unfair. AI is like that friend who knows exactly when to order pizza before you even get hungry. At StarseedFX, we’re diving deep into leveraging AI for pattern recognition and trend analysis. You can learn more about it here. Why the Hull Moving Average and Falling Wedge Are a Match Made in Trading Heaven The beauty of combining these two tools lies in their unique strengths: - The HMA provides an early trend change alert, minimizing the delay. - The Falling Wedge gives a reliable breakout opportunity in a downtrend. Pairing them means that you’re not just reacting to the market—you’re anticipating it. You’re seeing the roadmap while other traders are still asking for directions. The One Simple Trick That Can Change Your Trading Mindset Here’s the truth: Trading is about patience and precise execution. Most traders fail because they panic, chase trends, or forget to breathe when things get heated. My advice? Trust the setup. Trust your HMA and your Falling Wedge identification, and always double-check volume. In fact, think of the HMA and Falling Wedge as your own personal GPS. You wouldn’t suddenly turn right just because someone on the radio suggested it—you’d follow the carefully mapped-out route. Real-Life Case Study: How James Nailed It Take James, a trader from our StarseedFX community. He had been struggling to find consistency until he applied the HMA to his wedge setups. In late 2022, James spotted a Falling Wedge forming on the GBP/USD 4-hour chart. The volume was dropping, and the HMA had just started to tilt upward. He took the plunge. The pair broke out bullishly, and James cashed in a sweet 150-pip move. This wasn’t luck—it was precision backed by the Hull Moving Average and a proper Falling Wedge setup. If you want to become a part of our community and access daily tips and analysis, check us out here. Elite Tactics and Summary Let’s boil down what you’ve learned into actionable steps: - Hull Moving Average is your smoother, less laggy trend buddy. - The Falling Wedge is your best bet for catching a reversal during a downtrend. - Use RSI or volume to confirm the legitimacy of a setup. - Be patient and trust the combo—it’s more reliable than impulse trades. 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[dreamkidddream]

So my birthday is on April Fools, (how deserving 🤪) and I decided to be self indulgent again and write something! These are short and reader is gender neutral!

WARNING: Lesson 16 spoilers in Beel and Belphie’s part (nothing too heavy but read their sections at your own risks)

The Brothers Celebrating your Birthday!

Lucifer

Expect the most grandest/high class celebration you’ve ever seen MC!

As much as he’s not a morning demon, he’s got a noticeable pep in his step this morning because it’s your special day

Expect him to be one of the first people to text you at midnight because he’s still up doing paperwork

But don’t worry, he won’t be doing any work when it’s time to celebrate

Little messages throughout the day, hinting at something big to come along with small gifts (atleast to him) such as: new outfits, lunch at Ristorante Six with him, basically stuff that he pleases you both and that he would love to see you in (not that he would ever tell you)

Expect his gifts to be high quality too (ie. very expensive)

You expected a huge party, but you didn’t expect him to get so sentimental

After everything ended, you ended up in his room, with him just holding you in his lap, unconsciously caressing you with his mind deep in thought

The impact that you made on his brothers- the impact that you made just on him- it’s far bigger than you could imagine. And that scares him

He’s gotten so close to you that he forgot that you can’t stay here forever, both in the Devildom and mortality. What would he do when you have to leave his brothers? When you have to leave him? It makes his chest pang with pain every time the thought crosses his mind, but he refuses to let it ruin the moments he does get to spend with you

You’ll never know how grateful he is for deep down, and he never wants to lose you. Who would have thought that the mighty firstborn would fall so deep for a mere human?

Mammon

ITS PARTY TIME

Get ready to have the best birthday ever with no one other than the Great Mammon!

Tries to be the first one to tell you, fell asleep and immediately felt bad

Celebrates your birthday like a national holiday but is still somehow tsundere about it. He’s only being like this because you don’t know how to party, and he doesn’t want to hear you complain later, got it?!

Has his crows bring you small gifts leading up to the big party. Bracelets, candy, mini love letters that he swore that he threw away...

Definitely snuck off during your party, because he wanted to hand you his gift personally (and he didn’t want to hear his brothers say anything about it). Prays (how ironic) that you don’t hate it, tears up when you say that you love it

Definitely got some kisses as thanks and can expect some more later

He just really appreciates and loves you okay? You’re important to him, and today’s the day that you were brought into the world, the reason that he’s able to look forward to something everyday. You’ve made a change in everyone’s lives, even that grouch Lucifer, and he has to say thanks somehow

Plus, you’re important to him- so he does see this as a special day regardless of what comes out of his mouth. He still gets embarrassed about being emotional, but he makes sure that you know that he loves you

He always will

Leviathan

It’s just another day normie, nothing special...

Hey quit trying to figure out what he’s hiding behind his back! He doesn’t have anything okay?! It’s nothing! And ignore that he called you, he just butt dialed you and didn’t expect you to answer! And he just decided to say happy birthday because everyone else was, not because he actually cares!

He is so stumped on how he’s going to celebrate your birthday, he hasn’t stressed about something non-otaku like this in decades. He’s so anxious that he’ll ruin your big day. What if he gets you something and you hate it and then hate him?!!

This day is making him more nervous than it should, but he can’t help it! You’re his best friend, a person that he can confidently say that he’s fortunate enough to know and that he loves-

OKAY he can’t exactly say it out loud yet without turning 50 shades of red, but he really does. He just needs a way to show it

Believe it or not, he was too excited to wait to tell you his gift after the party, so he told you after he said happy birthday. Free range to his manga collection??? What could be better than that?! The perfect gift if you asked him

Plus he rather you be holed up with him in his room than being anywhere else. That’s how it should be: just his Henry, his anime/manga/game collection, and Henry 2.0

It’s the least that he can do for how much you’ve been there for him, and even though he still has a hard time saying how he really feels, he hopes that this atleast gives you a glimpse into his true feelings

Ugh this feels like he’s a love interest in an otome game or something...

Satan

Honestly is the chillest of them all

Don’t get me wrong he’s super excited like everyone else, but he has a very detailed itinerary that you both need to follow for today, starting with breakfast.

Get down here before Beel eats your breakfast!

He made it with all of your favorite activities and places, along with things that he just knew you’ll love (and him too, but seeing you smiling is more than enough to make him content). He put a lot of effort into this whole day, especially with your gift

He put thought into it (no surprise there), he didn’t want to give you just anything and he has to one-up Lucifer and he needed to give you something to show you how much of a change you’ve been in his life. How much you influenced him to make better choices when it comes to channeling his anger and rage

He got you a magic photo album last year, and the way that you reacted to that (which was obviously positive), the pressure is on this year to impress you even more

Which he ended up doing! But he won’t lie, he was just a tad bit nervous in disappointing you, but everything worked out well, so you didn’t need to know!

Although, he did feel a bit shy in handing you his gift, he felt relieved in seeing you accept it so quickly

Also invited you to read any of his books, and even offered to teach you some spells, both safe and simple enough to where it won’t cause any real damage to anyone. Might teach you a spell to spite Lucifer to make the LYS club proud

You don’t know how much you mean to his brothers, how much you mean to him. You’ve made a bigger impact that you think, and while he knows that nothing he does will ever show you how eternally thankful he is for your presence, he at least wants to show you a sliver of his appreciation. What better way than the day you came into the world?

Also expect him to try and fluster you the whole day. You’re too cute for him to leave you alone, and your reactions are better than that brand new cat cafe

Actually he might have to test that theory, and the only way to do that is if you both visit the cafe. Either way he’s not complaining! Cats and you? A match to die for

Asmodeus

You’re the only reason he’ll interrupt his beauty sleep

Wants bragging rights to say that he told you happy birthday first

Today is a big day after all! It’s the day that you came into the world, and that you’re able to even be down here with him- I mean them!

Will be your designated fashion designer. All your outfits already have to not only be on point, but they have to be iconic. No exceptions! Doesn’t matter if you’re just going to Purgatory Hall, you’re going there in style!

Gifts are in style too! He got you stuff that you would absolutely fall in love with. He’s not that self centered, give him some credit MC!

After the big celebration with everyone, of course you’re going out to The Fall! He has to show you off of course, it would be a crime if he didn’t

But once everything is over and you guys are home, he takes his time in doing his nightly routine on you both. Honestly just basking in your glow and just enjoying you. No sharing, no interruptions, just you and him

He catches himself thinking that there’s no way he can love someone more than he can love himself, it’s impossible, it has to be

But he loves you so much that he’s starting to doubt that theory

But would that really be a problem?

Beelzebub

He’s so excited! And he takes today VERY seriously

He’s gonna make sure you eat SO GOOD today that Lord Diavolo would be jealous

As soon as you get up you guys are hitting every restaurant and I mean EVERY

You’re getting the best of the best because you deserve the best

And as a gift he got you so much food that you’ll probably have enough to last you both for the rest of the year...if he doesn’t eat it all

He knows that food is his thing, but he got you so much because he knows that it makes him happy, and he wants you to feel the same way. It makes him feel all warm inside, and when you’re with him it’s like he’s eating all of his favorites at once, but even better

And you guys eating food together?? It makes him feel like he’s back in the Celestial Realm again

But I feel like with Beel, another way he shows love is through acts of service and quality time. For him, even if you guys are doing absolutely nothing, he’s 100% in bliss

So his gift to you was in the way of snacks to share and having him at your mercy (not that you would ever take advantage of him like that). Also promising to take you wherever you want, it’s your day!

You see past his sin, and enjoy Beel for Beel. You don’t just see him as Gluttony, you helped bring his twin back to him, you even sleep and listen to him after his nightmares of Lilith. It’s only right to show gratitude for all that you’ve done on your birthday

And all of his brothers love you, especially him. You’re basically family at this point, and no takebacks either

Just don’t leave him MC, you’ve became a big part of his life now, and he honestly would be very sad without you

Belphegor

There’s no way that this sleepy king can stay up until midnight so you’ll get your happy birthday when he sees you in the morning (if he’s up)

No but fr in the game he DOES NOT CALL YOU OR EVEN TEXT!!! LIKE I STAYED UP THINKING HE FELL ASLEEP AND HE JUST STRAIGHT UP- okay sorry back to the headcannons 😭

He’s very optimistic on the inside trust me, he just doesn’t show it very well on the outside, but he’s trying!

He can’t help it that he’s sleepy but...you put some energy back into him, and he is ecstatic about celebrating with you, he just has a hard time showing it

His brothers were a little peeved about his nonchalant attitude AND not getting you a gift, but Beel already knows what his twin is doing, he just didn’t want anyone else to know because he wanted everything to be perfect

After the party, he snuck you away to the planetarium, which is designated as your sacred spot. This was nothing new, but you still laid in awe cuddled with Belphie looking up at the sky

But tonight was different, as the stars up above spelled out...your name? And did that star basically let out miniature fireworks? And are those stars over there shaped as a cow and mooing?

Seeing your eyes light up meant that it was worth it to skip out on some of his naps to talk to Solomon and practice out some new spells (but you won’t ever know that)

Belphie really cares about you. Really cares about you. No matter how much he may be sarcastic or act like things aren’t a big deal, they are to him, especially when it comes to you. After the ill-fated events in the attic, he would have not been surprised if you hated him and want nothing to do with him ever again; it was his fault after all, he couldn’t be upset with you. But you were willing to forgive him, and start over

MC, you will never know how much indebted he is to you. You’re the reason that he’s out of the attic and reconnected with his twins again, the reason that he’s apart of the family and not separated. Yes, he still has some issues that he may need to work on for himself, but he’s able to take the right step because of you

He doesn’t really have a choice in celebrating your birthday (at least to him but he’s gonna celebrate either way), because without you, he doesn’t know where he would end up at, he would be lost. He owes you enough to see you safe and happy, and he swears that he will keep you that way. A happy and safe MC means a satisfied Belphie

And having you curled up in his side, going on about the show he planned, has him feeling very light, and he can’t help but wonder if this is how his sister felt

If it is, he can’t help but start to see everything a little clearer now

[ddarker-dreams]

I Got The Blues. Yan Bruno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: implied manipulation, isolation, some paranoia. word count: 5k.

This isn’t how you were expecting your evening to go. 

Flashing by you in a dreamlike world of blurred colors, the city of Naples at night is a picturesque sight to behold. Gone is the sun that kindly lavished the bustling streets in shades of amber and marigold, moonlight and twinkling stars taking its place. How a city can have a clear enough sky to spot stars is a miracle beyond your own knowledge, though the lights of streetlamps and buildings do dull it some; it’s not enough to diminish the greater beauty. 

Butterflies dance around in your stomach, threatening to send you careening in your leather seat. Your exposed skin gratefully takes in the cool of the air conditioning that you’ve found yourself fiddling with, in hopes of quelling your inner anxiety. Every now and again, you work up the courage to look over at your date for the night. When knowing, cobalt eyes flicker to meet your gaze, all of the valiance it took to look his way melts like ice. Your muscles go taut, fingers curling into a fist atop your bare thighs, rose colored lips set into an unsteady smile to dissipate the uneasy air of your own making. 

You haven’t even made it to the restaurant, and you’re already on the verge of boiling over with excitement. 

Bruno Bucciarati is nothing if not a stunningly handsome man, eyes smoldering and raven hair perfectly framing his sharp face. There are plenty of mysteries in this world, now you’re able to add one of your own design. Why is it that Bruno had asked you of all people, on a fanciful date? What he had seen in you up until this point to have extended this invitation to you is up for debate. It’s not that you think poorly of yourself -- far from it -- but that Bruno’s beauty is so ethereal, that it’s hard to fathom his interest in you. Today isn’t the first time he’s expressed it, and far from the last, but you mistook it for friendliness. 

“I promise I won’t bite, amore,” Bruno’s rich, velvety voice invades your ears, senses incapable of processing anything other than his presence beside you. “There’s no need to be so on edge.” 

Your heartbeat increases tenfold at his good-natured teasing, a nervous laugh leaving your lips. Having conversation fill the air provides you with some much needed reprieve, a playful response of your own bubbling to the surface. “You say you won’t, but I get the feeling you may go back on your word.”

He returns your laughter with equal fervor, the skin underneath his eyes crinkling in delight. “I have to admit, it’s a tempting proposition. But I’ll save that for another time, should you let me.” 

There’s no getting ahead of his game, he’s too suave and adept. You look out the window to hide how your cheeks flush, but from the pleased hum he lets out, you’re certain he knows anyways. The banter is an enjoyable aspect of your time with Bruno, though there’s an underlying factor of honesty to his words. All the compliments bestowed upon you come from a genuine place. Your mind wanders to the first time you had encountered him, a fated meeting that you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. 

You had been jet lagged, searching frantically for a place to meet up that your native friend suggested. Directions went into your head without making proper sense, and before you knew it, you were lost. Your concerns of meeting up with your friend were soon replaced by wondering if you’d ever pinpoint where you were, the foreign area making it increasingly difficult to do so. It’s in this pitiful stupor that a well spoken man in a fine pressed suit appeared before you, asking if something was the matter. 

He hadn’t looked down upon you for the admittedly embarrassing plight, instead, he said he knew the area and wouldn’t mind taking you there as it was on his way. From that point onwards, you couldn’t thank him enough, praises stumbling from your tongue. He introduced himself as Bruno Bucciarati, and the time you spent with him was enough to forget your earlier problems. The long walk to where your friend awaited was filled with pleasant conversation and humor, with some light flirting that you enjoyed a little too much. From afar he looked serious, but had a coquettish nature that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

While it would’ve normally sounded terrifying to follow a stranger to a destination in a land you weren’t familiar with, Bruno put your heart at ease. He kept an appropriate distance and observed the theoretical line in the sand, never crossing it and using adequate charm to steady your frayed nerves. Upon hearing that you were a fresh arrival to Naples, he gave a brief overview of some culture tidbits that you might find useful during your stay. What was going to be an awful afternoon turned into a memorable outing, full of adventure and discovery. To say that you were grateful would be an understatement. 

Upon reaching your destination, all your anxiety from before was a thing of the past. Bruno was glad to see you off, refusing any monetary payments you tried to offer as thanks for his altruism. Instead, he asked if he could see you again at some point, to which you readily agreed. Thus began your pleasant friendship, and led to where you are now. On an excursion to a restaurant that, when you looked it up, seemed to frequent politicians and celebrities. How he managed to score a reservation at such a fine place is beyond you, but you’ll make the best of it. 

Fidgeting with your purse, you consider reapplying a touch of blush to your cheeks. Your outfit choice for tonight, a simple yet form fitting black dress that ends above your knees, was the best your closet could produce for such an event. Bruno looked the part of someone who would fit into high society, and you hope the same can be said for you. From how he complimented you earlier, it induced enough confidence to make it this far. 

The chauffeur pulls in front of the grandiose restaurant, and you watch as men and women dressed in designer clothing worth more than months of your paycheck climb out of sports cars. This is a large jump from the picnics and gelato outings Bruno had taken you out on before. Up until today, where romantic intentions could clearly be sighted, you only thought your relationship with him was friendly. The bouquet of deep, crimson roses he presented to you when you answered the door earlier made sure there were no confusing his intentions. 

He gets out before you, coming over to your side and opening the door. Accepting the hand that he extends out, the two of you stay close together while walking towards the front of the restaurant. Up until now, it felt like another world entirely, until you heard the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore. The inside is as luxurious as you could imagine, fine glass chandeliers hanging overhead and classical music being played live. Candlelight dots the tables, the glow setting a romantic atmosphere. 

Bruno speaks a few words to the hostess while you gape at the surroundings. It’s hard to believe that just this morning, you had been eating a ham sandwich to save money for bills. Now you stand in one of the grandest spots in Italy, surrounded by socialites. No one pays you any heed, much to your internal relief, instead showing the utmost respect to Bruno. He turns back to you, smiling, and the two of you are led to a private room overlooking the ocean. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel a bit out of my element here.” A nervous laugh leaves your lips as you take your seat, smoothing out the bottom half of your dress. The fresh water on the table is a welcome excuse to have something in your hands, and you take the opportunity to steady yourself. Gingerly picking up the glass by the rim, feeling the coolness against your fingertips as you do so.

“You look the part,” Bruno responds in kind, steepling his fingers together and setting his head atop them. “I apologize if the atmosphere feels stifling, signorina. It isn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.” 

Shaking your head, you place the cup down after a few sips. “Not at all. It’s beautiful, the view especially. I know I said it earlier, but… thank you for inviting me.” 

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve been wanting to take you out for an evening for some time now, but I’ve been preoccupied up until this point.” 

This catches your attention, an eyebrow raising in interest. Bruno has rarely spoken of his occupation, claiming the details would be a bore, but that must be what he’s referring to here. It was one of the few aspects of him that he didn’t delve into, and not wanting to seem invasive, you left it as is. Now seems like a prime opportunity to learn more about it, curiosity getting the better of you. You choose your words with care before proceeding.

“Is it a… busy season in your line of work?” You inquire with interest, hoping it doesn’t seem like you’re prying. The question is innocent enough, Bruno’s sought to learn more about your job, to which you readily answered him. His tone of voice and mannerisms, whether it be on purpose or not, always seems to command respect. It’s an aspect of him you and many others in his presence picked up on, always straightening their back in his presence and properly addressing him. Is he a politician or something…? 

“You could say that.” 

The opportunity is fleeting, a waiter coming over and paying great reverence to your dinner partner for the night. It’s a shame you won’t be able to push the topic further, having been interrupted and the conversation steering elsewhere. Bruno had asked beforehand if he could order in your stead. Seeing as he’s more familiar with the menu and charms of Nepotalian cuisine, you accepted, taking the opportunity to learn more about the food here. Some of the words he uses when placing an order for your antipasti you recognize, whereas others must be a dialect exclusive to this city. After the waiter hurriedly scribbles down and scurries off, Bruno’s attention is returned to you.

“So tell me, how are things with you? It’s been, what, a week or so since we last met in person?” 

You nod your head to confirm, nose scrunching while thinking back on your past experiences. Truth be told, it hasn’t been the best past couple of days. The other tenants in the apartments beside you have been obnoxiously loud at unholy hours into the morning, and no matter how politely you asked them to tone it down, it made no difference. Your landlord, to make matters worse, had been on about some special fee that you need to meet by the end of the month. When looking back on your agreement, you saw nothing of the sort. You wonder if he’s trying to take advantage of the fact you’re not a native Italian speaker, but finding a new place to live on such short notice would be a nightmare. This, and you’ve been having a difficult time aligning your schedules with your friends.

“It hasn’t been the easiest,” you confess with a sheepish smile, folding the napkin from the table onto your lap. That’s what you’ve seen in movies, so it seems like the right thing to do in this proper setting. “I actually wanted to talk to you about it, but it might not be the most proper dinner topic.” 

Bruno raises an eyebrow at this, before prompting you to continue. “Oh? I’d love to be of assistance to you.” 

The order comes out as you explain your sticky predicament. What appears to be octopus cooked alongside tomatoes and chili peppers, mixed into a leafy green salad with a zesty lemon dressing. The flavor bursts onto your tongue, spices complementing one another perfectly as you wrap up your woeful tale of adulthood. Bruno’s attention remains solely on you throughout, looking increasingly perplexed as you recount the problems, jaw tightening with agitation on your behalf.

“It might be in your best interest to end the lease then,” Bruno considers aloud with a sorrowful expression, shaking his head in dismay for your misfortunes. “The fee for doing so would still be less than having to pay that ridiculous sum every month.” 

It’s an option you considered with great displeasure. Shelling out all that money to end your lease early is a nightmare to think about, hundreds gone in the span of a second over an arbitrary bill, tacked on at the last second. The legality of it is up in the air, but your knowledge of the law surrounding tenants in Italy is… lacking, to say the least. Bruno’s affirmation of your idea serves to sour your mood, and you almost regret bringing up this grim subject on what’s meant to be a date night. Even though you planned to seek his guidance on it eventually, now may not have been the best time to do so.

Placing a forkful of steamed octopus into your mouth, you lament over the issue further. “I guess I should start looking for a new place. Everything else within range of my job is ridiculously expensive, though, so it looks like I’ll be walking a lot in the future.” 

The lighthearted joke does little to lift your downtrodden spirits, your gaze now facing downwards. How pathetic Bruno must think you are, incapable of properly navigating your finances despite being an adult. It’s embarrassing to think about, your cheeks burning in indignation. He never once chastises you, instead extending his hand over the table, resting it gingerly atop your own. A gentle action like this is enough to soothe your troubled mind, the coarse pad of his thumb rubbing reassuring circles into your skin.

“To think you’ve been through so much in this short amount of time… I’m sorry to hear about all of this,” Bruno’s words are soothing to your weary soul, maturity present in his visage. You feel better about talking to him already, sensing he has a great deal of life experience. “I’ve made up my mind. [First], why not live with me?” 

The sudden proposition sends your mind in a whirlwind, blinking rapidly while trying to gather your bearings. You’ve known Bruno for the time period of about three months, and while he’s been nothing but courteous towards you, there’s still a lot of secrecy surrounding him. You’d be pressed to say he isn’t charming, and that you don’t hold some form of affection toward him, but it feels so sudden. 

Sensing your apprehension, Bruno continues to explain in an attempt to smoothen other any concerns. “By all means, take time to think about the idea.” 

“I-It means a lot that you’d even extend the offer to me,” you stumble over your words truthfully, gulping to get a hold of yourself. “I’d feel awful to impose on you, especially on such short notice. You’ve been so considerate of me already…” 

“You could never impose. I hoped I’d made my feelings for you clear, [First]. Anything you need, I want to provide it. Please, allow me to do so.” 

He’s earnest, willing to overcome your apprehensions with thoughtfully crafted words and sentiments. Vacillating between two halves of yourself, you consider the options set before you. The romantic atmosphere from the restaurant is long forgotten, as you enter a reverie of contemplation. There isn’t a better option that you can think of, none of your friends living close enough or even open to the idea of a roommate. The time of splitting rent would be productive as well, letting you bolster your already deplenishing savings. Bruno has never given you reason to be alarmed, you trust the man before you. 

“In that case, I’ll continue thinking about it.” You answer after a moment’s deliberation, Bruno offering a nod of the head in acceptance. He retracts his hand from your own, and you can’t help but miss the warmth and reassurance it brought. Throughout your stay in Italy, you’ve felt like a stumbling mess at times. Sure, you’re capable enough, but wading through multiple decisions while balancing your job has been a lot to deal with. Bruno, on the other hand, feels so well put together. There’s never a moment in your interactions where he falters in his decisions, always full or resolve to see things through. He feels like a pillar of support in your life, a foundation that you cling to without even noticing it. This level of reliability is what you desperately need right now.

The air is silent for a moment, aside from the clattering of silverware against plates and muted chitchat from the other patrons. You look down to your lap, feeling the full weight of his stare set upon you. It feels like the evening has been getting away, running off in a direction you didn’t mean for it to go. After all the work he’s put into treating you to a nice night out, it feels impolite to ruin the mood any further. Putting on your best, brightest smile, you swiftly change the subject.

“I never realized seafood could taste so good,” you praise the meal before you, that’s been reduced to a shadow of its former self. Only a few crumbs remain in the bowl, a nice appetizer before the food to come. “A lot of the seafood I’ve had is either chewy, or just tastes strange. Whatever you picked out is amazing.” 

“A lot of it depends on the quality of the product itself. I grew up in a coastal town, so I know how to spot the difference. For octopus, the best method is the aroma. The same can be said for most seafood…” 

The remainder of the evening is spent in the throes of conversation ranging from lighthearted topics, to discussions about your plans for the future. Bruno revealed a bit more information about himself, but still not enough to sate your deeply rooted curiosity. His offer from before stays present in the back of your mind, but you do everything within your power to not think dwell on it. After having dessert from his behest, the two of you make your way to the entrance once more. You can’t fathom the bill after a dinner like that, but Bruno refutes any attempts to split it, following up his earlier offer of paying for it in full.

“Thank you for everything,” you express your gratitude while getting up from the chair, glancing out the window a final time. When you look back to Bruno, his attention is set solely on your presence, eyes softening considerably. It makes your heart flutter, how he looks at you. “I enjoyed my time with you.”

“And as for your offer…” 

There hasn’t been a great deal of time to think about it, but your chest feels light, like an invisible weight had been lifted. The man before you is an anchor that you never knew you needed, fastening you down in the wake of travesties. He’s well put together, offering you every courtesy known and making for delightful company. Whether what you feel is the beginning of love, or a platonic attachment, you’re uncertain. To discover things for yourself, and get a better bearing on your life, you’re ready to make a leap of your own. It reminds you of the time before moving here, this decision is minuscule in comparison to that… right? You’re not making a deal with the devil or anything. 

“I think… I think I’m going to accept.”

- - -

Anytime moving is involved, it’s a stressful endeavor. You know this firsthand, having come to Italy with a few things of luggage and starting off a new life with it. Much to your surprise, everything went far smoother than you imagined. Unlike your arrival, you had help in moving your boxes of belongings to Bruno’s villa, leaving you with little to do aside offering plenty of thanks. It felt like the start of an exciting new adventure, turning over a new leaf after a string of misfortunes. Leaving behind your old apartment building felt strange, but oddly right. Working through the manner of cutting your lease short was as awful as it sounds, but Bruno was by your side for all of it. 

What you can’t get off your mind, is how different your landlord acted in Bruno’s presence. When it had just been the two of you, you were treated with a complete lack of care, like your existence itself as a nuisance. There was a complete shift in demeanor upon walking into his office with Bruno by your side, like you were speaking to a different man. It reminded you of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, how he retained the same physical characteristics but adopted polite mannerisms. The whole exchange had been so jarring that you couldn’t help but ask Bruno about it, to which he offered a lackluster explanation. This haunting occurrence made you have more questions about his cryptic line of work, that you’re only fed spoonfuls of information at a time.

The two of them knew one another, but you don’t get the full spectrum of their relationship. It’s a gut feeling that it has to do with Bruno’s occupation, that he carefully skates around whenever brought up. 

Mostly settled in for the evening, you’ve been lounging on the balcony of Bruno’s home. It’s a quaint house, in the suburbs of Naples, further confirming that he’s well off to some extent. The ocean is within view, the house sitting in a gated community near the water. In the distance, you hear seagulls mixed with traffic over people coming home from their jobs. You hug your knees to your chest, staring down at your phone with a frown. It’s a mild summer day, the breeze from the ocean tickling your face, but not lifting your spirit. You had texted a few friends before your move in hopes of getting their assistance, only for none of them to return your calls or messages. 

It feels lonely. You feel lonely. 

If it hadn’t been for Bruno’s quick thinking and connections, it would’ve been the two of you moving boxes on your lonesome. This cold shoulder behavior hurts, and you can’t help but wonder if you did something wrong without knowing it. Had there been some sort of cultural aspect you were unaware of, that offended them? Is that why they’ve been ghosting you? It’s one thing if they were busy, but you see your friend group posting regularly on social media. A sigh leaves your lips, weariness from the week’s events getting to you. It won’t do any good to dwell on these things, but insecurities haunt you like a persistent cloud. 

“Is there something on your mind?” 

Your head whips around at the voice behind you, settling down when you recognize Bruno. He’s in lounge wear, and you flush at the domestic sight. He’s a sight to behold, lithe frame pressed against the door and awaiting your response. It almost feels like you two are a married couple, being this casual with one another. The thought serves to fluster you further, so you push it away. 

After all he’s done to assist you, it’d feel wrong to add friend troubles to the ever growing list. “N-not really, no.” 

Bruno frowns at this, coming out to join you on the balcony. He takes the seat closest to you, leaning forward and gazing deep into your eyes. A hand is pressed to your bare thigh, though it stops before it can travel up in a lascivious way. Feeling his cold hand against your skin sends shivers down your spine, his knowing eyes making you shrink back into your seat. Guilt seeps into you for the lie. He seems in tune with people’s feelings, you’re no different. Instead of calling you out point blank on the falsehood, he offers reassurance.

“Remember what I said,” his tone is almost chastising, face scrunched up in displeasure. “I care about you greatly, [First]. You don’t have to carry your burdens alone.” 

It comes before you can register. Tears sting the corner of your glassy eyes, silent sniffles leaving your person. As you think back to the images of your friends from last night, hanging out in one of your favorite spots with you, your lower lip trembles. Why is it that all this is happening? That you finally found a group of people that share your interests and passions, only to be left behind without an explanation? You despise how your throat clenches, each breath you take becoming more labored than the last. Bruno takes the opportunity to sit beside you, wrapping a reassuring arm around your shoulder and cooing into your ear.

All of it comes out like the floodgates of a dam, your head resting on his chest at his prompting. He holds you close, grounding you in reality, alternating between offering words of encouragement and peppering kisses onto your head. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his shirt, tears streaming down your face. No longer does shame occur to you, a forgotten thing of the past. You smell his rich cologne, that mixes in with the scent of the ocean. He’s been so good to you, too good. When the world has fallen apart, Bruno picks up the shards, placing them back together with tender care. Where would you be without his support? The thought is enough to bring a fresh set of sobs, self deprecating thoughts a mantra within your tattered mind. 

His warm breath fans across your face, soft lips making contact with the shell of your ear. “Amore mio, what is it that brought this on? Tell me, so that I can take care of it all.” 

“I have no one…! I don’t understand, none of it makes any sense,” you sniffle into his chest, voice muffled and waning. “My friends, even my coworkers! They act like I don’t… like I don’t even exist.” 

Large, reassuring hands cup either side of your damp cheeks, pulling you to look him in the eyes. His thumbs wipe away your tears, unblinking sapphire eyes steadying you. The world stops around you, nothing else registering other than his existence. How his skin feels against your own, the way his hair brushes against your face, how wonderfully close he is. He hasn’t left you, he’s still by your side. Your lips tremble, and you curse your wretched existence. A moment of clarity comes, and with it, your sobbing subsides. The two of you stay still, your face in his hands, until your hiccups are reduced to occasional sniffles. Even that fades with time, much to your relief.

You take a shaky, deep breath, hoping to gain better control of your fluctuating emotions. In the blink of an eye, Bruno leans forward, pressing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. A noise of surprise leaves you, but before you can think to return it or move away, he pulls back. Looking up at you through heavily lidded eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. The predetermined movement seems to have a physical effect on you, your face erupting into a blush. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions that Bruno brings with him.

“You’re wrong on a single account,” he murmurs, his voice sweeter than honey, ensnaring you in a web of his own making. “You have me, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

It’s strange, you think. How like two sides of the same coin, so much can go wrong, but an equal amount can go right. For every loss, Bruno has almost made up for it in some other way, an equilibrium being maintained. Will one side tip over, ruining the delicate balance, and sending you into chaos? There’s no way of knowing, yet you can’t help but wonder. Your life is interconnected to his now, for better or for worse. No longer do you care for the innate selfishness of seeking out his warmth, canting your head into his hand and closing your eyes.

“Thank you, Bruno. You’re right… I do have you.” 

He seems content with your realization, a gradual smile spreading across his face. The sun has begun to set, warm colors dancing across his tanned skin. After a moment’s deliberation, he leaves your side, standing and looking towards the glass doors that lead inside.

“Let’s head inside for a cup of tea. It’s been a long day, so you shouldn’t stay up much later.” 

You nod your head lazily at his suggestion, using the back of your hand to wipe away at the wetness that remains on your face. A nice warm drink sounds wonderful just about now, even in the middle of the summer. Having a task to distract yourself with is an added benefit, so you get up, following after him to the kitchen. The brisk air conditioning feels like a welcome wake up call, and you look around at the tastefully decorated surroundings. Your new home, for the time being. Life is unpredictable, if anything.

It has been an exhausting day. Or more like an exhausting past few weeks, you think. For now, your attention remains solely on the person who walks in front of you. A bashful idea pops into your head, and you catch up to Bruno and walk by his side. He looks over at you with potent curiosity, and the opportunity is present to offer a confession. “I, um… I wanted to say that you have me too. I mean it.” 

Little did you know, there was never a time he believed otherwise.

[captainsimagines]

Titanic || H.S

Part Three || “Harry”

“I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear...”

Warnings: This book contains mature themes and discussions, such as gun violence, emotional and physical abuse, attempted suicide, mentions of blood, character deaths, heavy sexual content, and reference to the real maritime disaster of the 1912 cruise liner Titanic.

     Mornings were as warm as freshly made bread and salted butter for Harry, inviting and comforting, with that perfect combination sitting on his tongue in absolute delight. He’d chow down happily as each morning customer ordered their regulars, his mother rushing from one side to the other as the orders came in. And once he swallowed his last piece, he rolled his sleeves up to pull yet another tray of bread that had been baking since the early morning hours. 

     The family bakery was located in a very crowded part of the city, where thousands walked by each day, good and bad, gossiping about anything and everything. And although Harry’s family bakery wasn’t the only one on the street, it was the one that received the most praise. With dough made with love and an end product that was easily pulled apart, Harry’s family bakery won first place in all good graces. 

     And with such precision in every bite and every cake decorated in such an exquisite manner that they were rated number one in The Times for attention to detail and amazing taste, the family bakery was ready to branch out. They had a plan to save as much money as they could - and although being loved by many and receiving great reviews - they had very little of that. Most of the money the family earned went to rent, new shoes, and ingredients. The plan involved the Styles Bakery becoming some sort of franchise, and since they had London’s attention, it was possible. 

     The Styles Bakery would extend through other parts of London, and ever since Harry’s grandparents moved to the states with his aunt and her children, America was added to the equation. 

     “Mum, could you get the bread out? My hands are full!” Harry called out, arms struggling to carry glass jars full of jelly. He carefully climbed the ladder on the wall and began stacking, looking over his shoulder to make sure his mother heard his request. She quickly came out from the back room, padding her hands against her apron, and proceeded to remove the bread. She placed it on the counter carefully, all the while watching her son as he balanced himself on the ladder. 

     “Quite busy, are we?” she asked, rushing over to hold the ladder under him. Harry placed the last of his jars on the shelves. 

     “We need to get this place ready for the photographer! We need those photos by tonight so I can bring them with me on the trip.”

     “I know, honey. And thank you for doing this, but I don’t want you to fall and get hurt just because you were in a rush,” she said, helping Harry as he climbed down. “We have more than enough time.” 

     “Time?” Harry said with a tiny laugh, “Grandad said that if we don’t get these plans and photographs to the landlord in two weeks time, then we have to search outside of New York.” 

     She smiled at him, “I hear the states are quite bigger than just New York, dear.”

     Harry rolled his eyes, retreated back to the stockroom, and grabbed even more full jars. But as he returned, he continued the conversation. “But it’s where all the business and people are!”

     But still, his mother laughed. “People exist outside urban areas as well.”

     Harry saw how his mother would continue to innocently twist his words for the better, and no matter how negative he seemed to speak, his mother always could sprinkle the positives inside. For a while longer, they stacked jars, rearranged chairs, and cleaned the windows while waiting for the photographer. Once he arrived, he set up and did the bakery justice. From just the angles alone, Harry could see that the photographs would come out perfectly. They paid him extra for such an expedited order, promised to pick them up early tomorrow morning, and closed up the bakery a little after two in the afternoon. 

     Harry quickly ventured out to the still-empty pubs around town, a small pack of cigarettes he usually kept hidden behind the sacks of flour in the stockroom now hidden in his coat pocket, and joined as many small poker games he could find. With such deserted pubs at this time of the day, the men were less rowdy and more sober. This way Harry could collect as much pocket change he could in time for his voyage. The time flew by as he hopped from one pub to another, but he was still determined to make some more cash. But as his eyelids began to droop and his mind narrowly missed the ‘full house’ he was holding, Harry won, wrapped it all up, and started home. 

      He wasn’t a heavy gambler but he was known to succeed in a few tournaments when his family desperately needed to make rent. With such a dangerous alternative, Harry and his sister hid the fact that they would apply for odd jobs outside of the general area they lived, bringing in money under their mother’s nose - anything to keep the family afloat.

     But after a few hours in the comfort of his home, he ventured out into the world once again. He traveled around his known parts of the city, a few blocks here and there, most alleyways, and greeted many people. Once his feet began feeling sore and the tips of his shoes stubbed his toes, he went into a pub for a quick drink. He enjoyed its taste, sort of salty and sweet at the same time. He ordered the same and decided to focus on his surroundings during each sip, watching every bartender and every customer walk to and from the bar. All he could think about while looking at everyone’s joyful faces was that tomorrow he would be waiting at the docks and boarding the grandest ship in the world. Perhaps he’d be lucky enough to taste the alcohol they were transporting and serving, but it was a long-shot thought. The third class most likely was not going to offer up the finest things, but it sure beat the streets of rat-infested London. But as Harry recalled his schooling and the little travelers who brought the plague, he settled for calling Titanic’s possible rats more upper-class than the ones below the bar he was currently lounging in. The simple third class ticket hidden safely away in his bedside drawer was a somewhat important telling, like it was something that represented a rise in Harry’s world. 

     He ordered his third drink, this time carefully watching a young couple across the room who shared the drink they just ordered. They laughed along with the piano player, hands intertwined, simultaneously tapping their thighs to the beat in unison. Such synchronization was therapeutic and Harry wondered how they met - if they knew they were right for each other, if they ever fought, how many children they had, or whether they were truly happy as their movements portrayed. All these unanswered questions did not need to have an answer for Harry to accept the wonder. 

     The sound of Harry’s sliding barstool startled the sleeping man next to him. Harry paid the bartender, gave the sleeping man a double pat on the shoulder, and left. He was only a few blocks away from home, but he decided to walk slower than usual. Tomorrow’s plan formulated itself and Harry didn’t have to think twice about it - he would wake up early, dress casual but clean, make sure his boots had their laces, and double-check his packing. And the one-way ticket would burn a hole in his pocket as he boarded, waving goodbye to his mother and sister who weren’t granted tickets themselves. They would wave sadly, tearing up slightly but just enough for Harry to see, and would come back home to run the bakery themselves for a few months. 

      It was worth the distance once Harry landed in America, for their entire lives would change. In America, Harry would buy that spot of land they had all been saving for over the last fifteen years. He would clean, build, anything he had to do as long as that spot of land showcased the first of a long chain of Styles Bakery’s. A bakery where Americans of all races, all religions, all everything and anything would get to savor the sweet taste of a busy London street.  

     Once he got home he wrapped himself up with three heavy blankets, drank a cup of tea, and rested his eyes for a moment. He was already giddy with joy, restless as to what awaited him tomorrow. The chance to step on American soil and the Titanic - all within a week - barely allowed Harry a wink of deep sleep. 

     The American dream wasn’t really what Harry strived for or wished to achieve, but he definitely thought it probable. He had the money, he had the determination, he had the contacts. But it was quite unsettling to think about the negative consequences of such a drastic move and not knowing if everything was going to fall into place. 

     Harry’s eyes began to feel heavier and heavier as his mind kept racing, but he knew one thing for sure. Whether his family’s dream was to be recognized and accomplished, it was luck and luck alone that would ultimately determine his new American fate. Harry breathed a heavy sigh and ducked his chin deeper into the blankets, neck slightly tilted and arms hugging his upper torso.

[azurevi]

2:00am

is this even angsty? either way, you've been warned. (Leona x gender neutral reader) (featuring shitty title♡)

"I'm so sad that I'm going to stay up all night," they said. "Let's just not go to sleep, for the sake of memories," they said.

Ace and Deuce were already tucked comfortably in their beds, competing for the title of the loudest snorer. But no matter how big a noise they made, they couldn't beat the infallible champion that is Grim.

Hung on the wall was the mirror that you've been looking at for as long as you could remember. You'd always known － you could feel it in your bones － that it was connected to something else. And that it could serve as a portal to your own world was not a big surprise either.

You just didn't expect it to be done so soon.

A line of incomprehensible words, perhaps a spell, were scribbled on the worn out frame and were emittng a faint, humming light. Crowley had casted it a week ago, turning it into your ticket back home.

The news spread like wildfire in the campus. The prefect of the two-person dorm, unexpected non-magical user who was nonetheless accepted into the school, was going to leave. Some students, even though they never really knew you, were disappointed at this. After all, you've done so many remarkable things for the school.

Friends you made along the way made their visits one by one, with heartfelt farewells and delicate gifts. Jamil cooked you the grandest meal you'd ever eaten in your life. Floyd gifted you a handstitched shrimp plushie, even though it looked a bit messy at the trims. Riddle held a well-organized farewell party for you, ordering every students in Heartslabyul to make it as memorable as possible.

Almost everyone had sent their blessings. No - everyone except one.

And surprise, surprise. It was Leona, perhaps the person closest to you here in this foreign world.

It was probably safe to say that he despised you at first glance. It took him quite a while to look at you without prejudice, and even longer to accept you as his friend. Even after you'd helped him out of overblot, he was quite hesitant to let you in.

That being said, even Leona could be moved with enough persistence. It was only a matter of time until he started appearing by your side during breaks and lunch, hanging out with you instead of napping around the campus, taking your advice even though he feigned annoyance.

Before you knew it, you'd already got used his presence and his warmth, the safety he promised and the unsaid care.

But time was a mischievous kid, because it never waited. It just kept running and running, even sprinting faster if you called out to it.

Perhaps you'd realized it way too late. It felt as if the very moment you'd figured out your feelings for Leona, you were to leave this world. And of course, you could just stay. Forget about your previous life and live here forever. Alas, no matter how hard you tried, you could never fit in. You never belonged.

Which was... fine. You could just bury your feelings for him and hope for it to fade. It wasn't like you expected him to return your feelings anyways, despite all the subtle signs that you took note of.

The thing was that, Leona, the person you surprisingly found yourself the coziest with, vanished as soon as news about your departure leaked. He was nowhere to be found. He was neither in the garden nor his room. You'd tried going to him at night, sure that he would be in deep sleep, but his bed was vacant with nary a wrinkle on the sheet.

It was like he was avoiding you on purpose.

And it hurt, even though he was known to be amateurish when it came to dealing with feelings. It hurt because you were leaving, and he didn't even bother to say goodbye. Even Tsunotarou came with a dispirited countenance, so why hadn't he?

Thoughts kept you awake despite protests. You decided to take a walk around Ramshackle, perhaps to survey the place one last time before your leave tomorrow.

The moment you yanked open the door, you came face to face with Leona, who had his fist held up in the middle of knocking.

"…Good morning," he said.

"Oh! What are you doing here this late?" you asked.

"To say goodbye, of course. You're leaving tomorrow, right?"

It was hard to make out his face, but you could tell that his eyes were everywhere but on you.

"Yeah, tomorrow. How nice of you to make a visit the night before at 2am," you couldn't help the bitterness in your voice.

"Look, prefect-" he inhaled. "Let's just pretend nothing happened, okay? I don't want us ending on a bad note,"

In all your times spent with him, he had never sounded so discouraged before. You dropped your hostility immediately and invited him into the lounge.

"Tea?" you offered, but he declined in fear that it'd keep him awake. So you sat by him on the couch, without anything to distract you.

"How are you feeling? About leaving, I mean,"

"Well, I ought to be a little sad," you laughed dryly. "But everyone's been trying to make it joyous,"

"I see," Leona ended the conversation so abruptly that you feared that he was going to leave.

"I'm sorry for being out of reach for the past week,"

Leona apologizing. Never had you thought you'd live to see this day.

"Where have you been anyways?"

"…Out?"

"That's the vaguest answer I've ever got," you smiled slightly, but he still seemed to be bothered. "What's the matter?"

His ears twitched in annoyance. It was such a rare sight. "Don't you think you're leaving too hastily?"

"Are you prompting me to stay?"

"No-no," he replied, and with that extinguished your hope. You couldn't understand why he was trying so hard not to say what everyone's been saying. It's not like he was the most understanding person either.

"I just thought you can... maybe linger for a few more days? If that's not too selfish of me,"

"What is all this, Leona? It's unlike you to be this considerate," you teased him gently, and he finally mustered a small smile.

"That's what you've always told me though," he said, puzzling you. "It's annoying... but I kept it in mind. Be more understanding, quit being self-centered, treat people with thought…" he trailed off when he saw your face. "What?"

You closed your mouth with a short chuckle, "Nothing. It's just unexpected. Are you trying to be sentimental on my last day?"

"Did I do a good job?"

You nodded.

"Well, consider this a parting gift, then. The priceless experience of me being sappy,"

The night hadn't gone how you'd quite expected. What had you assumed anyways? For him to make you stay out of selfishness? Would you have stayed, then?

You hated to admit it, but yes. He only needed to ask, but he wouldn't, because you'd told him not to.

"Well then, thank you for opening up to me,"

He growled quietly. You looked down in what felt like disappointment. Tranquility installed between the two of you, but you could feel it even in the air, that the both of you had something to say, but wouldn't. The words lodged in your throats like fish bones, difficult to swallow, even more so to spit out.

"Well then, I hope you don't feel too sad about leaving," he shot up and started striding for the door. You raced, heart pounding in your chest as you grabbed his arm, words blurting out of you without knowing.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What did you expect?" he asked back, voice suddenly devoid of any emotion.

"I don't know," you confessed. "Something more?"

It seemed so self-centered for you to ask, but you were blatantly desperate. Leona paused for a while, before turning to you looking more defeated than ever.

"Look, prefect, I already spent the past week brooding, and you can't imagine how hard it is for me to act all generous now. But I can't hold you back, can I? You have your own world to return to, and -" he rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I don't want you to leave, but I have to let you go. Please don't make it harder than it already is,"

Words died on your tongue as you realized how shortsighted you've been, thinking that it would be easy for him. You let your hand slip away quietly.

"Just promise to visit me, okay?" he pleaded.

"I don't know if I can-"

"Just promise,"

"Okay," you forced a laugh, croak and painful. "I promise,"

Leona pulled you into his chest, too tall to even rest his chin atop your head, but it was something he'd got used to already. You stayed in his arms, as if by clenching to him tight enough time would stop its malicious game and let you stay in this moment forever.

In the end, it was him who broke the moment and stepped away. The instant his warmth left, a raw coldness washed over you.

"Well then," he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. "Rest well, prefect,"

"You too," you answered weakly and watched as his figure reached for the door, and vanished from your sight like he was but a whisk of fog.

乁( ˙ω˙ )厂

[outbythehighwind]

Aerith & Tifa: Visual Design

An Analysis of the Final Fantasy VII Heroines [Part 1]

This is the first part of my in-depth analysis on FF7′s heroines, where they are depicted as perfect foils to one another. For those who don’t know, a foil is a character who contrasts with another and simultaneously highlights the qualities of that other character. Foils can range from protagonists & antagonists to, in the case of the FF7 girls, very close friends. In exploring this particular writing technique, I will examine their differences and similarities, friendship, relationships to Cloud and Sephiroth, and their differing but equally important roles as heroines in the overall story. Before starting though, I want to mention one thing: I adore both characters, and Tifa and Aerith are to me the exemplary role models of fictional heroines.

Now let us begin with the first thing we are introduced to: their visual designs. (Note that visual design, like narrative, is a tool that can be purposefully accurate and/or purposefully misleading. This should be kept in mind throughout the entire analysis, for FF7 - to no exaggeration - gets more than the average game's pleasure out of tricking, subverting and astonishing it's audience.) Now, onto our beloved flower girl...

AERITH

Aerith’s visual design, at first glance, is one of a meek and kindly girl. Her long, sleeveless dress, pearl pink in color, elicits an air of grace, of softness and serenity. She appears gentle and pure. These qualities are enhanced by the matching pink ribbon in her hair, which adds an additional purity to the character – one of youthful girliness, evoking a naive separation from the gigantic world around her.

Accompanying the dress and ribbon is a short sleeve crop jacket. And instead of enhancing this grace and naivety, its crimson shade shows quite the opposite. Red is a bold and brazen color. Coupled with the 90’s crop-style of the jacket, it enforces strength and vigilance. The loud (and somewhat rebellious) qualities of her jacket countervail the quiet elements of her dress and ribbon. They are a contrasting balance, as we will soon find out, of Aerith’s personality. She is gentle and pure, but she is no softie. She has complete confidence in herself.

These contrasting qualities are connected in the fact that red and pink are proximate colors. While the dress and jacket themselves are from two different worlds, the colors go together. Moreover, red and pink are the colors that represent love. Mixed together, they create ‘hot pink’ – a color used to communicate playfulness. A beautiful metaphor for both Aerith’s love for all life and her playful, sassy personality.

Moving on to her footwear, we find an even sharper contrast. One would expect that a person who so fashionably marries grace and strength would have stylish footwear to match. Yet here is Aerith with a pair of grimy, commonplace boots. While the dress, jacket and ribbon communicate her nature and personality, these grimy, commonplace boots inform the player of the life she is leading – the life of a girl who has grown up in the slums. These grimy, commonplace boots are the wise and fitting footwear to get by.

Aerith’s boots and hair are the same shade of brown, framing the vibrant personality her outfit presents. In addition to the bright, lively clothing, her hair is a standout feature of her character. And there is another character that shares this feature. Aerith’s trademark bangs share an almost-identical design to Sephiroth’s, an allusion to her in-every-sense enemy foil. Not only do the pair share similarities in their hair, but also in clothing: Sephiroth’s collar parallels Aerith’s jacket; his wrist-cuffs parallel Aerith’s bracelets; his cloak parallels the length of her dress; and his eyes – although mako-induced – are an even deeper green than Cloud’s, in direct match to Aerith’s.

Their bright green eyes further represent their foil-roles in relation to the external plot of FF7 – the plot concerned with the Planet. Aerith’s eyes are green with life, representing her connection with the Planet. Sephiroth, of course, holds a connection too, though his Mako-induced green is not his authentic color, portraying him as the false ‘savior’ he acclaims himself to be, in contrast to the true savior that is Aerith.

To see Aerith and Sephiroth’s designs as directly antithetical to one another, consider their concepts below, with Aerith’s weapon and hair trailing right while Sephiroth’s weapon and hair trails left – like a mirror image. Also, notice Aerith’s bright, vibrant design against Sephiroth’s dark, monochromatic design - a visual display of life and light against darkness. But more on Sephiroth later.

There is no FF7 character with a brighter visual design than Aerith – fittingly, for she is the party’s light. In the remake, her outfit is much the same, if not expanded upon. The jacket reaches her hips rather than waist, and the boots are black, yet about as commonplace as the original brown boots. The notable difference is her dress. The remake fits Aerith in a looser, frilly dress, which actually enhances her grace and creates a more deceptive air of naive youthfulness, much like the longer crop jacket further enhances her boldness.

TIFA

There are two roles incorporated into Tifa’s visual design: Tifa the barkeep; and Tifa the monk (that is, a martial artist of FF-verse). We will begin with the former, the first role introduced when the player meets her in Seventh Heaven.

Tifa’s barkeep design consists of black forearm sleeves matching a black skirt that is held up by suspenders. With her hair tucked behind her left ear, a teardrop earring is visible. Immediately, one gets the sense of warmness and invitation they would associate with a hostess. The skirt and suspenders appeal to the sensuous aspect of the design while the sleeve and earring give off an aura of classiness. Overall, an attraction is formed between Tifa and player – that sense of warmness and invitation drawing the player toward her. This attraction is enhanced by her long, dark hair and warm, wine-hued eyes. Not only is the color of Tifa’s eyes a clever nod to her literal bar-hosting, but it alludes to what her bar-hosting metaphorically symbolizes – a nurturing motherliness accentuated by their warmth. Not only is the player drawn in by the clothing she dons, but Tifa’s natural features are what inaugurates the invitation.

Next is the role of monk. Padded gloves and boots match the dark red shade of Tifa’s eyes, coupling her warmth and hospitality with strength. Strength and its associated qualities – firmness, power, intensity – are usually found in opposition to tenderness. But manifested in these items of clothing that are the same color as the defining embodiment of the latter (Tifa’s eyes), strength and tenderness are bridged together. Tifa is a fighter fueled by compassion. Tifa is a fighter who fights to protect. A matching dark red band ties the ends of her locks together to keep them collected, and on her left elbow and boot are armored guards, enhancing her aura of strength. Finally, she wears an ordinary white tank top for practicality in movement.

Put together with the elements of her bartender design, Tifa’s fighting gear gives her an unconventionally unique appearance: a smash-’em-if-required barkeep; a drink-serving monk. This overall appearance has an appropriate balance between allure and profession. It is attractive without being voluptuous. It is welcoming without hiding the fact that she could easily kick one’s ass if need be. And across her entire visual design, the two roles are in equilibrium. The player is drawn in to her design in the one sense, and then they are let in on what she is physically capable of. In other words, Tifa’s visual design uses its every component to give the player insight on her character. At the same time, however, it purposefully masks a great deal.

Accompanying this ‘smash-’em barkeep, drink-serving monk’ design so centered on conveying its dual-role aspects, are two items that educate the more observant player on Tifa’s circumstances. One of these has already been mentioned and is the classiest element of her design, while the other – which will likely go unnoticed – is the most ordinary. The former, Tifa’s aforementioned earring, is in the shape of a tear, subtly reflecting her past of sorrows and heartache. Yet it is her outfit’s grandest, most expensive item; this past of sorrows and heartache is what enabled her to become strong while remaining compassionate for others. Being a single teardrop on only one ear signifies how Tifa deals with emotions – the emotions she, as her name suggests, locks away in her heart. One drop for herself, the basic remembrance, the fuel, is all she outwardly allows.

Then we have the most ordinary item – a pair of woolly black socks. These socks are so subtle that even the exceptionally observant player might miss them, yet they are the single item that appeals to neither monk nor barkeep. They are distinctly… Tifa – Tifa the ordinary. Every other element is inch-perfect on what it communicates, yet here is a pair of ordinary socks that look as though they were thrown on in a morning’s rush. They give her this every-girl, neighborly quality which the player will be distracted from until the truth comes to light, with Tifa’s centrality and intimacy in the internal plot being revealed – the plot concerned with saving Cloud.

Speaking of literal neighborly vibes and intimacy, it is worth mentioning in brief that certain elements of Tifa’s outfit share similarity with Cloud’s. Both wear two metal guards only on their left side (Tifa on her elbow and boot and Cloud on his shoulder and wrist), a subtle allusion to their being ‘half’-selves on the surface (Cloud with his Zack-delusion and Tifa with her hidden feelings). Cloud too wears an earring in his left ear – a studded one, signifying, like Tifa’s teardrop, a certain brokenness of self. In Advent Children, both wear a black sleeveless vest with a high zip collar, a black cape, black boots (notice that Tifa has now replaced her trademark red) and a wolf symbol (on Cloud’s badge and Tifa’s ring) – a symbol associated specifically with Cloud. I mention these details because of Cloud’s centrality to Tifa’s story and vice versa, which will later be discussed in her role as heroine.

Tifa’s design for the remake is a nice though slight variation that fits in with the more realistic aesthetic. Her skirt has pleated segments, making for more realistic movements during combat, and her abs are toned, further enforcing her strength and perseverance in protecting her loved ones. Her black thigh-highs are an additional element, complimenting her forearm sleeves.

Despite the subtle, throw-‘em-on-in-a-hurry socks being foregone, Tifa’s remake outfit perfectly balances her barkeep and monk roles. The omission of such a neutralizing feature works even better with regard to Tifa’s character, in my opinion, for her true thoughts and feelings will be hidden for much of the game. Thus we are led astray, and the narrative will constantly push us further and further away from her inner emotions hidden beneath these two outward roles.

By visual design alone, and in the narrative that will follow, the player is led to believe Tifa has complete confidence in herself. But appearance of course, like narrative, can be deceiving.

SUMMARY

Straight away, by visual design, we have two heroines who are each a blend of multiple characteristics, yet not fitting a particular trope. They are completely unique in their own right, exemplifying both relatable and admirable traits.

Aerith, who we expect to be the meek and youthfully naive girl at first glance, embodies an undeniable self-confidence that compliments her kindness. Tifa, who looks extremely confident on appearance, has an emotional shyness masked by two bold outward roles. Aerith is the vibrant light who guides outer world adventure; Tifa is the inviting warmth who makes one feel at home. Aerith bridges the attributes of grace and toughness; Tifa balances the qualities of compassion and strength. While both exemplify these heroic traits by their very design, they are - however subtly shown - struggling slum girls.

[hokiboshii]

again and this time it’s forever

♡  An Obey Me! Self-insert Fanfic feat. Lucifer ♡

Hoki Notes: So the process was like this: i no likey event luci’s mock proposal > i make my own > i ended up making him propose for real wwww

I don’t know if anyone else has done this, but this is just my version of Lucifer proposing to MC ;w; I hope you like it and I tried making it gender neutral! uwu

Warning: Spoiler for Chapter 28-19 (Conclusion of the RAD festival arc)

Deep down, Lucifer couldn't accept it. He was well-aware of the fact that out of all of his brothers, his proposal was far too simple. His pride wouldn't allow him to live it down, that you received something so meager, so unbefitting from him.

It was just a game of mock proposals, but you deserved so much more. You're so important to him, you deserved to be spoiled rotten to the core-- to feel like you are the center of the world, that you are the center of his world. That's why, after days and days of preparation, you're finally here, linked with his arm, strolling down the lavish and exotic gardens of the royal castle. The big day has come.

But for you, he only told you it’s a special day. He hasn’t told you why, but you’re dressed up in your most favorite formal attire while Lucifer came in an immaculate white tuxedo with blue accents. 

Earlier, you accepted his invitation to a private dinner under the stars and served by the stars. It was just you and him, the starlight playing in the reflection of your eyes, a sea of galaxies filling the champagne glasses, shadows bringing in the grandest of feasts. Your time with him has always been short-lived. That's why you savored each moment with him, as each second was precious. And now, Lucifer guided you out of the lush woodland, arriving at a familiar place. It was the dance hall where you promised to dance with Lucifer after the culture festival play. That was the first time you showed your relationship in public and it caused a commotion. Every demon in the vicinity had their eyes on you, in awe, as the proud and revered Lucifer waltzed across the hall with you--a great contrast to now, where it's so desolate, so quiet, that you can almost hear your individual breaths. 

"It seems like you remember this place." He said, his deep voice echoing into the empty hall. "I do." "But did you know? This hall, the Unison Hall, is the only place where the Celestial Realm's light could reach in The Devildom.” He explained. You shook your head and you walked towards the center, where the pillars gradually changed hues, deep purples melting into a pristine, golden shine. "Why did you bring me here?" You wondered. A gentle look crossed his eyes as he glanced towards the source of the light. "You can say that I'm asking for a blessing." 

For what? Before you managed to utter a word, Lucifer bowed, hand outstretched towards you.

"Will you indulge me for a while, my dear?"

You beamed him a smile. “Always.”

You took his hand and he whisked you away into a waltz. When your feet stepped in motion with his, a singular note resonated in the air, the next one in a higher pitch, and a familiar melody followed.

You realized Lucifer spelled the hall to play your favorite musical piece in his record collection. He has complete faith in your taste and you never failed him in choosing what piece would fit that day’s mood. But this piece stood out among the rest and you’d play it during the happiest occasions.

He spun you around and caught you in his strong arms. It was so smooth that you feel like you’re falling all over again for him. Your face must have been so dumbfounded that he smirked, but his eyes crinkle with endearment. He’s always been amazing. He’s a distinguished man of many strengths and talents and yet he’s not as arrogant as others deem him to be.

He smiled at you fondly and held you closer against his chest. Your heart soared and you added a joyful spring to your step as you traversed the hall. He’s such a sweetheart. He is stern, but vulnerable to affection. He always puts the needs of others before his own. But when he gets absorbed in his work, his weary eyes would wander sometimes. And you knew, he just wanted someone to be there for him.

You wanted to be that someone.

The music reached its end but it’s as if the spell hasn’t worn off completely. You’re lost in your overwhelming feelings for him. Your heart is so full. It wasn’t until Lucifer sat you down on a chair that you found yourself almost out of breath from dancing. Wow, Lucifer was just so mesmerizing, the thrilling thump of your heart wouldn’t calm down.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sliding his thumb up your cheek.

You easily relaxed against his hand and placed your hand on top of his. “Thanks. I’m feeling great! I might have fallen for you again.” You teased, but you didn’t miss how something deep flickered in his eyes.

“Oh, [Name].” He looked like he wanted to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him too and comb your fingers through his perfect hair. "I’m the one who has fallen for you.”

You could only gasp out his name when he knelt before you, cradling your hands in his and his eyes carrying a certain vulnerability that he shows only to you.

“For a long time, you made my days brighter. My memories of the sun in the Celestial Realm can't compare to how you look at me so warmly as if you knew I needed a beacon. I want to bask in your smile every morning. Teach my heart new ways to love every day for the rest of our lives and I'll fill your days with the happiness you deserve. Every piece of me I've shut away from the world, you took into your arms and held all of me together.”

“You made me whole." He planted a kiss on the back of your left hand. "You've made me yours." And another on your ring finger. His sigil imprinted on your body, the mark that signifies your pact, prickled with heat. "And now, on this day, on this moment, will you become mine?" Lucifer pulled out a red velvet box from his inner jacket and opened it. He looked straight at you, determined. The wind blew down on your bodies, raining down red rose petals around you. The ring sparkled under the light from the heavens. It seemed like it came out of a dream. "Will you marry me?" The silence was deafening. Lucifer can read your mind, but he wants you to say it out loud, to give physical proof of the emotion welling up in your heart, to promise him an eternity of happiness with just one word. 

“Yes.”

The light around you seemed to glow brighter and casted an illusion of a halo around his head. In that moment, you could have mistaken him as an angel, or maybe you did catch a glimpse of Lucifer in his angelic glory.

It’s as if it didn’t matter if he’s a demon and you’re human. You’re just in love. You’re finally that someone you wanted to be for him.

~*~

End Notes

- The dinner served under the stars and by the stars is a reference to Maple and Sally’s date dinner in the anime BOFURI!

- Unison Hall is based on the dance hall at the end of the RAD festival arc. I made the name up and about the light coming from the Celestial Realm. I just want Lucifer to be that desperate, begging for Michael the heavens to watch over and bless his proposal to you. Ehehehe :3c

Thank you so much for reading my first posted obey me fanfic. More will come and I would love to hear your thoughts before the next one ;w;)/ 

Have a good day~! <3

Hoki

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Please Have Snow and Mistletoe

Hello my Reindears!  Please indulge me, this idea for a Christmas/Holiday story came out of nowhere lol.  Don’t take it too seriously it’s choc-full of clichés and holiday fluff.    Still, I hope that you enjoy the fantasy and fun of it all!

Summary: Temari was hoping to be home for the holidays.  A winter storm grounded her plans but along with it brought a handsome man with a proposition for her. 

*

**

Chapter 1: Flight 4XMAS

“How can there be no flights available?” Temari demanded trying to keep her frustration in check. She knew that it wasn’t the girl’s fault but her anger needed to go somewhere. 

“I’m sorry ma'am but the weather conditions are so severe that flights are grounded till the storm passes. You are welcome to check in the next few days to see when flights will resume.” 

Temari sighed but nodded her head. “Okay, thank you.” 

Visiting her family for the holidays was the bright spot in an otherwise bleak year.  Temari had moved away from home and it had been months since she’d seen her family.   She had wanted to surprise them by arriving early but the storm had delayed her grand plans. Still, as long as she’d be able to make it home she’d be thankful. 

“Excuse me.”

Her teal eyes met the deep brown orbs of a handsome man. His long dark hair was pulled back and away from his face. The expensive black sweater framed his lean muscles perfectly.

“Yes?”

“I overheard your conversation and I think that I can help.” She peered at him curiously. How could he possibly help her? 

“I can get you home for Christmas. I’ll just require your help for a few days.”

“Doing what?”  She asked carefully, he didn’t come off as a creep but it was hard to tell these days. 

He chose his next words carefully.  “An acting job if you will. I’d need you to pose as my girlfriend for my family.”

Temari’s eyes widened in confusion. “What?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous but my mother is expecting me to bring someone home.  I was supposed to be home a few weeks ago, I lied.  I told her that I couldn’t leave earlier because of my girlfriend’s work schedule and promised that she’d be coming for Christmas.” 

Shikamaru didn’t blame the utter confusion and disbelief on the poor woman’s face. He knew how crazy it all sounded but his mother was a force to be reckoned with. He didn’t want to think about what she would do if she found out he lied.

Words failed Temari.  This had to be a joke right? She was about to ask that very question aloud but his eyes were serious and sure. 

“So I help you out by pretending to be your happy loving girlfriend for three days and you make sure that I can get home for Christmas.” 

He nodded and she felt herself agree. She could try to wait it out but there was no guarantee that in the next few days she’d even be able to get a flight.  This was her best shot.

“I’m Shikamaru by the way.” The name sounded so familiar but she could quite place it.

“Temari.” 

*

**

“How can you expect me to remember all of these names?”  Temari groaned, taking another sip of her drink. At least the jet had a great assortment of liquor. 

“Temari, you’ll be fine. They’ll be more interested in you anyway. We just have to get our story straight.” 

She shrugged her shoulders.  “That’s easy, we use what happened today. We met in an airport blah blah blah.  It’s not a total lie.”

He considered the idea carefully.  It was better than making up an elaborate story.  “That could work.”

She could see the tense look across his face. It was sweet if she thought about it. His family meant the world to him and this elaborate scheme all so that he didn’t disappoint them. In exchange, she got to fly on private jets and enjoy holiday traditions with a rich handsome stranger. 

He’d walked her through all the people that she’d been meeting and all the various family events. It would be a busy few days but nothing she couldn‘t handle. 

“Your family loves the Holidays.”

Her assessment was correct.  “Naras are very serious about their traditions.” 

Temari’s eyes shot wide open. “You’re Nara Shikamaru?” 

“Yup.”

The Naras were one of the wealthiest families in Japan. There was little known about their son other than that he’d amassed an incredible amount of wealth on his own. That explained the private jet. 

“Seriously? You could have easily picked up some celebrity to play your girlfriend. Why pick out some random girl at the airport?” 

He shrugged unaffected by her shock. “I don’t know, I just had a good feeling when I saw you.”  Temari couldn’t help the blush that crossed her face at the idea he saw something special in her. 

Shikamaru glanced at her from the side. Temari wasn’t what he’d expected but he was pleasantly surprised. She was witty, interesting, and even now despite learning his lineage didn’t seem intimidated by him. All of this on top of being gorgeous.  He knew that this was a risky move. Temari could easily take this information and out him to his family or worse the media but she didn’t seem like the type. 

He glanced down at his phone seeing a message from his mother and groaned. 

“My mom wants a picture to be sure that we’re on our way.”  Nothing got past that woman.  Temari nodded and took a seat by his side and his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her face flushed at how close they were but smiled for the photo. She couldn’t help but think that they did make an attractive couple. 

“You really think we can pull this off?”

“I have no doubts.”  He told her reassuringly and it was hard not to believe that they could. She rested her head against his shoulder the stress of the day getting to her.  

“Alright Shikamaru, I trust you.”

Shikamaru sat there while she slept thinking about just what he had gotten them both into.  He was usually so specific and detailed in his plans.  In this case, they were working off a wish and a prayer.  Still, part of him knew that this would work.  That they could convince everyone and once it was all said and done, well he wasn’t sure.

When they finally landed they drove past the city.  They arrived at a quiet and dense forested area dotted with large family homes.  His home was the grandest of them all.  It was a large stately mansion with numerous Christmas lights that gave it a warm glow.  It was something straight from a fairy tale. Temari could make out a couple standing at the front waiting for them. 

“Ready for this?”  Shikamaru asked, placing a gentle hand on hers. 

“It's a little too late to be asking that now.”  She frowned beginning to second guess her decision to help.  

“Don’t worry Temari, they’ll love you.”

She was barely out of the car before she was swallowed up into a hug.

“Temari, my dear it is so wonderful to meet you.”  She met warm brown eyes so similar to Shikmaru’s and returned the affectionate hug. 

Yoshino was absolutely overjoyed at her son being home but especially because he’d been accompanied by Temari.  She had been worried that her son would simply work himself into the grave, never experiencing all the joys that made life worth living.  She prayed that perhaps this relationship, that Temari might be the one to change it all.

“Mrs. Nara it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Yoshino linked her arm with hers.  “None of those formalities. You’re practically family.  Call me mom.  You are absolutely gorgeous dear.  I can’t understand why our son would keep you hidden away from us so long.”

She barely had a moment to greet Shikamaru’s father who he was a splitting image of before she was swept inside. 

It was a blur of faces and names once inside the home.  His mother and father were there of course along with his extended family.  They joked that they needed to see her for themselves. 

Temari was thankful that Shikamaru had given her a rundown on the plane of the people that she’d be meeting. They were all welcoming and shared the same sentiment.  That it was about time that he’d brought someone home and how he could have kept their relationship a secret for so long. 

She’d been nervous and worried for the entire experience but as the night wore on the conversation flowed and the laughter came easily.  His family was far too kind and inviting and they were more than happy to welcome her into the fold. The night turned into the early morning hours and even then she could have stayed up with them.  

“Okay kids time for bed. We’ll have more time together tomorrow. Temari please let Shikamaru know if you need anything.” 

“Thank you...mom.”

Yoshino’s smile was bright and beaming and she couldn’t help but draw Temari into a tight hug.

“I’m so happy that you are here.” 

“We’ll continue our Shogi game tomorrow Temari.  You can ask Shikamaru for some tips.” Shikaku told her with a smile. “Good night kids.”

They were put into Shikamaru’s old room. His awards and old photos lined the walls.

“And who is this?”  She grinned holding up a worn stuffed deer. 

“Careful with that, he’s an antique.  I can sleep on the floor, and you’ll take the bed.”  It would have been strange to ask for separate rooms.

Temari rolled her eyes.  “Shikamaru please, we’re adults. If you promise not to grope me while we can sleep in the same bed.  Besides your mother seems like the type to just barge in here.  It will be hard to explain why you’re on the floor.” 

“Okay, you’re right. Feel free to use this bathroom. I'll go to the one down the hall.” She nodded watching him leave. 

Temari slowly unpacked her luggage and finally had time to reflect on the last few hours. Shikamaru was something else entirely. A genius, mogul, and devoted son.  His family had been so sweet to her that it wasn’t hard to love them.   If she wasn’t careful she’d get caught up and forget that this was all just an act, a lie.  Whoever did manage to capture his heart one day would be so lucky.  

Temari was already snuggled under the covers when he returned and she couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the reindeer pajamas. 

“Laugh all you want but I guarantee that she will have a set ready for you tomorrow.”  

“I look forward to it.”  He shook his head and got settled into bed.

They both naturally turned to their sides to face the other. His eyes were soft as they gazed at her.  

“Thanks again Temari.”

She smiled at the appreciation.  “I’m enjoying myself Shikamaru, your family is wonderful.”

“Thank you.  They really like you.”  

“Really?”  She didn’t realize how much she hoped that they did. 

“I haven’t been around too much the last few years, my own fault.  Seeing my mom smile so much well it means a lot.  It’s hard to get my parents a present as you can imagine.”  His hand casually pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.  

“Bringing you home is the best gift I could have given them.”  

Temari was floored by the compliment. Maybe, just for a little, it wouldn't hurt to get caught up. She leaned into his warm hand.  

“I’m glad that I could help then.  Good night Shikamaru.”

“Good night Tem.”

*

**

When Shikamaru woke up the following morning he felt an unknown weight on his chest.  He grinned seeing Temari’s hair sprawled across his chest his stuffed deer held between them.  At some point during the night he must have pulled her in and she hadn’t let go. 

His hand gently brushed over the top of her head. The quiet of the early morning and warmth of Temari against him created a kind of peace within him. He’d dedicated the greater part of his adult years chasing accolades and accomplishments.  Never stopping to pursue things like love and relationships.  And he was content.  It was enough.  Now, even after just a day with her and his family, it created a strange emptiness in his chest.  Seeing her cook with his mother, and learn how to play Shogi from his father were images he never wanted to forget. Scenes he wanted to view again.  

He had just a few days and maybe in that time, he’d know just what he wanted for Christmas. 

*

**

Okay my loves, the game is how many Christmas cliches can we fit in one story haha.  This is going to go fast.  Then I promise I’ll work on Stalemate and Yamanaka week.  No smut in this one, you can read Stalemate or my Lemonade series for that.  This is just going to be sweet and fluffy.  Love you my dear readers!  Thank you!

[foyiwae]

The Bard and the King

Of tales and of stories, And songs old and new, There's none quite as grand, And none quite as true, As the story of Fili, A mysterious man, This trickster you see, Came with a plan.

From Danos of old, A nation of peace, Ran by a king, The war they did cease. King Nixoh of Bluewater, The fair and the just, The silver eyed king, Who his people did trust.

This first king of Elves, In his palace so grand, Invited the many, Throughout his great land, To a party of plenty, And festives of wealth, So they could be merry, And drink in good health.

But a flaw could be found, In this fair elven king, With the crown on his brow, Of trinkets and rings, He was quick to judge, Those who had less, The poor and the lost, Of the dirt and the mess.

But many an eye, Of the elegant court, Turned and ignored, For they were the sort, These games were made for, The noblest lines, To drink and be appy, To laugh and then rhyme.

To one of these parties, The grandest of feasts, Our hero comes forth, Not first and not lease, Fili the elf, Was not noble blood, To his name was no wealth, He was little but mud.

Our bard had a trick, That no one did know, For he learned from the fey, Of magic to sow, The magic of music, Of sonnet and song, Hidden from many, Away for so long.

But with a musical gift, And magical words, The elf known as Fili, Had a plan so absurd. No invite was needed, No signet ring, As quiet and skilled, Found his way to the king.

The feast of the hour, The grandest of fetes, Was the extravagant birthday, Of Nixoh the great. And Fili did step, On this faithful night, To the throne of the king, His goal in plain sight.

"Oh noblest King, So proud and so fair, How are you just? When you have little care. Here you do sit! On your throne quite so grand. While your people do suffer, In your fair land!"

The king was displeased, By this slanderous bard, His court was affronted, The words had struck hard. The elf was removed, With such lack of grace, "Coward!" He cried, As the king sat stone faced.

All through the weeks, And the months that did follow, Fili did write, Not touched by sorrow. "The silver eyed king, Has lost his pride, I'll gain an audience, I'll show his true side."

So Fili did laugh, He cursed and he jeered, The King of Bluewater, A soldier once feared. Until once again, He returned to the court, This time invited, Not the fair sort.

"Why do you slander? Little wordsmith. What's caused your ire, And as you insist. What stops me you see, From grabbing a chain? To lock you away, From the sun and the rain?"

But Fili just grinned, With a wink and a tune, His eyes on the king, And on the whole room. "Oh noble King Bluewater, And to his court, I do understand, Your mood out of sort."

"A great honoured soldier, You fought with such pride, In the battle of Bluewater, You fought by the side. With the common my king, You're blind in your riches, While the poor and the lame, Die in the ditches."

"My king I do plead, As the stories of old, Don't show this side, The tales that are told. But that I can change, King Nixoh the fair, I do have a gift, To test if you dare."

"As words hold some power, Some clout, and some sway, I'll make you the villain, The rest of your days. King Nixoh the fair, The silver eyed king, Or Nixoh the cruel, And others with sting."

The soldier king sat, And took in the words, Already moved, And slightly disturbed. His ego had grown, His greed now grand, He took off his crown, And his head met his hands."

"Your words do hold truth. There's no need for threats, I see in my rule, My ideals are not met. And do so I vow, To you and my court, My people need better, This I shall sort."

And true to his promise, Convinced by the bard. Truths were revealed, Though the lesson was hard. For the rest of his days, The fair elven king, Worked for his people, And songs they did sing.

But what, you may ask, Of our hero who saved? Well you may find, The answer you craved, King Nixoh's advisor, Fili the brave, The masterful wordsmith, Known to this day.

And those who decide, To follow this lead, And learn to do well, Can hope to succeed. If they stick to their dreams, To not fall to hate, To keep to their word, It's never too late.

Fili, the first bard visits King Nixoh

- The Separation Era 814

[incoherentbabblings]

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (4/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect. Ao3 Link Here!

Tim had no idea there was such a market for wedding planners. He imagined most people planned it themselves. Stephanie had made the very valid point that neither of them had time. Apparently, because she maybe still hated herself a little, she chose possibly the most ridiculous looking woman who came at an equally ridiculous price tag.

“Why’d you choose her?” Tim asked, as the two paced back and forth in one of the drawing rooms of Wayne Manor.

Stephanie was picking a hanging nail. “She had stupid glasses.” She muttered. “Her website screamed ostentatious. That’s what we want right?”

“Well yeah but –”

Alfred opened the door for Mrs van Dijk, and Tim couldn’t help but mutter a curse at the sight of her. Stephanie caught Alfred’s face as he shut the door, to which she noted he seemed quite relieved to be rid of the woman.

Bottle eyed didn’t do it justice. Her glasses seemed an inch thick, and they took up half her face. Humongous brown pupils peered through at Tim as Stephanie very quickly made her way over to him, holding onto his shirt and showing off the ring. Mrs van Dijk’s clothes were seemingly made from rags, and various bits draped across the floor. Her nose was tiny, upturned and pointy. Her teeth were too big for her mouth. She grinned maniacally at the sight of the young couple. She herself somehow looked sixty and thirty at the same time.

Stephanie had picked a winner surely.

“Oh, how happy I am to meet you! I thought for sure I was being pranked when you rang me!” She looked and wandered around the room, utterly fascinated. “And at Wayne Manor no less. I am the luckiest person in the world… Do you mind if I just put my bags here?” The four assorted totes and satchels and rucksacks seemed a bit excessive to Tim, but he nodded, not quite sure what to say. She slapped them down with a delighted squeal.

Nails on a chalkboard. Tim smiled, baring his teeth as they clenched together uncomfortably. Stephanie stepped in, being on the ball for once.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us! And on such short notice too.”

“It’s going to be a rush to get everything done in time.” Tim confirmed.

They all sat down, but then Mrs van Dijk decided she was too far away and stood up. She settled in between Tim and Stephanie, both of whom flinched at having a stranger be so close. They flinched again when she took a hand each and tugged them onto her lap, a little pile of happy hands. Happy sweaty hands. Tim shivered up his spine, and Stephanie’s left leg spasmed at the uncomfortableness of it all.

“I have had a think the past two days.” Van Dijk said earnestly. “You said, Stephanie, you wanted the grandest wedding Wayne money could provide.”

“Yup.”

“I am going to work a little unconventionally. A little traditionally. But you two are the most important clients of my career. I will give you the world.”

“…Thanks.” Tim responded lamely.

“In my thoughts, I see the Cathedral.”

Neither Tim nor Steph were religious.

“I see gold and white.”

Neither were colours they wore nor sought out.

“Carnations for flowers.”

Carnations were for funerals. Tim and Stephanie knew this very well.

“I see the reception here, in the gardens.”

The weather was never good enough to guarantee any event outside.

“And your gown…”

There, Stephanie could not cave in. “I want Rebecca Andrews.”

“Oop! Pardon?” By now word had spread that she was a cursed designer.

“I have my heart set on her you see… Ever since I was younger.”

“…But I… I brought books!” She threw their hands off her lap, Tim rubbing his freed palm against his trousers as the woman fumbled through the tote, tugging out three lever arch files.

“Oh wow… you really prepped for this.”

“I told you! I will give you the world.” And then she sat down, tossing one folder to Tim, and one to Stephanie. Slapping her own open, Mrs van Rijk flipped through pages until she found examples to show Stephanie.

“See? Oh, Mr Wayne wouldn’t you die to see her in this?”

Tim struggled not to swear. “Oh boy.” He said instead.

That seemed too many ruffles for one human body.

Stephanie blinked, and agreed. “No no. I’m sorry, but this is the one area I must put my foot down.”

“…Even though…”

Stephanie smiled reassuringly, and confirmed, “Even though.”

Mrs van Rijk stared at the huge taffeta construction and sighed sadly. “One day I will get a bride in one of these… Nevermind. I will arrange an appointment with Ms Andrews. Funny lady that one.” As she put the folders back, Tim shot Stephanie a look which amounted to kettle meet pot.

Otherwise, they went with whatever this lady suggested. The only thing both Tim and Steph genuinely liked the idea of was a lemon cake rather than a fruit cake. They told themselves that because it maybe wasn’t even going to reach the altar, what they wanted didn’t really matter. Details were details. What mattered was ensuring they were a target.

Stephanie proceeded to go on a coffee date with Cassandra, who gave the evils in her characteristic manner to anyone creeping to close, and a trip to the arcade with Damian, who grumbled and pretended to shoot a photographer with one of the guns for a zombie shooting game, until Stephanie called him over with the food she had bought him. Tim uploaded an old photograph of them when they were fifteen to his social media pages. Bruce mysteriously went to visit Crystal’s hospital when she was on shift, ensuring that she was seen chatting the Mr Wayne. The picture that went in the news was not the most flattering of Mrs Brown – her expression was nothing short of mystified and in awe that Gotham’s favourite child was talking to her – but it served the same goal as the other outings.

The family was doing everything they could to prove that Stephanie was not just someone out of the blue who had stepped into the role of fiancée for Tim. She was a Gotham girl through and through, her mother worked an admirable job, she was known by the family and spent time with them independent of Tim…Older photos began to be circulated. Old school photos when they both attended Gotham Heights were circulated, as was the fact that she was a student in her final year of Gotham College who volunteered at the clinic on Park Row, just around the corner from Tim’s social housing redevelopment project.

Don’t think of this girl as an upstart, they were practically begging, she’d been a part of Tim and Cassandra and Damian and Bruce’s lives long before anyone cared. Tim, who actually braved reading comments and replies, noted that, for the most part…well they weren’t flat out insulting her. Or him.

For the most part.

That counted for a lot.

Though some of them…

Thankfully Bruce and Dick over many years had cultivated a stock image of a slightly batshit (hah) bonkers family that only seemed to grow with the years in equally odd members. Off kilter, sure, but overall a good family. Thank goodness for Gotham stereotypes.

Next step in becoming a target – an engagement photo shoot.

Tim was not even aware these were a thing, but found himself standing in a full suit a mere three days later. Images to be posted amongst societies circles and to be sent with rsvp invitations. This had been it’s own conflict. None of their superhero friends has been invited, but indeed to everyone, this was for real. Tim had ignored the Titans for days at this point, unable to explain what was going on. There was no pithy explanation.

He had been given a black tux, a dark red suit, a navy shirt and chinos, and a pot of hair gel to style himself. Stephanie, meanwhile, was upstairs, with a veritable army of beauticians, hairdressers and too many dresses to count.

It was raining, because of course it was. But the photography studio had insisted on going forward in the manor gardens.

“We can make it look real Austen and shit.”

Tim really didn’t understand the man’s reference. Said man was holding a camera with a very large lens that Tim suspected wasn’t necessary for this kind of shoot. He had sunglasses on, despite the weather, so Tim knew he was very cool. The four assistants who had been with Stephanie trotted down the stairs, moving quickly to set up lighting. All four looked a little dissapointed, but whatever reason Tim didn't understand.

"Okay?" He asked.

One got in Tim’s face and began fixing his hair. He instinctively flinched away from a stranger in his personal space, but quickly smiled apologetically and allowed her to resume. His gut churned from enduring the uncomfortable closeness.

"It's fine. We just... she's been hurt quite bad hasn't she?"

Tim flinched completely away. It seemed the look in his eyes was enough to make the lady look to the floor, and find something else to work on. Tim's protectiveness was flaring, and he knew it was making others uncomfortable. But he also doubted it was as uncomfortable as Stephanie was having strangers examine her body like that.

“Am I okay to come down now?” Stephanie’s voice drifted in from the top of the staircase, providing a welcome distraction.

The man (Tim couldn’t for the life of him remember the name) immediately became effusive.

“Of course, princess! Let’s see you. You’re in the red dress, right?”

“…Yeah.”

She poked her head around the corner and stared at Tim. She sighed sharply at how handsome he looked. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Can I hold onto you walking down? It’s a lot of skirt…”

Tim didn’t care that she was blatantly lying. He hopped up to the top step, holding out his hand for her to take. When she did take, still half hidden behind the wall, Tim felt her trembling. He looked at her inquisitively.

“My scars…” Was all she could say. She was bent over, blonde hair curled to look like Sleeping Beauty’s. The assistants who had done her hair had made the decision to have it all down in order to hide her upper back, shoulders, collar and arms. She was wearing flowers in her hair, and her makeup made her look otherworldly. Tim realised it was all to draw attention upwards, away from her torso.

Tim squeezed her fingers. Stephanie as a rule did not show skin... not since Black Mask.

“You wore that purple dress, remember? The one I got you? That showed more skin.” He tried to remind her, so she could logic her way up to being confident in the beautiful dresses.

She only shook her head, and he could see her eyes growing frenetic with an increasing panic.

“No-one was paying attention, not like this. People are going to see me.”

He stepped closer, creating a bubble around them that made Steph’s breathing quieten, and her back straightened. Saying she was beautiful wasn’t going to work. Some of her scars, little that he had seen, were not beautiful. He wouldn’t lie to himself and say they were. Stephanie was beautiful; the injuries, the torn skin, the white shiny scars, the mangled puckered wounds… there was no beauty in the experiences that created them. No amount of sweet talking would convince her nor the world of it. But that didn’t mean she was lesser for it. Not even close. He stared straight into her eyes, praying he looked reassuring.

“It’s okay.”

She nodded, and gently, encouragingly, he tugged her forward into the viewpoint of the photography team. It was a strapless crimson gown, with a sweetheart neckline and a large wide skirt that made her waist tiny. The photographer hissed. She looked lovely, but some scars shined in the artificial light. It was going to make tidying up the images awkward.

“Oh.” He stated. Stephanie immediately hid behind Tim, feeling humiliated. “Do we want to hide these in post? Or are we drawing...”

Tim glared in an intensely threatening manner, and the man coughed, correcting himself.

“Doesn’t matter. You both look like royalty. Every time I do one of these shoots… but this must be one of the best.”

His team twittered like little birds in agreement. Stephanie struggled not to roll her eyes at the weak save.

Shots were taken of them walking down the stairs, though Stephanie did manage to trip of the final step, crumpling in a heap on the floor. The man had ensured she was okay, then demanded she remain there. Tim was forced to sit behind her, two or three steps up.

“Fix her hair and dress.” The man commanded. Immediately her position was altered, and her hair was pulled to cover certain patches of skin. Her breathing wobbled.

She wasn’t good enough.

A little off put by having so many people fuss over her, Stephanie reached upwards. Tim gave her his hand, and then quickly, unthinkingly, pressed a kiss to the back of her head. He watched as goosebumps trailed up her back, and he cursed himself a little for even attempting to comfort her.

“Oh!” Shouted the man. “Hold that. Her ring looks good.”

There were four outfits and locations in total – the strapless red gown for Tim’s black tux in the main staircase being the first. For the Thomas Wayne’s library Stephanie perched herself on a leather loveseat armrest, sitting awkwardly and slightly off to the side in her insecurity. Tim had his bowtie removed and three buttons undone, to which he promptly redid one. Stephanie was changed into an off the shoulder green dress with sleeves that split open to expose her arms and hit the floor. The gown had such a deep neckline that Tim’s eyes were drawn to a white scar that went up her sternum. She caught him looking and hissed like an angry cat, unsure if he was staring at her chest or the wound. The golden gown, the one that looked like rays of sun, for the shots in the conservatory was beautiful, but again, Tim could see she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with both the attention and exposure. Repeatedly for couple shots she would start to migrate behind Tim, half hidden away until called out and forced forward. Tim found he couldn’t say anything in front of the photography crew to comfort her. He kept some part of himself connected to her, hoping the touch would ground her. Obviously this was not an option for the solo shots.

She seemed much happier with the final dress. A shorter purple dress with feathers all along the hem. It had a high neck and long sleeves. Tim couldn’t help it, he laughed as she brushed through the bird feathers. She shivered in her bare legs though and begged to put on a pair of tights. The man narrowed his eyes, or at least Tim thought he did behind those glasses, but agreed.

“Some posed shots.” He said, staring down into his viewfinder. “Then go frolic outside.”

“Frolic?” Stephanie raised on eyebrow, and Tim mirrored it.

“Outside?”

Tim took off his blazer as he and Stephanie questioned the photographer in between snaps being taken. Steph grabbed a hold of Tim’s shoulder to balance as she zipped up a boot. The rain was coming down as hard as ever.

“Yes. We need some natural shots.”

His assistant opened the double window doors, cold air blasting its way in. Rainwater dripped inside, and Tim shuddered at the fit Alfred would have. The water crept dangerously close to one of the rugs, and even Stephanie made a panicked oomph noise, and she rushed out front into the pouring rain, hoping that the quicker this round was done the sooner these people would pack up and leave and she could return to flat shoes. Her heels were starting to ache to the point of distraction.

Tim rushed out after her, resisting the urge to yell at the frigid water which immediately soaked him to the bone. Stephanie looked back at him, her dress clinging in all the right ways, hair a sodden blanket. She was laughing from the shock of how cold it was.

“I can’t believe you agreed to this?” He yelled over the sound of the rain hitting the paving stones. Stephanie just laughed and held out her arms for him to step into. Her makeup was starting to run, but rather than making her look like a drowned rat, she looked lively and bright. Her face flushed red from the cold, and Tim willingly went straight into her hold.

She brushed his wet hair out of his eyes, grinning at the face she saw underneath. Still so pale, with such dark bruises under his eyes. Still not sleeping well. But he was happy, at least for the moment. She didn’t want her moodiness ruin that for him.

Stephanie couldn’t get that moment of the kiss to her hair out of her mind, nor could Tim stop thinking about the declaration of love and kiss on the lips she had given him last week. They were stumbling in the dark, seeking physical comfort in each other, and both knew how dangerous it was. Simultaneously, and without mentioning it to the other, they resolved to corner the other. Soon.

Until then, when the photographer called for them to kiss, it was Stephanie who cradled Tim’s face and pulled him close. It was the kind of kiss that they made when they were adolescents: enthusiastic, clumsy, but infatuated. Stephanie tried to convince herself that it was just another kiss for the job, like the ones one their dates and engagement dinners, but as always the sharp stab of enjoyment that came with Tim’s smiling kisses made her shiver and doubt. She squished his cheeks and laughed when they broke apart, and when she tried to leave Tim’s hold and playfully pulled her back around her waist, tossing out further into the rain so he could run inside before her.

She collapsed in, ankles a little wobbly, grimacing at the water they had allowed into the room. Tim shut the windows and huffed.

“Perfect.”

Remembering they had been watched, the redness in Stephanie’s skin vanished, and she resumed staring at her feet, shuffling backwards behind Tim.

Hair dripping wet, and conscious that the pair might catch a cold, Tim tried to be genial when he asked if they were done. The man bared his teeth and he flipped through the images. He didn’t look totally satisfied.

“I don’t know… Can we go for some more artsy stuff? You guys got a ballroom, right? You two are such a good pair…I just want some more to play around with.”

Stephanie stumbled in her shoes, growing more tired by the moment. Tim began to shiver. One of the assistants not so subtly nudged the man, letting him now his time was up.

Bruce in one his blessed moments of good timing, had at some point begun watching through the open door to the drawing room, seemed to realise that Tim and Steph had also had enough.

“Thank you, Mr Hare, but I’m going to have to ask you to wrap up. Let my kids dry up.”

Being referred to one of Bruce’s own made Stephanie stare in open shock, whilst Tim looked gratefully at him, giving a small smile.

“Oh.” Said Mr Hare – Tim tried to not feel guilty at not knowing his name for the entire shoot – and finally he took the hint. “No worries. This was a good session! Listen, I’ll send them when their done to van Rijk. She’s a beast, will probably want them tomorrow if I know her.”

Bruce smiled politely and indicated for Alfred to begin showing them out.

Tim’s shivering had grown worse, and Stephanie noticing this, rushed to one of the sofas which had a cream throw resting over the back to cradle Tim within.

“Rub your chest if it’s gets unbearable.” She uttered, “That’s where all the important bits are.”

Tim smiled, teeth chattering. “Minus a spleen.”

“Huh?” She looked at him, confused.

“I… Oh. I never told you?”

She tilted her head, gears turning ever so slowly in her head. “That you don’t have a spleen? Tim! You’ll get sicker easier and worse!”

She managed to kick off her shoes and moved in closer, tugging the throw around them both. With the assistants out of the room, Tim grew somewhat warmer knowing she was being genuinely caring in this moment.

“How long ago?” She asked, shifting so she could keep them both somewhat warm.

“Um…” Tim looked at Bruce helping Alfred escort the team of the estate. “When I first went looking for him. Got stabbed.”

Her breath warmed his neck, and her fingers drifted down to where his scar was. She cooed when he twitched as if her touch hurt him, but to Tim it felt like a bolt of electricity had passed straight down his spine. He told himself it was because of the static from the rain and humidity.

Bruce watched the group begin to pack up, both ensuring they had left with all their equipment but also listening to their conversation, trying to not to smile.

“I think…” He interrupted, and the pair jolted at the reminder that someone else was in sight of them. “You both should shower up. Then a quick word with you both.”

Stephanie was the first to break away.

“Can I use Cass’ room?”

“We have a spare room if you want it. We have loads of spare rooms.” Tim hinted.

Steph didn’t take the hint. “Cass’ is fine.”

Bruce, however, did hear the hint, and in a rare moment of paternal ingenuity, decided to throw a little bomb into the mix.

“When is Stephanie moving into your apartment, Tim?”

Stephanie, who had no idea such an idea was on offer, gulped. Tim, also appeared a little thrown.

“I… I…”

“I’ve never even been to your apartment.”

“Well, there’s your chance.” Bruce said. “Now hurry up, before Alfred sees the state of the floors.”

Bruce’s edict was law, and reluctantly Crystal agreed for Stephanie to move out.

When it came to moving in with Tim, Stephanie was surprised how easy it was. She really didn’t own that much stuff to begin with, and Tim had a lot of spare space.

Tim’s apartment, based in Park Row no less, was large, and took up two floors. He seemed awful proud of it. Steph didn’t miss the piano sat in the corner but chose not to comment.

“One of your projects?”

Tim huffed, thinking she was diminishing his efforts with Park Row. He was lifting her suitcases up the stairs. “Well, the redevelopment is as good as I make it… And I live here… so you know, I stand by it being good.”

“Hmm.” She set one of four boxes on the couch. Hard and square, it didn’t lend itself to resting and relaxing. Tim had probably chosen it for the aesthetics more than anything, and was likely cursing himself that he had offered to sleep on it whilst Stephanie took his own bed. Glaring at the obnoxious chandelier which hung down from the open space of the ceiling of the first floor down to just above their heads on the first, she hummed to herself.

“These aren’t…I…”

Tim waited patiently at the top of the steps for her to finish.

“How did you make sure you haven't just gentrified the area?”

Tim put down her suitcases, practically skipping down the steps to get to her level, a little put off with her question. “You worried I kicked poor people out of Crime Alley?”

Stephanie blushed, and defended herself. “Not intentionally.”

“No. Not intentionally. Not unintentionally either.” He scoffed, but before he could turn way, Stephanie halted him.

“How then?”

Tim couldn’t hear the sincerity in her tone, instead he heard patronising accusations. His temper flared unexpectedly. She still could rile him up like no other. “You care?”

As could he to her, apparently. Her blush turned to a flush of red anger, and her defensiveness became aggressive.

“What kind of question is that? Do I care about your job? The unprivileged? Gotham in general?” She waved her hands. “Nevermind. Not if you’re gonna take everything like an attack.”

With a whirl that smacked Tim in the face with her long ponytail, he flinched back and watched her drag another box in. It was too heavy for one person, and she was going to hurt her back in her stubbornness.

“Steph, let me help.”

“I’m fine.”

“Steph –”

“You don’t always need to be so –”

“You know you can accept help from –”

The pair trailed off, both bent awkwardly over a box, glaring at each other. Stephanie was the first to break, groaning in a tantrum and stomping up the steps. She looked down over the railing to Tim looking up at her.

“You honestly don’t have a spare room?”

“No. The other room is an office and a bathroom. It’s just for a few more weeks… I made space in my closet for you.”

“Thanks. Real generous there, Timbo.”

Her sarcasm was biting, and Tim felt the childish urge to stick his tongue out at her. She vanished from sight though, rolling her clothes through to his bedroom. Kicking the box at his feet, his eyes widened in shock at how heavy was, and he stumbled away.

“What she got in here… boulders?”

Dragging it into the hallway, Tim popped outside to see Crystal driving away, the two remaining boxes left at the foot of the steps to the door. They were lighter than the box of bricks, and once they were inside Tim shut the front door. Stephanie was still upstairs, so was likely unpacking her clothes.

Opening the heavy box in some grim determination to be vindicated in its contents, he was instead met with a box filled with stuffed soft toys.

She still held onto them? At the top of was a somewhat familiar teddy bear. She had held onto it and smacked him with it playfully on occasion. When he had visited her to tell her he was having to leave Gotham… when she was pregnant, when she didn’t know his name or anything about his parents or who was behind that mask… all she had known was this boy had – for some unknown reason – chosen to stay with her, to spend time with her. She had taken a lot of convincing over two years it was because Tim genuinely loved her, and it wasn’t out of some Bat driven duty to be kind to those weaker than you. By the time she believed it herself, she had seen Tim kissing someone (someone who she now knew he didn’t want to be kissed by) and everything had gone down the crapper. Seeing that stuffed bear affected him more than he expected.

Resting under it was the duck he had won her the other week. Its silly face peering out from under the other toys made him laugh despite his tense mood.

He picked up both toys and walked up the stairs. In his room, Steph was piling her shoes into a corner of the closet. Tim set the duck down on a table that rested at the foot of his bed.

“You kept this?” Tim asked, waving the teddy.

Stephanie gasped, clumsily pulling herself off the floor, and reached out to take it. Tim snatched it back.

“Give it.” She cried.

“Did you seriously bring everything? I could have helped you pack. Even the toys.”

She seemed increasingly upset, when Tim was only trying to tease. “I’m serious Tim, give it.”

He didn’t give way, so in her frustration, she shoved him. Hard. No damage was done, but the look of horror on her face at becoming physical like that with him made Tim’s stomach drop more than anything.

Her face turned white and she begged, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Tim really didn’t know what to do with her constant mood swings, so awkwardly returned her bear to her. She nearly ripped it out of his hands and cradled it reverently.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have made fun of you. I just thought it was sweet, that you held onto this stuff.”

In her hands, Stephanie looked down at the bear. When she spoke, it was near a whisper.

“My dad bought it for me.”

“He did?”

“Mmm. When he was… when he was trying to be better.” Her look grew angry then. “I don’t know why I keep it.”

Without thinking, she plopped on her bed, staring at nothing. Tim realised he needed to intervene, and quick. He sat next to her and took one of her hands in both of his.

“We need to talk, I think.”

Dropping the bear, her other hand joined the three. Tim tried not to shiver at the warmth. “Me too.”

“Let’s get the rest of your stuff in, yeah? Is it all for upstairs?”

“I have some photo albums. And a couple of things for the kitchen. Figured you didn’t cook much.”

“Not really.”

She pulled their pile of hands into her lap, her look growing softer by the moment.

“Then I’ll cook tonight? First meal in a new place. Be a good wifey and all that.”

Tim tried not to imagine Stephanie with rollers in her hair, red lips and a frilly apron holding an apple pie. He failed. “Can’t comment on the contents of my fridge.”

“That’s okay.” She stood up, wandering down to the yellow duck. She pinched its orange beak. “Tim?”

“Mm?”

“I am genuinely interested in your work. I’m not being accusatory about that.”

“Thank you, Steph.”

She smiled, but it was sad.

With one box filled with stuffed toys, it truly didn’t take long for Tim to help her move the rest of her stuff into his room. Photos proceeded to take up free surface space, and Tim’s bathroom quickly became filled with so many items for the bath that his mind drifted to the idea of Stephanie. In his tub. In his apartment. He burned red for the rest of the afternoon, his brain not allowing him to let go of her soaking in bubbles.

There was one that smelled like cola candy that he liked, but it was at that point he decided he was being creepy, and wandered back downstairs, to find his fiancée’s head rammed in the fridge.

“Alright there?”

“Garlic…red onion… half a pepper…” Her muffled voice was amused. “Butter… cheese… milk.” She shut the door, hands full of everything except the milk. “Pretty standard student fridge contents huh?”

“I’m not a student.”

“Nah, but you have twenty-year-old brain anyway. We’re all messes.” She looked at the ingredients in her arms. “I can do something with this. You good a stirring?”

“I have movement in my wrists.”

She smiled. “Then grab me a knife, cutting board, pot and frying pan?” When he did, she jerked her head over to the sink. “Fill the pot three quarters up and throw a chunk of salt in. When it boils – two mugs of pasta and stir.”

It was a simple quick dish, but she gave Tim enough instructions to make him feel like he somewhat contributed to the food that she made. Sitting with her at the counter, watching her pile cheese higher and higher into her bowl, made him feel content in a manner he didn’t feel often in his home.

When they were finished, Tim stared into his empty bowl gathering the courage to say,

“We should talk.”

Stephanie beat him to it. Tim picked up the dishes, hand shaking a little.

“I’ll wash up.”

She reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently. If he wanted, he could pull away without being violent, but he held still. Steph looked at him, trying to make him understand.

“It can wait a little bit.”

She was right, but Tim couldn’t shake his nerves. He set the bowls down, then sat back on the stool.

Stephanie’s hand shifted, and then suddenly they were interlocking fingers.

“Tim…” She began, and she was unable to look at him as much as he for her. “How much of this is real for you?”

Tim had told Dick he had wanted her to start the conversation, for her to lead the way, but now when it was happening, Tim moved from nervous to frightened.

“What do you mean?”

The look Steph gave Tim from the corner of her eye was indescribable, but the closest Tim got to giving it a name was pity.

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Do you?”

Deflecting like a wimp. Avoiding conflict. Tim tried to convince himself it was because Stephanie had to be the one to tell him. The moment she was decisive, so would he.

Instead she sighed like she didn’t know what to say. They were still holding hands. Tim began to breathe shallowly.

“Please, Steph. It’s fine if you don’t.”

There was his admission. She knew, she’d always known. But somehow, she had found the talent of laying her cards close to her chest, and he hated it.

“It’s not that.”

Not a denial. Not really an admission either.

“What is it?”

“It’s everyone else. Like, I’ve been getting all these messages all the time from people I haven’t spoken to in ages but then Kara keeps messaging me asking what’s going on. Why I didn’t tell her? Why are her and Conner not invited? But I can’t… I can’t lie to our loved ones about you.”

“Because you…don’t love me. And you don’t want to lie to the people we love that you do.”

He felt hollowed out. He felt like he was hurting her. But she had agreed to this. She didn’t have to. He had given her a way out. So what? She was being a martyr?

“No…No Tim.”

And suddenly Tim could breathe again.

“But don’t you get it? Even if I wanted… we are lying to everyone. How can anything good come from a lie? Especially for us. Where has us lying with each other ever done us any good?”

Oh. She thought they were repeating old bad patterns.                                

“I’m not lying to you.” He said, trying to reassure her. Not once since this whole thing had begun.

“And that’s all that matters?”

“It should. We’re the ones in this…relationship…so that’s all that counts.”

She sighed patiently, like she was explaining something to a child. “Tim, we don’t live in a bubble.”

Tim ignored it, and shamelessly began to beg. His patience had run out. It felt like he was pulling wisdom teeth, that’s how closed off she was being.

“Stephanie. Steph, please. You can’t say it’s a lie when I’ve done nothing but be honest with you. You have to tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“You said you loved me at dinner.”

“I did.”

“Do you?”

“Of course, I do.”

Tim did not feel any lighter with the admission, nor did Steph look happy to say it.

“When this is over, do you want to be with me? For real? Like I do for you?”

Finally, finally, they looked each other in the eye.

“I don’t know.” Her voice was wet, quiet, and strained, like she was on the urge of crying. She didn’t even sound sure of her uncertainty. Maybe Tim was completely delusional, but he sensed that for all her talks of wanting the truth, she didn’t know what to do with it when it was staring her right in the face.

She was still frightened, and Tim knew it was from every piece of negative and positive attention being flung there way. Like Tim, Stephanie just wanted to be left alone. Unlike Tim, she couldn’t cope with the attention. And he didn’t know how to help her.

She then got up from the table, picking up their bowls to do the washing up. She had gotten what she wanted from the conversation. Tim was being earnest, like he always was. Tim still loved her, like he always had. Tim wanted a real relationship with her, like he had always wanted.

And she had only given him mixed signals in return. Self-loathing bubbled in her gut, which only served to fuel her seemingly growing self-esteem issues. Her anger spiked.

And she’d tried so hard to get over her adolescent insecurities too…

Patrol was waiting, after which Stephanie would spend the night with Cass at the manor, and Tim would return to his apartment, staring at the empty space in his large bed.

Neither slept that night.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @forensicsisabelle!

Dear giftee!

Hope this gift will give you a smile and a giggle over the festive period! Merry Christmas! <3

Read on AO3

******

There's Something Magical About Christmas!

Chapter 1 - Christmas Eve

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Surely it couldn’t be time to rise and face the day already, Magnus thinks, burrowing deeper into the furry warmth of his husband’s comfy chest, stubbornly refusing to let the light stealing through the curtains rob him of his contented bliss.

The answering purr he feels beneath his cheek makes him smile though..

“You’re turning into Chairman, Alexander,” he mumbles, scrunching his nose at the delicate licks it’s now being treated to.

Muffled giggling has Magnus cranking one bleary eye open to see it was indeed the magnificent Meow providing him with a perfect pillow, while the highly amused trio of his nearest and dearest were huddled together on the other side of the bed, laughing at his expense.

Once again, Magnus silently congratulates himself for suggesting they all wear brand new festive pyjamas every year as a Lightwood-Bane family tradition, because seeing Reindeer Rafe, Mince Pie Max and Angel Alexander had already made his Christmas as far as Mistletoe Magnus was concerned.

A grin tugging at his lips, Magnus subjects all three of them to lazy tickles, reserving a nuzzle for the unimpressed pet, who promptly vacates the bed in a huff over all the jostling noise, the void quickly filled with eager bodies scooting closer to get their morning cuddles.

“Snuggles,” declares their youngest, heaving a contented sigh when everyone’s limbs are entangled enough to barely allow any breath and his parents’ arms reach across to lock them in tight.

“How long have you three been awake?” Magnus rasps, dropping a kiss on the boys’ heads before crushing them briefly when his husband seeks one for himself.

Whispering into Rafe’s dark curls, Alec replies, “Someone forgot to turn their alarm off this morning and woke us up.”  Hazel eyes peer mischievously at him through ridiculously long lashes. “Well, most of us.”  

Magnus savours it, lips curling in tandem with his handsome husband’s as they patiently wait to give each other a proper kiss good morning.

“What can I say, family of mine?” he sighs, propping himself up on his elbow to see their faces better  “Those of us not blessed with a Nephilim glow or the magic of youth, require all the help extra sleep can give.”

“As if,” snorts Alec, rolling his eyes in unison with their eldest, while big blue ones crinkle in delight at his papa’s silly words.

“I think you SPARKLE!” Max declares, his eager arms reaching to wrestle Magnus down for a flurry of loud, wet kisses to his face, both boys oblivious to the dopey smiles exchanged over their heads as they nestle deeper under the covers.

Hearing the mouthed words, “You’re beautiful,” because they’re voiced loud and clear on an almost daily basis by his very complimentary partner, Magnus absorbs all the affection in a languid state of happiness as he watches Alec rise to go make breakfast, asking over his shoulder what everyone wants to do today.

Everything from trips abroad to board games are discussed over the kitchen table as they wolf down Alec’s expertly-made crepes, but before they even have a chance to clear the dishes, an unwelcome security issue requiring Alec’s immediate attention threatens to breach their cheerful mood.

Rafe, proud of his dad’s position as the Head of the New York Institute and keen to take any opportunity to observe him in action, is the only one excited by the news.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” Rafe chirps, scrambling off the chair and running to get dressed without waiting for Alec’s permission to go with him.

With a fond shake of the head, Alec crouches next to where Max is now pouting on Magnus’ lap and takes his hand.

“I hate to leave, Max, but I’ll try and make it quick, then we’ll do whatever you boys want, ok?” Alec promises, kissing his 5-year-old’s button nose and getting rewarded with one back before going to change.

Determined to remain upbeat, Magnus suggests helping Max practice the magic trick he plans to use to impress their friends later, flicking his wrist to fill the loft with music from Max’s favourite Harry Potter film, trying and succeeding in bringing the joy back to his little one’s face.  

By the time his angelic duo are ready to leave, everyone’s mood is restored, except Alec’s.

“Go do your job, Shadowhunter,” Magnus tells him between quick, chaste kisses that will have to do for now. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The lop-sided smile he receives makes the wait for their return much easier.

*********************************

Given the mutinous look on his 7-year-old’s face, Alec’s half-expecting his son to dig his heels in and refuse to leave his side while Underhill delivers his security report, but Rafe’s need to make his father proud of him overrides his annoyance at being temporarily dismissed and he trudges over to Aline without another word, letting her cajole him with offers of bo staff training and peppermint fudge until he caves with a dimpled grin.

“Thanks for offering to look after him, Aline. Appreciate it.”

A knowing smile accompanies her nod, and with a quick wave, she closes the door behind them.

“He’s a chip off the old block, you know,” says Underhill, eyes darting to the handful of papers at Alec’s elbow that Rafe had just been practicing his memos and perfecting his tricky signature on.

If it was what Rafe wanted, his son was going to head up his own institute one day, Alec was sure of it.  Pride softened his voice. “Actually, I think he’s got a lot of Magnus in him too,” Alec replies, capping the embossed fountain pen Rafe had been using and twirling it in his hand. “I offered him crayons but apparently they’re not good enough for cursive writing.”

Underhill chuckles, taking a seat and opening the file. “He’s a credit to you both. Max too.”  

Warmth fills Alec’s chest at those words. “Thank you. We’ve been very lucky.”  

Clearing some space for them to study the data, Alec’s remembering the cleverly-timed kiss that allowed Magnus to persuade him to add some ‘yuletide joy’ to his austere surroundings, having to reign him in on the six-foot tree but unable to resist the fibre optic family-of-four snowmen sharing a rainbow scarf that stood beside a framed photo of them all.

The glamoured one secreted away in the bottom drawer of his desk, offering a digital slideshow of Magnus at his most alluring, was for his eyes only when he had to work late. That is a gift that truly keeps on giving.

A discreet cough brings him back to the present.

This time, warmth flooded Alec’s face. “Sorry. Shall we get started?”

Ever the gentleman, Underhill focuses on showing him their security status, assuring him that Keller, a specialist from the Tokyo Institute, would be a competent stand-in for himself when he took some long-overdue leave after Boxing Day.

Genuinely happy for the man who’d become a sympathetic friend over the last few years, Alec wishes Underhill good luck with his proposal plans, sure in the knowledge that Lorenzo will give him the answer he hoped for.

And equally sure they’ll be receiving an invitation, in portrait form, to the grandest wedding Spain will ever see.

Eager to retrieve his son and gather his family around him, Alec’s in the middle of locking drawers, switching off screens and filing the practice memos away for safe-keeping, when Rafe returns, sporting a megawatt smile as Aline and Helen regale Alec with how much progress the young Shadowhunter’s made with his posture and composure since he last visited.

Heart melting, Alec drops a kiss on Rafe’s head before giving him a piggyback and messages Magnus  to say they’re ready to come home and need a portal, never more grateful for his favourite warlock’s pioneering ability than when it brings them all back together again.

“Will you both be on duty over Christmas?” Alec asks, once Rafe’s high-fived his chaperones goodbye.

“We are,” Helen replies, taking Aline’s hand and kissing it sweetly. “But we have each other for company while we do some heavy-duty…research.” The shared look between the girlfriends doesn’t escape Alec.

“Oh, research? Is that what we’re calling it now?” he teases as he heads for the portal that’s appeared behind him.

“We might even check the perimeter now and then,” Aline calls after him. “ I’ve heard it can be fun with the right company.”

Flipping them off behind his back, their laughter sends him home smiling and eager for a kiss from his husband.

*************************************

“Once more, my little blueberry. You’re so close, I can taste the cappuccino,” Magnus urges, heartsore about how defeated his little boy looks over the absence of lasting magic from his hands and wishing all the ley lines would converge beneath penthouse one to help Max complete his sorting spell.

The teary expression on Max’s face tells Magnus he’s not convinced he can do this.

With a soothing hand between shoulder blades stiff with tension, Magnus kneels down and cups his other one beneath both of Max’s which hold a small hill of coffee beans, and continues his encouragement.  “Believe in your ability to do this, Max. Picture your magic roasting them, changing what the beans can do. Feel it in your gut and guide it to your fingertips, just like we talked about. Okay?”

Tilting his face up for a ‘positivity peck’ on the cheek, a more focused Max nods and prepares to try again, reciting the simple charm with more conviction than before.

Ready and waiting to provide a boost if needed, Magnus watches with incredible pride as the pale blue sparks don’t splutter and die, but grow stronger and brighter, rippling across the childish palms and engulfing the beans in a painless fire that ensures their new ability before clearing in a puff of white smoke.

Casting a quick reinforcement spell to preserve Max’s hard work, Magnus stores them in a sack stamped with the Hogwarts School emblem and flings his arms open for a hug, happy tears and giggles filling the room.

“Oh Max, you were wonderful!” Magnus tells him once they recover themselves, standing to swing the boy onto his hip. “Just wait until your dad and Rafe find out that you controlled your magic this time. Let alone see what we’ve done with the kitchen.”  

Casting a critical eye over the lavishly-decorated roleplay cafe it had become thanks to both Max’s fertile imagination and his creative genius, Magnus has to admit he’s pleased with the results.

Shrugging his shoulders, Max is confident his father will love it.  “This is fun. Dad said we could do what we wanted today.”

“He did indeed,” Magnus agrees, feeling warm and fuzzy about how, even at this tender age, Max is secure in the knowledge that his father will want to spend time having fun with him and his brother, because he loves them, and that Alec’s promises mean something.

Magnus wishes he’d known such certainty of affection growing up, been able to believe in the words spoken to him by the two men who’d held paternal roles in his life, but today was not to be spoiled with thoughts of fathers past, only enjoyed with a dearly beloved father of the present and the future. He’d found the perfect man to raise kids with.

One of many, many reasons he loves Alexander Gideon Lightwood.

“We have the stage, but not the costumes. Any thoughts?” Magnus asks, watching a slideshow of ideas come and go on Max’s face, giving it the serious consideration it deserves.

“Mmm, I want to be…..Draco. No! Dumbledore!” Bouncing with infectious excitement, Magnus needs both arms to contain his wannabe Albus, heading for the walk-in closet when a message from Alec comes through.

“Is that Dad? Are they coming back?” Max asks, crossing his fingers.

Magnus happily confirms that they are. “No time to waste,” he decides, magicking them both into costumes befitting their characters.

Max’s ecstatic smile, almost hidden by his new silvery beard, surely means Magnus chose wisely.

Activating the requested portal, they take up their positions just in time.

Gratifying gasps meet their ears when Alec and Rafe step through and spy their handiwork. Rafe takes in the bright red exterior framing the kitchen doorway as he slides to the floor, while Alec’s eyes rake over every inch of Magnus in his Lockhart finery, from his golden hair and make-up to the hem of his elaborately embroidered cape-coat.

“Papa, can I dress up too?” Rafe asks hopefully. “I want to be Ssssseverus Sssssnape!”  

Dragging his eyes away from Alec’s frank appraisal, Magnus gives Rafe a thumbs up. “Certainly, ssssssunshine.”  And with a flick of his wrist, Rafe becomes the head of Slytherin House.

Turning to Alec, Magnus issues a silent challenge to choose a character, lips quirking at the devilment he saw in those eyes.  Watching the expressive slideshow of thoughts, an uncanny repeat of their youngest when he’s thinking, Magnus finds himself intrigued.

“How about Hag-?”

“No chance.”

“Alastor-”

“Nope.”

“Vol-”

“Don’t say his name!” exclaim the boys, pointing accusing fingers at their dad for forgetting.

Alec holds up his hands, suitably chastised, and turns a knowing smile on Magnus. “Let’s go with Sirius Black.”

“Excellent choice,” Magnus beams, all set to conjure the most raggedy and revealing prison clothes he could in the presence of the boys, when Alec spoils his fun with, “Minus the handcuffs.”

“As you wish,” he sighs, still creating a masterpiece with Alec’s velvet frock coat and fob chain, the false moustache and day-old stubble wreaking havoc with Magnus’ imagination until Max, equally resplendent in a silk robe and tasseled cap, clears his throat and lifts his arms.  

“Welcome, Severus! Welcome, Sirius! This is the Elephant House coffee shop.” Pausing to check with Magnus that he’d said it correctly, Max continues. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”

Bowing, Alec replies, “We’d be honoured, Professor,” causing Max to dissolve into giggles.

Rafe, however, staying wholly in character, gives his brother a dismissive look and strides inside, much to everyone’s amusement.

But before Magnus can follow them, Alec steals a surprise kiss as busy hands roam over the flowery cravat and waistcoat Magnus is wearing. Alec uses the voice usually reserved for the bedroom. “I just want to say that all of this works for me in ways it really shouldn’t.”

Similarly undone, Magnus tugs him even closer by his lapels. “Your whiskers have the same effect as my cat eyes, Alexander. You might have a hard time finding your razor from now on.”

The slow grin he receives is pure filth.

“Good to know.”

Magnus leaves him go with a grin of his own and shoos him inside the cafe.

Based mostly on Dumbledore’s office, the transformation looks amazing, if Magnus does say so himself.  Bookshelves have replaced the cupboards, an ornate desk stands in lieu of the kitchen table, portrait paintings cover the walls and a grand chandelier graces the ceiling.  In pride of place is a candle-lit lectern in the shape of an owl which holds a beautifully-styled coffee menu, next to which is a big wooden, globe-shaped drinks cabinet that houses a coffee machine with four spouts, each one forged into the head-shape of the animals representing the Hogwarts houses - a lion, a badger, an eagle and a serpent.

“You’ve outdone yourself in such a short space of time, Gilderoy,” Alec declares, taking in all the little details.

“‘Spooky how the time flies when one’s having fun,’” quotes Magnus, preening like a peacock at how thrilled everyone is with his efforts. “Care to take a taste test with our newly-qualified warlock-in-residence? Or am I spilling the beans too early, Max?”

Alec and Rafe turn to look expectantly at Max, who’s bubbling over with his need to share his news.

“I made magic coffee beans ALL BY MYSELF!“ he cries, quickly disappearing beneath a two-fold attack of bear hugs and congratulations that has Magnus joining in.

“What do I have to do to sample these special beans?” asks Alec, radiating with pride at his son’s first magical triumph.

“Sit and we’ll show you,” answers Max, fetching the sack of beans and opening it so his dad and brother could take one each, leaving his papa to explain the rest.

“These beans have been magically roasted by my good friend, Dumbledore, so that they’ll tell us which type of coffee you’ll enjoy drinking the most, based on the colour it leaves on your tongue when you chew it. Temporarily, of course.”  Elegant hands draw their attention to each of the available beverages on the menu and their corresponding colour.

“Scarlet for a Grounded Gryffindor, yellow for a Hot Hufflepuff, blue for a Rich Ravenclaw and green for a Smooth Slytherin.”  

“I love that,” Rafe chuckles.

“It’s actually really sweet,” Alec agrees, winking at a proud-as-punch Max.

“Now you can eat the bean,“ announces Magnus. “It tastes of Lucky Charms because Max wanted Rafe to like the taste.”

“Nice one,” Rafe says, high-fiving his little brother before popping the bean into his mouth. Alec followed suit.

When they reveal their matching green tongues, Rafe takes it to mean he’s definitely following in his father’s successful footsteps and glows as Max puts a goblet under the snake’s spout and pulls the spoon-shaped handle for the coffee to pour.

“Remember to put extra milk in Rafe’s goblet please, Max,” says Magnus, smirking at the eye roll this earns him from his offended son.

Moaning with pleasure over how satisfying his coffee tastes, Alec sets down his cup and draws them all in for a group hug.

“Gentlemen, you’ve just given me the perfect blend of family, fun and fantasy that I could ever hope to enjoy. Thank you.”

Forgiving his husband the terrible pun, Magnus knows he couldn’t agree more.

Chapter 2 - Christmas Day

***************************

“I think our presents were a success, Alexander. Would you agree?” asks Magnus as they attempt a waltz around the loft, but Alec’s trying to focus on avoiding all the trip hazards that litter the floor, such as Persian rugs, Chairman, randomly tossed cushions and the odd discarded toy.

“Uh, yeah. They seemed over the moon with them,” he smiles. Mostly, it’s relief at having just negotiated the coffee table without incident, but there’s also the memory of how elated the boys had been, despite the early hour.

Having arranged for their friends to visit them for a late breakfast, he and Magnus had decided to let the boys dive straight into opening their gifts after being rudely woken up with their ear-splitting cries of, ”Merry Christmas,” and clambered over by their reckless limbs. There’d been many to get through but, as always, their own special ones had been revealed in an unconventional way, as befitting his unconventional husband.

Already overjoyed with all the smaller items they’d been lucky enough to receive from their parents, the boys had been watching the film, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, a tradition they’d adopted ever since Max had discovered the scene where Violet Beauregarde turned into a giant blueberry, when Magnus had reminded them that their festive stockings hadn’t been emptied yet.

Suspicious but eager to seek out more possible rewards, both had taken the Wonka chocolate bars inside to be exactly that, until they’d removed the wrapping and discovered the golden tickets with news of their bespoke gifts written on them.

Private singing and dancing lessons for Rafe and a prominent pirate role in an upcoming blockbuster movie for Max, both courtesy of Magnus’ close personal friends, Beyonce and Baz.

Chairman was still recovering from the screams that had rocked the entire apartment, hence why he was nowhere to be seen now, despite the number of familiar faces that were here this afternoon. Though the volume in here could have something to do with it too.

In honour of one of their generous donors, the Moulin Rouge! soundtrack had been selected as something they could all dance to, and glancing around him, Alec thinks it’s an inspired choice. How else would he be able to bask in the timeless fun of seeing Simon lip-sync a love medley to his adoring boyfriend, with Raphael’s heart eyes in full effect whenever it’s his turn to join in, with gusto. Probably for her own protection, Madzie was out on the balcony learning how to cha-cha with Catarina, while Ragnor’s frequent offers to teach them the gavotte or the jive fell on purposely-deaf ears.

And then there was their precious sons, too busy eating the last of the penguin-shaped pretzels Catarina had brought to take an active part in the chaos, but cheering loudly from the sidelines in between bites.

Alec’s sigh is filled with bone-deep contentment. One Magnus recognises instantly, dipping him into a martini-flavoured kiss Alec never wants to end.

Alas, someone has other ideas.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake man, put him down. You still have guests, you know?” Ragnor chides as he passes by on the way to Magnus’ apothecary, port in one hand and shortbread in the other, having clearly taken the hint that his skills weren’t currently required.

“You’re just sour that I christened you after the Hufflepuff ghost on account of your tongue. ‘The Fat Friar’ actually suits you,” Magnus shoots back with a pointed look at Ragnor’s stash, claiming another kiss out of spite before restoring Alec to an upright position.

Far too soon, for Alec’s liking.

“At least you weren’t ‘The Bloody Baron,’ that was way too convenient, if you ask me,” Raphael chimes in, letting slip a private smirk when Simon questions the accuracy of having been dubbed ‘Nearly Headless Nick.’  “Close enough,” he replies, utterly deadpan.

“Well, I still think Tessa should’ve been here to claim the title of ‘The Grey Lady’ but I’ll take it with grace,” Catarina says, a breathless Madzie on her hip as she rejoins them from outside.

“On that ridiculous note, I will take my leave, and my surplus-to-requirement dancing skills, to the den next door, in peaceful tribute to the fantastical badger aligned to my Hufflepuff House,” declares Ragnor, taking three steps before jabbing a finger in Magnus and Alec’s direction. “And you, my boys, better not disturb me with your caterwauling when the final song comes on.”

“The Hogwarts School motto is ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon,’ my dear cabbage, so you’re quite safe,” Magnus counters, laser-quick, to a chorus of giggles and a solitary, unamused groan. “My work here is done,” his wicked husband chuckles, before declaring everyone needs refreshments ahead of the grand finale.

Watching him go, Alec thinks about how he’d never wanted to celebrate Christmas growing up in the stale environment of the Institute, but as with so many things, Alec had only known what he wanted since Magnus Bane had come along.  The best gift Alec could’ve asked for.

***********************************

Sipping his cranberry margarita in the doorway of the balcony, Magnus takes a much-needed timeout from his duties as co-host for the evening and surveys the scene before him.

Thanks to everyone’s high spirits and all the party debris they’re accumulating, the loft is an absolute mess. Yet to Magnus, it’s never looked more perfect a home than it does in this moment.

Against a colourful backdrop of Christmas lights and mirror balls, family and friends are strewn across couches, rugs and cushions in varying states of sobriety, each one enjoying the company of those around them and managing to drown out the muted background music with their lively chatter and carefree laughter.

The now-familiar feeling of being home that Alec’s always given him, is only strengthened by the bonds that have been forged between their families, both biological and chosen.

A sigh escapes him as he imagines how different his life might have been had his mother lived, but there’s no other universe in which he sees himself being happier than he is here, with Alec and their sons. So he raises his glass in a silent toast to the mother whose loss he still feels to this day, and rejoins the party with a genuine smile for some of those people he’s happy to have found.

He’s barely taken two steps before an excitable Max is summoning him across the room to where Clary’s impressive face-painting skills are transforming his son into Frosty the Snowman, his beautiful horns, only unglamoured in the presence of those he trusts, just like his blue skin, have been turned into carrots and his blue hair is a riot of glitter and snowflakes. Conjuring a cashmere scarf to complete the look, Magnus takes a photo before messy hands have a chance to undo all the hard work.

“Just when I think you couldn’t look any cooler,“ Magnus quips, smitten with the groan and eye-roll combo that meets his embarrassing ‘dad’ joke. He still gets his cuddle though. “I think you both deserve a snow cone. Agreed?”

“Absolutely!” Clary chimes in. “But maybe make mine a little more Black Russian than blackcurrant, please?”

“Your wish is my command, biscuit,” Magnus replies, sweeping a bow as he delivers their rewards with a finger snap and giving them both a paternal pat on the head, moving on swiftly at Clary’s glare.

He spies Luke barely managing to hide his mirth over yet another argument between those notoriously fiery lovebirds known as Maia and Jace, unaware he now embodies the ‘jolly old elf’ on his gloriously ugly Christmas sweater, and decides to find out why.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks his friend, from a safe distance away. Then he overhears his hapless brother-in-law misquote Dickens’ famous introduction to A Tale of Two Cities in a bid to prove he knows his Shakespeare, and Magnus thinks he already knows the answer.

“Oh dear.”

“Yep, it’s that bad,” Luke confirms, shoulders shaking with the effort it’s costing him not to burst out laughing. “Nine months in and the boy still hasn’t learned there’s nothing that riles our well-read warrior more than the desecration of her favourite classics.”

“And compounding it by confusing the writers?” Magnus shudders. “I always knew his self-preservation skills were minimal, but she’ll tear him to shreds if he keeps this up.”

Luke swigs his beer and slaps a paw on Magnus’ shoulder. “Fifty says he’s sleeping on your couch tonight.”

“A hundred says he isn’t.”

“Deal.”

Parting on a fist bump, Magnus winks at his admiring husband in passing and locates Isabelle in the newly-restored kitchen. Unsupervised.

Worse still, she’s engrossed in that cookbook from Idris that Robert gifted her years ago, but when she begins her feverish search for ingredients, that’s when fear grips him, thanks to a deeply unpleasant memory.

Throwing back his cocktail, Magnus knows he has to try and stop her before someone gets hurt.

“Isabelle, my dear, care to help me devour the last cream cheese bagel from Sadelle’s before Alexander gets his hands on that thing?”

She hits him in his weak spot with those luminous Lightwood eyes and devastating smile, and before she’s even finished her sweetly-worded request for permission to cook, he’s giving her carte blanche to potentially poison them all.

Oh well, he tried.

Spinning on his heels, Magnus initiates plan B, first seeking out Clary to deploy her best distraction tactics on her girlfriend and secondly, heading for his apothecary to prepare the potent werewolf fangs they’ll all need to consume.

Glimpsing a terrified Jace as he emerges from the kitchen, Magnus cuts him off with, “I’m on it,” to which Jace nods in relief.

Minutes later, he’s just bottling the preventive potion when Alec steps inside and closes the door with a look of intent that holds more danger than anything his sister’s cooking could.

“Finally,” Alec whispers, grabbing Magnus to him by his waist and crushing his mouth like a starved man finding a meal.

Magnus allows himself a few minutes of mind-blowing kisses and handsy exploration, then detaches himself reluctantly to explain his need for haste in delivering the elixir to their guests, but Alec simply shrugs and pulls him back in for more.

Both freeze mid-action when an apologetic Jace, hands raised to protect his eyes from any scenes of near-nudity, grabs the bottle and leaves, closing the door behind him.

“Damn it,” Alec groans, both taking a steadying breath as they restore their clothes to a reasonable state of tidiness, rejoining the party after one last chaste kiss.

After dosing themselves up and with new drinks in hand, Magnus settles within Alec’s embrace to watch Rafe and Maryse sing the Spanish lullabies Alec’s been teaching their son from his childhood, When Luke joins his wife to lend his voice, it draws everyone else into the impromptu concert.

Magnus closes his eyes to savour his husband’s soft baritone and burrows deeper into his arms, grateful beyond measure for the loved ones that make his life this beautiful.

***********************************

“I don’t want to disturb them,” Alec admits as they lie sprawled and overlapping on opposite ends of the too-comfy couch, their sons’ adorable snores the only sound to break the well-earned peace they’re finally able to enjoy.

Magnus sighs, running gentle fingers through Rafe’s hair as he watches Alec nuzzle Max’s, both children curled into their chests with half their face-paint still on. “I don’t either, but we’ll all be sorry if we wake-up with stiff necks and headaches.”

Reluctantly, they gather up their sons, few protests made as they’re carried to their beds, where Magnus’ magic wipes their faces clean and dresses them in their festive pyjamas. Feather light kisses and moon-shaped night-lights, don’t disturb them.

Grateful for the day they’ve had, but more than ready for this time alone together, the husbands hold hands and head for their room, exchanging ‘love you’s’ and sharing kisses until they’re both sated and asleep.

And neither could wish for a more perfect way to wrap up Christmas than that.

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4 on Xbox & PlayStation 4: New Game Patch (October 10th, 2019)

There’s a Sims 4 update available for players on Xbox One and PlayStation 4. Here are all patch notes and updates for The Sims 4 on console.

Update: 10/10/2019 – v1.19

Now, with just a few days until Realm of Magic releases on PlayStation 4 and Xbox One we bring you this update with new features that are available to all Simmers. Configurable stairs, new clothing and build objects, as well as some spooky new additions.

What’s New?

Configurable Stairs There’s magic in the air, and the candle summoning circles you’ve been sending us via Twitter in an effort to will new types of stairs into existence has worked! Configurable stairs have been added to the game, giving you the ability to create stairs that are L-shaped, U-shaped, and more! Excited to try them out? Simply place any set of stairs down in build mode, and you’ll notice a new widget that appears… it’s a box with two arrows attached to it. Grab onto that with your cursor and drag, and suddenly your stairs will be bent 90°! Keep dragging, and the stairs will bend 180°. Once you’ve bent your stairs, you’ll see another two widgets appear. A diagonal arrow above the newly-added landing will let you adjust the height of the landing within the staircase. A curved arrow at the base of the stairs will allow you to continue to rotate the direction of the stairs beneath the landing. For times when a single landing just isn’t enough, you can keep adding additional bends to your stairs–as long as they’re tall enough to have room for another one. I think that just about covers the basics; so get in there and try it out, experiment, and create some amazing new builds!

The Sims 4 – 5th Anniversary Even though The Sims 4 has been on PlayStation 4 and Xbox One for nearly 2 years, we couldn’t let you Simmers go without The Sims 4 – 5th Anniversary content that released for PC and Mac. As SimGuruRomeo and SimGuruGraham described it for the Anniversary PC and Mac release “It’s already been five years since The Sims 4 released; whew–time flies when you’re simming! In celebration of this milestone, we’ve added a set of end-of-summer content so that your Sims can join in the festivities. Invite some friends and family over, fire up the grill, and enjoy a backyard get together with this new content. (FYI – the new stilted foundation is perfect for creating a backyard deck!) You’ll even spot some patterns with nods to famous icons of The Sims…”

New Clothing

Men’s Long Blazer

Women’s Summer Party Full Body Outfit

Boy’s Polo Rugby Top

Girl’s Knee-Length Leggings

New Build Content

Fence: “Fence”

Railing: “Stair Railing”

Stair: “Stairs”

Foundation: “Stilt Foundation”

Foundation: “Canvas”

New Objects

Light: “Outdoor Ground Light”

Plant: “Plant Potted Floor”

Living Chair: “Outdoor Seat”

Lounge Chair: “Outdoor Lounger”

Dining Table: “Outdoor Table”

End Table: “Outdoor End Table”

Pedestal: “Upside Down Gnome Decor”

Muslim-Inspired Clothing and Architecture To help even more of our players express themselves and create Sims that are relevant to their everyday lives, we’ve introduced a set of Muslim-inspired clothing and architecture.

New Clothing

Women

Men

Children

Hijab

Belted Dress

Jacket with Long Skirt

Modest Athletic Wear / Swimsuit

Athletic Hijab

Knitted Kufi

Buttoned Shirt

Girl’s Pleated Dress

Boy’s Buttoned Shirt

New Build Content

Window: “Window 1 Wide Version Angular”

Window: “Window 1 Wide Version Rectangular”

Window: “Window 2 Wide Version Angular”

Door: “Door 1 Wide”

Door: “Door 2 Wide”

Arch: “Arch Door”

Arch: “Arch E”

Tile Wall Pattern: “2 Tone Wall Without Wainscoting or Trim”

Futuristic Spooky Costume It’s that time of year where we all dress up for those cobweb draped parties and too much candy. The Sims aren’t immune and have a new robot costume to greet those Trick or Treat visitors. Take me to your candy, squishy human!!!!

New Look+ In the last update we brought the new look to The Sims 4 but a couple of items still needed updating. Those are all updated now to include the updated look from start to finish.

General Issues

Mouse and Keyboard Simmers will have their last used camera preference saved so your preferred camera mode is active if you switch back and forth between control schemes. New saves will default to The Sims 4 camera mode.

Switching trait categories in CAS will no longer cause your Sim to switch outfits.

The camera won’t zoom out when placing objects high on walls and opening the color swatch.

Basements will not create irremovable flooring between levels.

Fixed an issue that caused weighting for names, clothing, facial features, and skin tones to skew heavily in specific directions if City Living or Island Living were installed.

Solved the problem where showers were playing a sound even after deleted.

Solved an issue where skin details vanish after randomizing traits, voice, or clothing.

Toddlers now learned how to drink from sippy cups again. Not sure why they were so resistant in the first place; those things are great!

Sims have regained the ability to gradually fill empty homes! If the option for it is enabled that is.

Fixed various save load issues when loading specific households.

Sims are now able to drown again if you do not have Island Living installed!

Floor trims on exterior walls will no longer be cut away when a staircase is placed adjacent to the trim on the interior side of the wall.

Fixed a couple of layering issues with tight pants and boots.

Re tuned the values for comfort, decor, fun, hygiene, comfort on several objects.

Fixed various typos.

If you want Sims to fill empty homes, go to Game Options -> Gameplay -> and check the “Fill Empty Homes” option.

City Living

Teen Sims that are Unflirty can now make out with other teens.

Cats and Dogs

When putting your cuddly friends up for adoption you will no longer be faced with inaccessible UI.

Now your pets will be able to fully complete obstacle courses with Stand Platforms.

Seasons

Fixed a visual issue with foundation decorations being placed next to a pool.

Get Famous

Skills/Tasks are now displayed for every gig and audition in the career panel.

Certain auditions will stop being spammed in the gigs panel.

Teen Sims can no longer run romantic socials with celebrities.

Island Living

She sells seashells, but only if they don’t stack on top of each other. That shouldn’t occur anymore, but nature finds a way.

Fishing in Sulani now counts towards the “Fish in 3 Spots” Goal.

Players now have the ability to trigger volcanic eruptions with cheats: volcanic_eruption small and volcanic_eruption large!

Children can now drown.

Sims can now drown while riding an Aqua Zip!

Island counters have been added to your Build catalog!

Vampires

Fixed an issue where Vampires were exhibiting their old weaknesses even though they were not applied.

Moschino

When your subject matter asks for you to photograph their best side, they don’t usually mean straight on. Simmers that prefer the controller can now rotate around the subject matter as well as raise and lower the tripod with the left analogue stick.

Photographs that you submit for approval now get sent back to you. Why we are sending our only physical copy in this digital age is still a mystery.

Fixed some photo approval issues for the Photography Career.

We have brought over new builds from The Sims 4 Community which you’ll find in My Library. The builds span different packs and come in all sizes from the smallest of homes to the grandest of mansions.

– SimGuruLegacy

[dregstrash]

Fever Dreams and Shadow Games

A/N: Co-written by the amazing and talented @wafflesandkruge​ and we’re so happy to finally be able to share this with you all!

You can also find it here on AO3

Tagging: @aditiiparasharr​  @strummoner​  @itsbrilliantjustlikeyou​ @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @shadowbusiness @privateerrezni​  @roonill--wazlib​ @the-jennster​ @the-regal-warrior​ @kazual-crow​ @ipizzippy​

CHAPTER 1: Deals with Demons

Dark tents, the thrum of over-eager bodies, men and women in painted costumes. Nikolai smiled to himself as he looked at the display before him, and couldn’t help but feel at home. After growing up in a household with a father who was on the border of being a rake, and a mother who thought herself a queen, his childhood felt like a constant dance of endless parties that swirled around painted clowns and false tricks.

He took a deep breath and inhaled the sharp smell of sweat, popcorn, and sugar interlaced with the smoke that had become a permanent feature of the London sky. He could practically taste the excitement and the mystery in the air, and he wished that he could join the smiling crowd who “oohed” and “ahhed” at the displays of the sideshow and the decorations set up. But he couldn’t. Tonight wasn’t the night for his attention to be captured by the mystery of the Cirque de Lie. He kept his gaze low and on the people surrounding him. He strained to spot any sign of the messenger that was supposed to meet him. He took his pocket watch out to mark the time.

He’s late, he thought snapping his watch shut.

Nikolai had no choice but to follow the line of people inside the big top tent and search the stands for the section printed on his ticket. That’s when a raggedy boy ran up to him. A small silver crow pin was fastened to the side of his cap.

“Note for ya, Mister.” He said, shoving a scrap of paper into Nikolai’s hands.

Nikolai nodded and dropped a few shilling into his waiting palm before moving to the side, away from potential prying eyes. By the dim lantern light, he squinted and deciphered the untidy and familiar scrawl.

“West end tent, half-past midnight, don’t be late, don’t be followed. -K”

Nikolai smiled at the brevity, then made sure to light the note up with the set of matches he had in his coat.

The note caught and was soon nothing more than another pile of ashes trampled into the packed dirt floor.

The lights began to dim, and string music struck up from an unseen section of the stage. Nikolai found his seat, and let himself relax slightly. The beat of strong drums reverberated through the space, and in a flash of smoke and a bang, Kaz Brekker, Ringmaster of the Cirque de Lie, emerged from the fog resplendent in his signature suit and top hat. The crowd roared in delight. Nikolai just smiled.

Yes, tonight was all about business, but Kaz did put on a spectacular show, and he would be a fool to not enjoy himself.

It was the circus after all. ---

The tents at the west end of the encampment were cloaked in shadows. To Nikolai’s understanding, this was where the performers and crew members retired for the night. But as of right now, the canvas stood empty and stoic, betraying no movement or life.

The sounds of the dispersing crowd had all but faded into the night, and the comforting glow of the lantern light was nowhere to be found.The only thing that gave Nikolai any sense of life was the large, hulking form of a man in front of the grandest tent in the space.

Nikolai opened his mouth to state his intent, but the man just gave him a once over and jerked his head towards the tent.

“He’s expecting ya, sir.” He said gruffly.

Nikolai nodded, and stepped into the dark tent. A warm fire blazed in the center of the room where an opening had been made to let out the smoke, and sitting in a large desk right by it was the man of the hour.

“Lantsov,” Kaz rasped as a greeting.

“Mr. Brekker.” Nikolai said back, not waiting for an invitation to take a seat in front of the oak table. “Fantastic show as always.”

He huffed, neither confirming or denying the statement.

“You’re running for chairman of the city council.” Kaz hadn’t looked up from whatever he was reading. “You’re losing.”

Nikolai chuckled, “I hope you didn’t waste any of your good spies for that bit of information, Brekker. That’s not a secret.”

“No, it’s not. But what is secret is the fact that you’re a Red sympathizer.”

Kaz’s dark eyes met Nikolai’s, and he fought the urge to tense at the accusation.

“Rumors and speculation are hardly good basis for fact.”

“Yet they all have a little bit of truth hidden within their folds.” The young man leaned away from his desk, sinking further away from the light of the fire. “It’s also the reason why you’re losing to the likes of your idiot older brother and that eccentric duke’s son.”

“I didn’t take you as a politics man.”

“I’m not. I tend to be on the side of those who could be most useful.”

Nikolai raised his eyebrows at that. When he didn’t say anything, Kaz continued.

“Talk like that might get you support from the suffragettes, the factory workers, and some of the quieter nobles, but that means practically nothing. Those kinds of rumors only alienate you from the other councilmen, and those are the bastards that apparently matter.” Nikolai didn’t bother ask where he got that information. Kaz always had a way of knowing things that he shouldn’t. It made him a terrifying enemy, and an indispensable ally. “What you need is the police chief’s endorsement to sway the vote to you.”

“I might just fire Zoya as my campaign manager, and hire you instead.” he said, grinning.

Kaz’s face remained still. “I doubt Nazyalensky would let you live if you were to deliver that kind of news.” He shrugged. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Not being able to sit still, Nikolai got up and started to pace in front of the desk, “Don’t think you’ve concocted some brilliant plan, Brekker. I know that I need the police chief’s endorsement, but the fact of the matter is that Rollins hates me.”

“Rollins hates anyone with a spine.” There was a sharper edge to Kaz’s words that had Nikolai looking back at him. A brief flash of absolute murder flickered in those dark eyes, before returning back to its indifference. Had he imagined that?

“I suppose this has something to do with the information you have for me tonight.”

This time it was the boy who grinned, a sharp and wicked thing that would make hardened soldiers flee. “You were always a smart one.”

Kaz got up and limped over to where Nikolai was. He caught sight of the crow head cane supporting most of his weight. Not for the first time, Nikolai wondered what had happened to the boy who was four years his junior. He was far too young to have fought in the War, but the haunted look in his eyes always reminded Nikolai of the older soldiers he sometimes paid visits to. He had never asked about Kaz’s past, but he highly doubted that he would answer honestly anyway.

“Here.” Kaz handed him a sheet of parchment. He squinted and read the contents of the note.

“A shipment of Parem? In London?” Nikolai said incredulously. While the use of opium, cocaine, and morphine ran commonly enough in the streets, there have been whispers of a newer and more intoxicating drug being distributed amongst the slums and the coast.

Kaz nodded grimly. “Rollins is supervising the shipment and distribution himself.”

“If people knew...that would ruin him.” Realization flashed through Nikolai’s mind, and he almost laughed outright. “You want him ruined.”

“I want him eviscerated.” Another flash of that feral emotion, disappearing just as fast. “But I’ll settle for ruin for now. With him gone whoever’s the next in line to take the position could be more in your favor.”

“Why?” Nikolai said crossing his arms, giving his companion a long look. If Kaz had any sort of ulterior motive, his face betrayed nothing. “Why help me?”

He shrugged. “You and I have a shared interest for the moment, and like I said, you’re useful to me. Like I can be useful to you.”

“You sure know how to woo a man, Brekker.” Kaz gave him a blank stare, and Nikolai sighed as he fought the urge to run his hand over his face. “So you want to help me get elected?”

“Not necessarily, but I can run Rollins out of office.”

“I’m assuming that the future of a better London isn’t going to be payment enough?” Nikolai paused and weighed the cost in his mind. Zoya would hate him for even considering Kaz’s help. “Usual bounty for exposing corrupt politicians is five thousand pounds, I’ll give you ten.”

“I’m not in the business of doing charity, Lantsov. Rollins has been re-elected three times with no one stopping him, and I’m getting rid of an official that’s been a pain in your ass for the last year. I’ll take thirty.”

“Thirty thousand pounds?!” Nikolai exclaimed. “What makes you think I have that kind of money?”

“I could ask for more if we are basing this off of what I know of your inheritance.” He rested his hands on his cane, giving Nikolai a self-satisfied smile.

Nikolai scowled. Thirty thousand pounds was a lot, but then again how much did he spend on travel and campaign expenses in the last month? And what did that get him? An overzealous mob who could promise him nothing. Thirty thousand pounds could get him an endorsement, and on top of that Rollins’s reign of terror would finally come to an end. Surely, the benefits outweighed the cost.

Kaz Brekker was a man who dealt in tricks and secrets. He was an untrustworthy showman with a strong likelihood to ruin Nikolai’s reputation. However, he could be the only solution to this situation. Zoya’s glare surfaced in his mind, and Nikolai pushed the image away. He’d deal with her reaction later.

“You have a deal, Brekker.” Nikolai extended his hand. “Thirty thousand pounds to expose Rollins and help my campaign.”

“One last thing,” Kaz’s smile was a razor blade and Nikolai had a sinking feeling that he was the one to get more out of this bargain. “If we’re jumping into bed together, I’m going to need you to trust me.”

Nikolai felt his brow furrow. “As a rule, I don’t usually trust people whose livelihoods depend on tricks.”

“You’re going to have to make an exception. No questions. No pestering. Just your trust that I’ll get the job done.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to clarify, but thought better of it. Some things were best left to mystery, and when the hammer came down, he had an inkling that he would rather be kept in the dark to whatever Kaz was planning.

“Fine.” Nikolai thought for a moment, flicking at a nonexistent piece of dust on his suit.

“One last thing: I’m going to need an invite to that big fancy party you have tomorrow at Smeet’s house.”

“Be careful, Brekker, any more conditions and I’ll start to think you’re cheating me.” The younger man didn’t respond. “And why, pray tell, do you need to go to the house of one of the most sought out lawyers of the city?”

“I thought you’d trust me.”

“A decision I am currently regretting.” Another pause, and Nikolai sighed, “Alright. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“The deal’s the deal then.”

They shook hands, and Nikolai fought the shudder that tingled at the back of his neck.

What was it that his mother said when he was a child?

“Be careful of quick demons for they make deals in the dark and then eat your heart in the sun.”

--------

Kaz left the main section of his camp as soon as Nikolai left. His leg was aching again. It was always worse in London. It was as if the injury remembered its origins and was making sure to remind Kaz that it was his fault for its misery.

He rubbed at the place above his knee before he crossed a hidden slit in his tent that led to the dining area. There were few things Kaz learned during his time with Haskell, but the one that really stuck was the need for a ringleader to have space. Haskell had settled for a medium sized tent furbished with liquor and whatever old men filled their time with. Kaz didn’t want to settle. He made himself an entire space that guaranteed separation and privacy.

The sounds of his most trusted crew members eating and drinking did little to relax him, but it was a familiar sound at least.

“Ah, the mighty ringmaster makes an appearance.” Jesper grinned. He was still wearing the sparkling green pants that was part of his costume, but his exposed brown chest glinted warmly against the lanterns lit in the space. Kaz didn’t miss the way Wylan’s eyes kept straying over to his friend’s display of skin, and Kaz rolled his eyes at the slight blush that was staining his cheeks.

“Fahey, put on a shirt will you?” Kaz said dropping down to the chair at the head of the table. He needed everyone to focus on what he was going to say, and if Jesper caught Wylan staring, that was going to be a whole other headache he didn’t want to deal with.

Instead of following directions, Jesper just grinned and leaned forward on the table. “I don’t mind you staring, Kaz.”

He returned a blank stare. “Well I mind that Van Eck won’t be able to concentrate, so just do it.”

Wylan’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “I wasn’t looking!”

Jesper just gave him a wolfish grin before picking up a discarded shirt.

“What’s so important this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” Nina yawned from her place by Matthias’s shoulder.

“We have a job.”

“Like another performance?” Wylan squeaked in an attempt to regain his composure.

Before Kaz could respond, a warm voice materialized behind him. “Kaz just had a meeting with Mister Lantsov.”

It was no surprise Inej had been spying on him, she wasn’t his best spy for nothing after all.

“Ooh…” Nina crooned fixing Kaz with an amused smirk, “Which Mister Lantsov? The stuck-up stupid one or the handsome, Communist one?”

“The latter.”

Matthias’s eyebrows sunk down at the mention of Nina’s description, Kaz was surprised his scowl could deepen further. “The man who claims to be able to fix the class gap and makes false promises to the poor?”

“That very one.” Kaz agreed, taking a long sip from a glass of wine. “And we’re going to help him.”