#obviously all your posts are Gold but i just always recognize you by the fashion posts akdksksks

[dickfuckk]

josh i hope you know how thankful and greatful we all are for you uploading all those videos and for giving us amazing bts every single day. i dont know how you do it but you do and we love you <3 felt a strong urge to tell you this and i know everyone agree with me cuz i am right

Alexz you incredibly adorable human being

[lastwagontrainhopper]

A guiding hand

Royai week day 2 - Serene (let’s collectively ignore how late I am posting this ok thaaaanks)

Summary:   “She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke again, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ” ”

---

The Colonel and his Lieutenant share a late-night conversation. (Blind!Roy)

Words: 2489 

Tags: Blind Roy Mustang, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, Established Relationship, Canon Compliant

read on aot

“They had left their windows wide open, letting in a soft breeze to relieve them from the heavy summer heat. The curtains were rising and falling without a sound, fluttering in the air like ghosts. Even the streets around the house were quiet at that hour; the only thing that broke the stillness of the night was Riza's voice.

"As for Senator Harn's wife, she was wearing a very elegant apricot-colored dress. With her signature high hairdo, of course.”

Their blankets had long been kicked away to the bottom of the bed in a messy pile. Roy was lying on his back, facing to the ceiling, one hand playing idly with a lock of Riza's hair.

"Apricot?" His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "That's the yellow with a touch of pink, right?”

"That was pretty much it, yes." Riza was lying on her side, her head against her hand, elbow propped up on the pillow. The room was covered in shadows, but the flickering lights from the window on the street allowed her to see the outline of Roy's face.

"And you said Harn had a royal blue jacket...That must have made for an odd contrast.”

Riza smirked. "Yes, that's what several people seemed to think. It looked as if the General and his wife had not consulted with one another before coming to the gala.”

A sly smile spread across Roy’s face. "Ha! And you just know the rumors about their marriage are already flying high. It's sort of ironic, considering how Harn is constantly babbling to the Parliament about the “traditional family” and the “sanctity of marriage” and whatnot." His hand came to lightly circle Riza's wrist, his thumb tapping the back of her hand. "I’m sure you now understand how crucial fashion is in Central. It's not just a matter of taste: it's inherently political.”

"Sure," she answered, unconvinced. "Anyway. The Harns didn't capture the guests' attention that long, since the buffet was brought shortly after.”

Roy hummed appreciated. "And that was a good one. I've rarely tasted crab this delicious.”

"Yes, and they must have put as much effort into the presentation as in the cooking, because the set-up was magnificent. Everything was served on glittering silver plates, which reflected the glow of the chandeliers. On each table, the dishes were arranged in a sort of pyramid, culminating with the piece of meat or seafood. It looked extremely fragile, like...like some sort of house of cards, or crystal architecture, defying gravity - but they all stood the evening without crashing down. It was breathtaking.”

This had become the most constant part of their day. Almost every night, as they lay in bed before going to sleep, Riza would describe to Roy a long list of the things he hadn’t been able to see during the day. When they had first started this habit, as they were working on the the reconstruction of Ishval, Riza's descriptions had been much more pragmatic, like a mission report: which building seemed in need of repair? Which tribal leader looked unsatisfied during their morning meeting? She did her best to give him this information as the day went by, but there were always important details that she missed.

As the years had passed and the two had distanced themselves from the military, Riza's description had slowly become more lyrical. She began to tell him about beautiful sights that he was missing – a particularly colorful sunset, or the way the city lights looked at night. As time went by, she started to enjoy these conversations and more more, and they became increasingly long. It got to the point where, as Riza saw something pretty during the day, she found herself immediately thinking of the way she would describe it to Roy later at night.

"You should try to write a book," he had told her once. "You're so good at this - I can picture in my mind everything that you're telling me about like I was seeing it."

"It wouldn't be the same," she had answered, shaking her head. "I like hearing your reactions."

He had arched his eyebrows, smirking. "And yet you scold me every time I interrupt you.”

"Stop being overdramatic,” she had retorted. “Now let me continue." They had left it at that.

Sometimes Riza would rest her head on his chest as she went on with her stories. This was what Roy preferred.  Ever since losing his eyesight, he had grown much fonder of physical contact, even casual, with her - after all, it was the surest way he could know that she was by his side. But Riza liked to remain slightly further, just next to him, so that she would be able to observe him during their late-night conversation. His face would take on such a special expression at those times, almost peaceful, or...serene.

Serene. That would have been the last word anyone would have chosen to describe Roy under normal circumstances. Despite his reputation as a slacker, he was a man that was constantly busy thinking about one thing or another, pondering, planning his next ploy – or his next date with a certain Lieutenant. His eyes in particular had always betrayed the constant working of his mind: they were restless, always darting around the room to study the people they were talking to, noticing details in their postures, noting suspicious movements out of the corner of his eye.

And, Riza knew it well, even the moments of rest didn’t bring Roy much serenity. More often than not, his sleep was plagued by violent nightmares that would wake him screaming in the middle of the night - or at least, that tensed and distorted his expression as he slept.

This had not changed since the Promised Day. But since Roy’s fight in the underground of Central, his blind eyes had lost their piercing look and had taken on a milky appearance. In the first few weeks, Riza had hated meeting that blank stare - it reminded her too much of what his eyes used to look like, as well as symbolizing her failure as a bodyguard.

But eventually, she had come to see a certain beauty in them, and in the calmness they brought to Roy's expression. He was still as expressive as ever, with his trademark crooked smile and taunting eyebrows. But in the evening, when they were alone together, his face truly relaxed. As Riza described the day's events to him, he would focus entirely on her voice, letting his mind recreate the image she was painting. His eyebrows would loosen and his forehead became smooth, free of its usual furrow; his mouth would fall half-open. At this particular moment, Roy took on a serene expression that Riza had never seen on him before, and she never got tired of looking at it.

"I need to tell you, unfortunately," Riza broke the silence that had settled, "that you were not the best-dressed man at the reception.”

Roy propped himself up on his elbows, frowning with surprise. So much for serenity.

"What? Who was?”

“You’re not going to be happy about this,” Riza said, trying to hide the small smile in her voice. "But Colonel Birks made quite an impression. He wore a rather daring suit, made of a black  fabric from which red velvet patterns stood out.”

Roy huffed with indignation. "Velvet! Nonsense. He obviously can’t stop pushing the boundaries of extravagance – and of bad taste.”

"I don't know," Riza said evasively. “I thought it was pretty elegant…and I wasn't the only one.”

Roy ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Outdressing the president should be considered insubordination," he muttered under his breath. "I'll call Ms. Zhao tomorrow. I need something more avant-garde for the next gala. Maybe with some silk mixed in with a cotton suit?”

He lay down again on the bed and raised his arm, inviting her to come closer. Riza moved to nestle up against him, putting her head on his shoulder, a hand on his chest. Roy wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his nose in her hair. Whenever he did that, his breaths would tickle Riza's neck, making her giggle; she would always pretend to be annoyed but it, but they both knew better.

After a moment, Roy tucked some of her hair away from her face. He brought his lips close to her ear. "Tell me again what you were wearing."

Riza felt a shiver go down her spine. That deep voice that Roy used when he whispered always got a reaction out of her, no matter what cliché or silly thing he would say.

A wry smile crossed her lips. "At this point, you know my wardrobe better than I do, Roy. ”

"I know," he answered, unabashed. "But I like hearing you describe it."

Riza chuckled. “Well,” she began, “I was wearing the flowy emerald green skirt that Rebecca got me for Christmas, a brown leather belt, and my white blouse. The one with the embroidery on the collar. ”

He hummed in appreciation. "With your golden high heels, I'm guessing."

"With my golden high heels," she nodded, "because even though my feet are killing by the end of the night when I wear them, they do really go well with that skirt." Her hand started to play with the ring that Roy wore as a necklace. "I didn't put much makeup on because of how humid the weather was. But I did wear my bright red lipstick."

She felt his cheeky smile even before he spoke. "I can recognize it by taste, now."

If they weren’t pressed so close together, she would have dug her elbow into his ribs. She rolled her eyes instead. "I also had my gold bracelet to go with the shoes, and the earrings you bought me to complete it all. What else...my hair was in a bun, and, of course, I had my necklace."

She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or a joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ”

Riza felt her smile drop. A lump appeared in her throat. Roy rarely complained about his blindness; even in the months following the Promised Day, he had adapted to his new lifestyle with impressive resilience. At first, it seemed as if his disability had affected his Lieutenant, plagued by guilt, more than himself. Still, Riza knew that he must have carried a lot of silent regrets through the years. There was so much Roy had had to give up, so many compromises he had had to reluctantly accept on his plan to reform Amestris – and on his personal life.

Riza disentangled herself gently from his grasp and straighten up, half sitting, to observe him. One of his arms was folded under his head, and he still seemed to be looking at the ceiling - but of course, that was just an impression. She ran a hand through his hair, brushing them away from his face. He smiled slightly at her touch, but she didn't need to see the pupils of his eyes to know that his heart wasn't in it.

She didn't like seeing him like this. With thoses cloudy eyes, melancholy turned his serene expression into a confused one - like he was a child that got lost and couldn't look for his way home.

Riza laid down again and rested her head on the pillow, her face turned toward Roy. She started to gently stroke his arm. "At least, you can keep in your mind the image of what I – and you – looked like in the prime of our youth," she said after a moment in a playful tone, trying to comfort him. "You won't need to see us get all old and wrinkled.”

To her surprise, Roy's face saddened further.

"Don't say that. Beautiful women are like fine wine, they only get better with age - that's what Chris used to say. I always wanted to see how you would look as you grew old.”

Riza raised her eyebrow, surprised. "Really?" she answered in spite of herself.

He nodded. "Not everyone ages gracefully, of course. But I know that wrinkles would look flattering on you; you have such elegant features. And silvery hair never fails to give this distinguished look - at least on women," he added, running a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. His eyebrows furrowed. "Do I already have grey hair?"

Riza felt her shoulders relax. "You're almost completely bald by now, Roy."

He winced. "Please don't joke with that. I don't know what I would do if this were to happen.

Riza simply smiled, and they fell back into a comfortable silence. She watched Roy’s chest rise and fall with his breathing, lulled by the calm rhythm.

"You know, I always wished I could see you grow old, also because it would have meant that we made it."

Riza felt her breath catch in her throat.

She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, hoping her touch could tell him what her words couldn’t.

“We did make it, Roy.” Now of all time, she wished he could see her face.

"I know," he said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. "I know."

Riza propped herself up on her elbow. She close her fingers around his, and squeezed firmly.

"Listen. We'll just do like with everything else. When my hair turns grey, I'll describe it to you. And as for the wrinkles," she placed his hand on her face, "you can see that for yourself."

Roy made a small smile. For the first time, he turned to face her, placing the tip of his fingers on both sides of her face. That was something he never tired of doing. Before he had lost his sight, he had always been able to read her like a book, understanding the meaning behind even the most subtle of her facial expressions. Now, he could do it in a much more literal sense, by tracing the surface of her body, reading the lines on her skin as if they were words written in braille.

"And when my face is so wrinkled it's unrecognizable,” she continued, "you will know the story behind each one of them.” She injected a smile into her voice. “The ones I already have on my forehead, for example, come from the stress of having spent so many years asking you to do your paperwork.”

His fingers brushed her forehead, and he smiled, abashed. "And you're all the more beautiful for it, my dear." He reached toward her and, guided by his hands, placed a light kiss on her head. “I can’t wait to see the rest.” ”

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 1: Formal

oh hey, look who’s finishing up all her prompts for Wolmeric Week like a month late lmaoooo

Post 5.3, relatively spoiler free post reunion-I-haven’t-finished-writing-yet moment between Aymeric and Serella. An attempt at normalcy, perhaps attempted too soon, leads to a moment of vulnerability. I’ve written and rewritten this prompt since the actual day of this, and I just need to Stop Wrestling with it.

Word count: 3,466

Punctuality was a priority in Ishgard surpassed only by godliness— regardless of social standing or involvement in the military, the city ran like clockwork, always in some level of activity, of movement and deadlines and bustle. To live in Ishgard was to be subject to strict social expectations when it came to timing. When to arrive (never too early, but never more than fashionably late without a very good excuse,) when was acceptable to leave (the later the better, until you had overstayed your welcome, the line between always being different depending on the host and guest alike,) and for every little moment bookended by arrival and departure. Daunting but for the most familiar and reliant on routine.

Years of etiquette schooling prevented Aymeric from bouncing on the balls on his feet in anticipation for his betrothed to join him in the foyer. Tonight was the first formal they would attend together following their reunion, after so many months of Serella being away on the First, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his excitement being gnawed at by the faint but persistent worry that she was taking so long.

Worry because she often took less time than he did, but also worry that something was wrong. When he’d left her to finish readying herself, her hair and makeup had already been done, surely getting dressed couldn’t take that long? What if something had happened? After another minute ticked by on the old clock in the foyer, he finally decided it was better to check on her.

Ascending the stairs, a particularly fearful thought crossed his mind: what if she was gone again? His steps faltered a moment at the halfway point up the staircase, but he rallied his composure and took the remaining steps two at a time. She would not leave without telling him, at the very least, not anymore—

— Before she left for the First, she wouldn’t, that same afeared voice noted. Do you truly even know her anymore?

The door to their chambers was ever so slightly ajar, enough that flickering lamplight carved a slice of light through the dim, shadowy hallway. When a quiet call of her name garnered no response, he took a moment to force himself to breathe again, and opened the door.

The sight crushed him.

Serella stood at the foot of their bed in her underclothes and stockings, just as he’d left her, staring down at the outfits she’d laid out on the duvet. Her hair was delicately piled, pinned atop her head, and adorned with her own crafted pieces: little constellations of the Twelve scattered in gold and kyanite across an artfully twisted bun. Her eyeshadow had already been artfully brushed on, deep sapphire and gold glimmering like stardust against her dark skin. Gorgeous as ever, she would have taken his breath away but for the way she stared down at the dress clothes as though they were an active threat to her.

“Love?” Aymeric called, a little louder than before, stepping cautiously further into the room to avoid startling her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He tried not to let it hurt.

“O-oh, I didn’t realize—” Serella stammered, hand crossing over her torso and tapping at her collarbone. “—I let time get away from me, I’m sorry—”

Her eyes danced away, and her fingers tapped once more at her collarbone. On the third pass of it, Aymeric recognized her finger was drumming out a specific pattern. Three rapid taps, three spaced out, three more rapid taps.

Help me.

Did she know she was calling out for it, quite literally, in all but words? Was it Esteem guiding her hand, sending the only distress call they could? The movement of her finger had drawn his eye, but then his gaze drifted to the necklace clasped just above it on her neck. It clashed with the gold of her hairpins and her ring, silver and flush against her skin as it was. The narrow bands of glowing blue light hemmed on both sides by precious metal— he recognized it as a dampener meant to dull her aether sensitivity. A necessity more oft than not for her, where crowds or aetherically charged areas were concerned, to keep her from being overwhelmed with sensory input.

In particular, worn when she was already well beyond capacity for processing too much around her; Aymeric had seen it more often on her when helping her out of her armor when afield, or before they had to navigate in crowded places they couldn’t avoid for trying. Some days, she just needed to wear it even at home, if she had only just returned from somewhere dense with aether, or was otherwise overstimulated. Little wonder she had been so startled by him.

Regardless of what state he would have found her in, that necklace told him everything he needed to know: she was not in a good place as it was. Going to this formal would only harm her. 

So they wouldn’t. But that did not mean her effort must needs be wasted.

His mind made up, Aymeric spared a passing glance at the outfits laid out on the bed: two dresses, two suits, all of different origin, inspiration, and make, and each in a different but no less alluring gemstone and charcoal dyed fabrics and muted detailing to balance elegance with practicality. 

“You’ve naught to be sorry for; I can see why you struggled so.” He noted conversationally. When she made a questioning noise in the back of her throat and turned to look at him, he met her gaze from the corner of his eye and smiled. “You look radiant in anything. But perhaps this one, my dear?”

Before she could answer— though he noted her pleased flush, and the slight smile on her face— he crossed over to the bed and picked up the outermost jacket of the Lominsan suit. Where his own suit coat was primarily black, with hints of blue and gold, hers was almost wholly blue, speckled with gold buttons and detailing. He rather liked the thought of balancing one another out. She even favored the same high collars he did, though hers left a graceful swoop in the neckline to show her Paladin’s soul crystal gleaming on her necklace.

Sparing Serella another glance, he saw she had already hopped into her pants, unremarkable but tastefully embellished charcoal pair as they were, and was now shrugging on a crisp undershirt. He set the coat down and swiftly covered her hands with his.

“Allow me?” He asked, fingers wrapping around the buttoned edges of her shirt, peering up at her imploringly through his lashes.

Serella swallowed thickly, and he wished he could put it down to being affected by some more carnal instinct. He knew her better than that; she was struggling to not withdraw from him. If he focused hard enough, he could see her almost imperceptibly quaking with the effort.

Let me care for you. Let me love you, Aymeric silently prayed.

Her hands slipped from underneath his, conceding. With a beaming smile and a kiss to her forehead, he made steady but unrushed progress looping the buttons through their corresponding fastenings. It was endearing and heartbreaking both, the way she fidgeted in the scant space between them. It was almost as though she couldn’t recall how to carry herself with him.

Or at all, outside of combat.

Aymeric had fallen into that trap more than once himself— and remembered how hard it was to claw his own way out of it, even with support. He would not falter in being her shield as she found her peace. Not now, not ever. 

Before she could move past him, he fetched her coat from where he’d laid it back down on the bed and attempted to step behind her. When a glance at his face told her he would not be swayed, she sighed and turned her back to him, and slipped her arms through the coat.

“We’ll be late.” Serella spoke up quietly, though the faint quirk of her lips in a facsimile of a smile was obvious in her tone. 

“I assure you, we have all the time in the world,” he dismissed, using the moment she took to adjust the coat around her shoulders to step back in front of her and begin to fasten it closed.

Though she huffed a laugh, she didn’t even bother to try and bat his hands away, instead straightening the cuffs on her wrists. Pleased that he had won this bout, Aymeric continued to fasten the last of the well tailored coat across her chest, up to the last, just below her collarbone. 

Pleased with the way the coat draped over her as he was, he didn’t notice she’d moved her hands until he felt her fingers lightly adjusting his cravat— he’d tied it just left of center, toward his dominant hand. The amount of effort it took for her to widen her smile was apparent, tentative and trembling as it was, but so, too, was it just as obviously genuine. 

Before her hands could retreat, Aymeric caught them in his own and offered her another soft smile. With reverence otherwise reserved for the Fury Herself, he bent his head to press lingering kisses to her knuckles. Scant though the weeks had been since they were at last reunited, he had taken every opportunity he could to again familiarize himself with every ilm of her, to relearn all of her with the certainty of his devotion.

“I should get my boots.” She spoke up, finally inspiring him to straighten and let go of one of her hands.

“We’ve no need for them,” He reassured her, lightly squeezing the hand he yet held onto.

Her evident confusion was given only a reassuring smile in response before he was adjusting his grip on her hand to lead her out of the room. Aymeric guided her only far enough down the hall to lead to the Solar, rather than down the stairs to leave, and turned to step inside.

Serella’s grip tightened as she planted her feet just outside the doorway. Aymeric stopped and heelturned to face her expectantly. His hold was still gentle, unassuming, affection obvious in the faint stroking of his thumb over the fingers it was laced between. He watched her intently, but her eyes could not be pulled from their joined hands.

“Aymeric, we’re going to be late.” She said again, and this time, he could see the ponderous frown on her face, even as she continued to look at their hands. 

Even as she said that, she made no effort to take her hand back, no effort to step away. They both knew that she was the more powerful of the two; if she truly wanted to go, he could not stop her. And yet, there she stood, not understanding why he was not in a hurry. 

“Ella.”

Her name came as a sigh on his lips, formed of affection made habit, but it was enough to tear her gaze away from their hands to look up at him. The hand not holding hers stretched across the divide between Solar and hallway, bridged the gap to lightly brush his thumb over the Ironworks dampener at her neck, disrupting the glow of hearthlight dancing off the metal. Though his focus did not stray from the necklace, he felt more than saw her swallow thickly in response.

“Dearest,” Aymeric tried again, voice faltering. “I will not presume, and if you truly wish to go, we will, but,” his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You do not wear this necklace lightly. If you are not well, then we’ll stay home.”

“I can’t do that to you.” Serella said almost immediately, frown deepening. “We’re expected—”

“And you are not well. I can’t do that to you.” He countered gently, held her face in his hands to keep her from looking away again. “I can think of no reason more noble to be absent than taking care of my family.”

“Oh?” Any fumbling attempt she made at dry wit melted from her countenance when he bent just enough to rub their noses together and kiss her forehead.

“Mm. Provided she let me do so, of course.” He said, playfully pointed.

“Of course.” She replied, and finally, her tone matched his.

Taking her banter as permission, Aymeric pulled away enough to tug her deeper into the room, fully in the Solar proper rather than lingering outside in the hallway. His smile widened when she nudged the door closed with her heel on her way in. 

“Thank you.” He whispered earnestly with another kiss to her forehead.

A laugh bubbled up from her throat at the contact, and it warmed him to his marrow, faint as it was. He made no effort to hide his smile when he stepped back from her, toward the other end of the room, and held her hand as he walked until he could no longer, and offered her a wink with a twist of his torso when he turned away from her, toward the old orchestrion tucked away behind the desk. With a flick of the switch, its speakers crackled to life, the well cared for but weathered machine giving off that faint white noise that came when nothing had been chosen to play.

But it did not take long for music to drift gently in from the speakers: Aymeric knew which song to put on. A personal favorite, one they had not danced to in some time.

Once the piano music began to float gently in through the speakers like a gentle snowdrift, he was swift in moving back to gather Serella in his arms again. All the more because he saw the recognition flash in her eyes, her expression shifting to pleasant surprise. 

With a sigh that seemed to take her whole body, she melted, just a little, just enough to turn her head and kiss his palm when he reached up to cradle her face in his hands.

Tinkling piano music moved on with out them, and measured how long it took for her to right herself. Not very— just enough that the first verse had just begun by the time he was satisfied she was well and truly alright, he shifted his hands to hold her at the small of her back, to take her hand in his.

“Dance with me?” Aymeric asked softly.

With a feigned sigh of resignation, the tension bled from her shoulders. Not all of it, mind, but enough that she could smile just a little wider.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you,” She noted more than asked.

“On dancing? Never. Taking care of you? Always.”

The nearly inaudible giggle that escaped her throat seemed to shake away the last of her threadbare resolve to play at normalcy, as she took a moment to press her forehead to his shoulder and just laugh it out, just a little. When she righted herself, the remnants of that chuckle had softened her smile.

Even as they began to sway together, even as she fell into step with him, as if they had never stopped dancing at all, Serella couldn’t help but tweak his nose— proverbially, and rather literally, when she leaned up to bump the tip of his nose with hers.

“Look at you, batting your eyelashes at me so.” She teased, an old and affectionate turn of phrase. He hadn’t realized how he missed it so until he saw how her ears perked up with the width of her smile.

“You wound me.” Aymeric teased.

Something nearly guttered the light out of her eyes when she fiercely whispered, “Never.”

“I know, love.” Another kiss to her forehead, to will away those dark thoughts she could not yet give voice to, was blessedly enough to keep that playful spark alight. “Apart from my knuckles when I take bits from the mixing bowl.”

Even weak as it was, her laugh was enough to lighten his heart considerably when he gathered her back up to him and started to waltz in an intimately small circle, small enough that they did little more than turn about in place. 

At the second turn of the song, Serella became very still. Much as Aymeric had been leading them, he stopped the moment he felt her plant herself as a tree and refuse to move with him. He cupped her face in his hands as he waited.

Her smile wilted, ever so slightly, and her gaze turned uncertain again as she spoke up, “I won’t be okay just because we stay home and slow dance to sentimental songs tonight.”

Though she didn’t move his hands away, she bent to press her forehead against his shoulder. He kept his hands on her face, gently sweeping his thumps from her cheekbones up to the base of her pointed ears, and back in soothing strokes.

“You needn’t be. I am going nowhere.” Undeterred, Aymeric kissed the crown of her hair. “What was it you said before? Something about loving someone like a blanket?”

“Oh, so you do listen to my impassioned bumbling.” Serella murmured into his collar, more playful, more like herself.

His heart flipped in his chest when he felt her smile against his neck. Just enough time had passed since she’d done so with ease that he had yet to reacclimate his body to hers, to recognize the press of her grin, the tremble of her rage, the stutter of her grief. He would learn again, in time. They had that, now. And what time they did not have, they would make.

“‘Twas far from bumbling— and I always listen to you,” he countered earnestly, brushing his lips in the softest of kisses along the length of her ear. Her delighted peal of laughter and wriggling deeper into his arms inspired his own beaming smile. “I always seek you out. Any part of you I can.”

Serella knew this— he’d certainly never hidden the fact. The moment of hesitation before she spoke up again gnawed at some raw and aching part of him all the same.

“...Even when I feel like I don’t know myself anymore?”

“Especially then, so you are not left to sort it out alone.” When Serella lifted her head out of the crook of his neck to look at him again, he squeezed her closer and pledged, “I meant it when I vowed you have every moment of my forever, always— but especially when you are at your lowest. I have not the power to mend anyone— not even you, much as it pains me to admit it. But I can walk that path of recovery with you, and so I will, and do so with gladness. You need only let me.”

Serella snorted, face warmly flushed darker umber at her cheeks and her ears for her flustering. But she was smiling again, and that was enough for the moment.

“You drive a hard bargain.” Came an overwhelmed mumble, pressed into his collar.

“I learned from the best— for you have ever been with me on mine own journey, have you not?” Aymeric countered again, and knew he’d won the bout when she slumped in his arms entirely, relaxed in his hold. 

“You have me at a disadvantage, my lord.” Serella admitted, rocking back on her heels. “I’ve no choice but to accept.”

Aymeric wanted to counter that, too, but then she’d pulled on his cravat to guide him into a kiss. 

She began to sway again. Slowly, tentatively. By the refrain of the chorus, they were taking turns around the Solar again. By the time the tinkling notes of the piano faded quietly, they found themselves standing in the middle of the Solar again, not entirely still, grinning and healing and raw.

“It would seem our song ended.” She quoted herself from another lifetime ago, in Fortemps Manor, when the only certainty seemed to be in how uncertain everything in the world was— and they, the most uncertain of them all.

“So it has.” He agreed, playing along. 

“Though…” A spark— playfulness— glittered in her eyes when she flicked her gaze up at him through her fanned eyelashes. “We’ve barely started dancing again. Could use a touch more practice, just to be sure I’ve got it. Provided you have nowhere else to be.”

The minx. How he loved her so.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be.” Aymeric diverted from their playful tête-à-tête to do what he had not done the first time, when fear of rejection stayed his heart, and kissed her as they began to dance to the next song. “And that makes all the difference.”

[kermab]

The Morgulon Chapter 2

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/34542/the-morgulonWhen Greg came back to his senses, he was still laying on the ground. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was back at the camp. Someone had wrapped him in blankets, and there was a fire just a couple of yards away, but his feet were cold anyway. His whole left leg was a dull, throbbing ache. He grunted softly and turned his face to look away from the flames. He could see a couple of more campfires, and people sitting around them, but the atmosphere seemed subdued. When his father, David, Andrew, and Nathan returned from a hunt, that was always cause for celebration.

Speaking of his family, where were they? At the very least he would have expected Andrew to be there, to yell at him for putting Dolly in danger.

He turned his head back towards the fire right next to him. Beyond the flickering flames, all he could see were shadows. He thought he did see someone standing there, but he couldn’t be sure.

After a few minutes, he heard people coming closer, several pairs of heavy boots and a whispered argument. They stopped on the other side of the fire. At least one of them was still wearing the ridiculous white cape, and then he could hear Nathan growl:

“Just let her have a look, David. They checked him out, I had a look myself, he’s fine. If it makes her happy, let her waste her time.”

Greg blinked. The person in the white cape turned out to be Lane deLande, not Nathan. She was flanked by his brothers, though. David’s fingers played with Greg’s pistol when deLande kneeled down next to Greg, in a crouch that would allow her to get up again quickly.

“I want to see your face,” she said, and David said:

“You don’t have to. This is stupid. This whole thing was stupid.”

“We agree on that, at least,” deLande sighed. “He shouldn’t have been there at all.”

“He wasn’t the problem,” David growled back.

Greg looked up towards Nathan since David’s gaze was fixed firmly on deLande. The youngest of his brothers rolled his eyes at him and shrugged.

Greg had to clear his throat and start over before he managed: “I got nowhere to go tonight.”

Which at least brought the ghost of a smile to Nathan’s face.

So Lane deLande reached for his face and turned it towards the fire, staring at his skin intently. It was incredibly uncomfortable. Greg had never been this close to a woman who wasn’t his mother, and after a few seconds, he closed his eyes. A moment later, he heard David hiss, and then he felt cold metal on his skin.

“What happened to your face?” deLande wanted to know.

“Just some twigs,” Greg said, and let her turn his head a little more so that she could put the cold blade against his neck. Was this what the cow felt like before the butcher cut its throat?

Finally, deLande grunted and got to her feet again.

“Happy?” Greg asked.

“Not really,” the huntress replied, though when Greg opened his eyes, he saw her put the knife away.

“Your skin is too dark,” deLande went on. “Makes it really hard to tell whether it reddens or not, when the silver touches it. Especially in this light. You should better keep an eye on him,” she added in David’s direction, who did not go for her throat, although Greg could see that it was a close thing.

“Of course, Lady Inquisitor,” Nathan griped.

DeLande glared at him, but finally left.

“Well, that was fun,” Greg muttered.

“You,” David started, stopped, and dropped to the ground. “You are so ridiculously lucky, do you even realize that?”

Nathan settled down next to him.

“I’m too pretty to die,” Greg replied, but when that didn’t even earn an eye roll from either of them, he asked: “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” David just said.

Nathan added: “You weren’t the only greenhorn who thought he’d check a copse of conifers all on his own.” He paused and added: “You were the only one who survived it. Thanks to Dolly.”

“Is that where Andrew is?” Greg asked. “She’s okay, right?”

“Dolly is fine,” Nathan sighed. “Dad’s dealing with the family of some of the men who – didn’t make it. Andrew is with him.”

Greg shuddered. “How many?”

“Thirteen, all together.”

“We lost four shooters, too,” David said quietly.

“Four shooters?” Greg echoed incredulously. Sure, it happened that a shooter wasn’t fast enough on the draw, but four of them? With a plan this well laid out? “How did that happen?”

“Well,” David said, “we shot four werewolves, and your inquisitor back there gave the signal that you guys had killed two more. So some idiots left their post, because hey, six werewolves are dead, the hunt is over and we never receive false information about anything, ever, do we? So of course the remaining two werewolves went on a rampage through what was left of the formation. They must have gotten some beaters early on, too, but no one can tell when and where at this point.”

“Crap,” Greg muttered. Four shooters and nine beaters dead.

Eight werewolves, Mithras have mercy.

 Late the next morning, the mood in the camp improved slightly: Coaches and riders were coming up the road. It was time to present the dead werewolves to an official, either from the Church or an Imperial magistrate, to have the kills confirmed, and reap the rewards. With a pack as big and as dangerous as this one, there would likely be representatives of both. Possibly other interested parties as well.

Indeed, there were no less than eight men coming up the hill towards the camp. Greg had a good view of them from the back of a cart, where his brothers had put him earlier. The cleric was easy to recognize in his red robes, as was the Imperial magistrate, since no one else was allowed to wear that colour of blue. A third man wore a bright servant’s uniform, probably from a nearby Valoisian noble – hopefully, someone who had put up a bounty.

Next, there were three men in the more sober suits of the Loegrian fashion, and lastly a couple of men who were quite obviously farmers. They probably wouldn’t have any rewards to hand out, but they would carry word of their success.

For those new hunters who still needed to make a name for themselves, that was almost as important as the money.

Greg watched from a distance how the men with the gravitas of their respective offices inspected each carcass and then had to witness how the heads were cut off. He couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning: the cleric and the Imperial magistrate were so clearly uncomfortable. Bram was standing right next to them. From his gesturing, Greg was guessing that his father was trying to leverage their discomfort into a higher reward. After all, the agreed-upon rates had been for only six werewolves, not eight.

 Eventually, the last head fell and a cheer went through the huntsmen gathered close to the negotiation. The magistrate fled, waving to his servants, the cleric stayed just long enough to see the eight heads bagged before he too fled down towards his coach. Greg’s father ambled after them. The cheering grew louder when the armed servants of the officials carried up huge strongboxes full of silver.

Greg closed his eyes. Dividing the silver would take its sweet time. His father would get extra pay for organizing the whole thing, and deLande probably a little something for leading the beaters, too. Then there were fixed rates just for showing up, which generally barely paid for your expenses if you were a beater. Next, there was the success premium, which again, everybody would receive, and made the whole thing worthwhile.

Lastly, there were the general kill awards and the bounties, by far the most money, which would go to those eight individuals who had fired the killing shots. Unless of course one of the monsters had been brought down through a group effort, in which case things could get really complicated. Because the one who fired the killing shot also took home the pelt, and werewolf pelts fetched high prices with the Valoisian nobility, especially back in the homeland. If a werewolf hadn’t been active long and hadn’t amassed a bounty yet, the price of the pelt often trumped the official rewards for the kill.

 Greg woke with a scream when the cart under him started moving. Even the slightest bump made his leg hurt as if there was a draft horse kicking him in the thigh.

“Oh, hey,” Andrew said. “You’re awake.”

“No shit,” Greg muttered to himself. He had to bite his tongue to suppress another whimper of pain.

“Yeah, sorry,” Andrew said. “It’ll get better once we reach the main road. Here, that should cheer you up.”

He dropped a leather bag full of something heavy onto Greg’s chest.

“What’s that?”

“Your reward, genius. One bag full of silver, and some gold to pad it out.”

Greg closed his eyes and breathed through the pain when they hit the next pothole. Andrew was right, though. The thought of his first earnings did cheer him up. He could buy a horse with the money – once he could walk again, anyway – and still have plenty left for a rainy day.

He really wished he had some laudanum, but all he got was a bottle of whiskey when they stopped for the night. They had just made it over to the next village, which didn’t even have an inn. When the farmers heard who they were, they were happy at least to let them stay in one of the barns, which was dry and sheltered from the icy wind that had picked up. Greg was cold anyway. By the time his brothers heaved him back onto the cart, he felt hot and feverish.

For the remainder of the journey, he dropped in an out of consciousness. Whenever he woke up, someone was sitting with him, mostly Andrew, but David and Nathan took turns as well, and once, there was his father poking at his broken leg. That time, Greg was really glad when he passed out again.

 Finally, he woke up in his own bed, in their townhouse in Deva. Dr. ibn Sina was sitting at his bedside, who had taken over for his father as the family’s doctor just recently, and on Greg’s other side was his mother Imani. It was embarrassing how incredibly glad he was to see her. When she hugged him a little awkwardly, he was relieved that the young doctor got up and left them alone.

Had David cried like this in their mother’s arms after his first hunt, Greg wondered as he blinked away the tears. Had Andrew and Nathan?

If they had, his mother didn’t mention it. She did ask, however: “Does this mean that you do not wish to go hunting again?”

Greg pushed himself upright as much as he could and wiped the tears from his face. “What?” he asked. “No! I – it was just…”

He stopped, confused, when his mother reached for his hand. “I did not think you would change your mind so quickly,” she said. “But I can live in hope, can’t I?”

“Uh, sure,” Greg muttered. “Uh – what would you have me do?”

His mother smiled sadly, just with her glittering black eyes. “I always thought you liked the city,” she said, standing up. “The theatre, the music halls, even the lectures of Mr. Higgins. And I would have liked to keep at least one of you closer to home. Mr. Higgins will be disappointed, too. You know, he had some hope of getting you perhaps even into parliament.”

“Or poetry,” Greg muttered darkly to himself.

“You used to enjoy literature,” his mother pointed out.

Greg shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “But I don’t want to be one of those sappy romantics who waste all their time just dreaming of adventures, instead of living some.”

“But what if all your adventures go like this one?”

Greg thought about it for a moment. “Then at least I’ll have done some good in the world, instead of just talking about it,” he decided.

His mother nodded slowly, but she didn’t look convinced, Greg thought. He was almost sure she would say something more about the matter, but ibn Sina returned to take his temperature. Greg closed his eyes and tried to think himself somewhere else.

 Ibn Sina insisted on repeating the embarrassing and uncomfortable procedure three times a day for a whole week, even though Greg didn’t feel feverish at all anymore. He actually felt really good. The doctor had secured his leg in a splint, and with help from David and Nathan, he spent a lot of time out in the garden, where, despite the cold, he had lessons with Mr. Higgins.

Mr. Higgins was the teacher who had educated them all since they were kids, and he was at least as disappointed as Imani when Greg’s injury didn’t stop him from wanting to go hunting again. So he spent the whole time trying to change Greg’s mind, until, at the end of the week, Greg actually felt relief when ibn Sina interrupted a lecture because he wanted to talk to him in private.

“I have to ask you,” the doctor started, as soon as they were alone.

“Sure,” Greg said, perplexed, because the young physician stared at him intently, looking worried.

Ibn Sina huffed softly, opened his mouth, stopped himself, started again, and finally asked: “Did you use any kind of magic to speed up the healing process?”

Greg just stared at him, mouth agape.

“Magic,” he finally managed. “Where would I have found a healer? When?”

“So you didn’t use any magic?”

“No,” Greg said, as firmly as he could. He knew that ibn Sina, just like his father, had strong views about using any kind of magic. Apparently, there was a taboo against it in their religion. There had been a time, when Greg had been very young and the last plague had hit Deva, when his father had consulted a healer about his mother’s illness. Greg had been too young to understand the details, but he remembered ibn Sina senior storming out of the house and not returning for over a year.

He didn’t want the doctor to run out on him. And he really hadn’t used any sort of magic.

But to his surprise, ibn Sina didn’t look assuaged. Quite the contrary: he buried his face in one hand for several seconds. Eventually, he looked around and led Greg upstairs to his room. Walking the stairs became easier every day, but the doctor’s firm grip surprised Greg, and nearly pulled him off balance.

“I need you to think very carefully,” the doctor said, as soon as the door closed behind them. “Did you ever – purchase some kind of amulet, a charm maybe, or make some sort of deal with – with an entity of some sort, even as a child, even if you thought it was just a joke, or – or a dream... Maybe some strange blessing…”

When Greg kept shaking his head, he trailed off, looking crestfallen. He rubbed his face again, swearing in a language Greg didn’t understand.

“What’s going on?” Greg asked when the doctor wouldn’t say anything further. “What’s the problem? I’m feeling great.”

“Yes,” ibn Sina sighed. “That is precisely the problem.”

When Greg looked at him blankly, he continued: “You were really, really sick when you got here, Greg. You fevered for the three days of the journey, and then another day and night after you were back home, and I don’t think you even remember. Because you were slipping away, Greg, we were losing you. And then suddenly we weren’t anymore, and you woke up, and you were fine. Even your leg is healing way too fast.”

“So?” Greg asked.

“Gregory, bodies don’t work that way. I would have been willing to shrug off the fever as just incredibly good luck, or possibly even a heavenly blessing. But what your bones are doing – magic is the only explanation for that. And if you didn’t – acquire – this magic by your choice and free will, then – then you have to consider – then the most likely explanation is that you were bitten.”

“No,” Greg said. “No, I wasn’t. I was checked. Twice, actually.”

“Greg, if it was that easy to spot, don’t you think there would be fewer werewolves around?” The doctor looked at him seriously. “Especially with darker skin tones, such as yours, it’s hard to be sure before the first full moon. In fact, even a simple sunburn can make it impossible to see the reddening around the wound. Especially if it’s just a scratch.”

Greg opened his mouth, but he had no idea what he should say to this, so he closed it again after a few seconds.

“Because of your father’s occupation, I have not spoken to anyone else about this,” ibn Sina said. “And if I am wrong, I will be back after full moon and take off that splint, since you will not need it any longer. But I doubt that I am wrong. May God have mercy on you.”

With that, the doctor left. Greg just stood there, staring after him. Without thinking about it, his hand reached up to his face, to the cuts there, that had already faded to pink lines, still lighter than the rest of his skin. It couldn’t be. One of the things that made werewolf bites stand out was that they took forever to just scab over. In fact, there were a lot of stories about people who survived the initial encounter with the monster, but bled to death hours later, because even small wounds wouldn’t close.

But all of his injuries were healing faster than they should, not slower.

He stepped in front of his mirror and pulled down the neckline of his shirt. There was nothing on his neck or his shoulders, and as far as he could twist his head, nothing on his back either. He hesitated for a second, then slipped out of his room and over to his mother’s boudoir, where he nicked a hand mirror from her vanity. But that didn’t show him anything but the smooth, dark brown skin of his back, either.

Which, admittedly, was a little weird. A month ago, like most seventeen-year-olds he had had plenty of pimples on his back and face. Now, there were only a couple of tiny spots left.

The black curls on his head were too thick to see anything underneath, but when he returned his mother’s mirror, he found a silver letter opener, so he used that to run it over his head. He felt stupid doing it. Silver was supposed to be inimical to werewolves, shouldn’t he feel something when he gripped the handle of the letter opener? But the silver just felt cool. Not bad, just very cold. His fingers were starting to feel chilly from holding the letter opener.

Greg dropped the silver and stared down at his fingers. Warmth flooded back as soon as the metal cluttered onto the table. And when he stared at his hands, for the first time he noticed the teeny tiny cuts at the knuckles of his right hand. No bite marks, he was sure of that.

But. He suddenly remembered that moment when the werewolf had gripped his white cape, shaking him, remembered reaching for his knife and just blindly hacking at the wool, right next to the werewolf’s teeth.

So scratch marks?

Carefully, hesitatingly, he held out his hand, palm up. He had to take a deep breath and close his eyes before he could bring himself to brush the back of his hand over the letter opener.

It was cold, icy cold. Unnaturally cold. And it hurt. It started slowly, barely noticeable, but then the chill and the cold turned into a burn as if glowing embers had landed on his skin. Not everywhere, but he didn’t have to open his eyes to know that the burn was everywhere where the skin was still scabbed over.

Ibn Sina had been right: He was well and truly screwed.

find the whole thing here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/34542/the-morgulon

[rayveewrites]

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost  Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name  Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness  So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect. 

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't. 

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.” 

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite. 

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you." 

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know. 

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head.  [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars.  Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

[shytalia]

A Prince & A Pirate’s Fate - 16

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Chapter Sixteen

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Alfred awoke with a throbbing pain in his head.

“Ugh, what the fuck.” He groaned, holding his head as if it would make the pounding in it go away.

“Watch your language. I see Kirkland has left an unfortunate impact on you.”

Alfred jumped at the sound of another voice so close to him, his eyes widening and snapping in the direction of the intrusion. It was the current king, sitting calmly by his side. He stared at him gaping, unsure of exactly where he was or why his father was by his side as he slept. What he did know, however, was that Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

He was beaten to it before he could even open his mouth to ask.

“You disobeyed direct orders and have been visiting that pirate during the night, haven’t you?” There wasn’t much in the way of a question so much as it was just a statement. The king let out a rough huff of disapproval when his son didn’t answer. “As such, I have no choice but to relocate Kirkland to a more secure room. One you won’t be able to break into.”

He took a moment to look his son over. His young features were crinkled in irritation and he could see faint marks on his lower neck from previous private affairs, no doubt left by the captain himself. The image of his son stooping that low was unnerving.

“But upon reflecting your little escapades, I’ve deemed that a more proper punishment is in order. Kirkland will be relocated and put under the most maximum security, but he will no longer be allowed to do anything more than sit and wait.”

“What? What does that even mean?” Alfred growled, moving forward only to realize he himself couldn’t move either. With wide eyes his vision snapped to the side and saw his wrists chained to the bed he was on, allowing him to move only a very short distance. “Y-You can’t do this! Let me go!” He yelled.

“It is a necessity, you’ll see. You will be released on the night of the ball. I think a few days of solitude will prove to be a fitting punishment. No more running around the halls like a love sick puppy searching for its master.” The King muttered, taking the prince’s chin in his hand and twisting his head towards him. He matched the glare thrown at him. “Just so you understand me, son, allow me to be perfectly clear. You should relax and do as you are told. The more you struggle to understand what I’m doing is for the best then the more suffering you’ll bring your poor Arthur. Your actions will reflect his treatment. If you insist on acting out of line, his punishments will be all the worse because of you.”

For a moment hesitation flashed in Alfred’s eyes, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“What punishments?” He asked, softer this time as if he were afraid of the answer.

“Anything I see fit. Because of your little adventures in the night, Arthur has already received ten lashings. You wouldn’t want him to get more, would you?” The elder man said easily.

Then, Alfred’s calm exterior was gone, replaced by a hot fury that threatened to eat him from the inside out. His chains rattled against his harsh movements as he attempted to free himself.

“What!” He practically screamed. “You whipped him? For what! He didn’t do anything, it was all me! He was stuck in that damn room day after day, I’m the one who kept visiting him even after he told me to stop!”

Despite his outburst, the king simply waved his hand as if brushing the offensive words out of the air. “It doesn’t really matter. Queen or not, he has to pay for everything he’s done in the past. He’s lucky I’ve been merciful, you know as well as I do that criminals like him do not often get anything less than a noose or permanent disfiguration. Would you prefer I do that?”

“No! I’d prefer if you treated him like my goddamn queen!”

At that, the King let out a small chuckle and stood up. “He will be treated like the queen once he acts like one and not a disgusting pirate. But don’t worry, it won’t take long, I will break him of his filthy habits soon enough.”

And despite the yelling from the younger royal and the screaming of his chains as he tore at him, rubbing the flesh beneath them raw until they bled, the king left his son alone again.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The arrival of the other kingdom’s royals a few days later sent a wave of excitement throughout the entire capital.

Much like the impromptu parade signifying the arrival of Prince Alfred’s return home, carriages of varying colors carried new and foreign leaders towards the castle walls. Crowds clumped together on the streets for a chance to see a Heart, Diamond, or a Club wagon, each decorated as extravagantly as the last.

First came the Hearts, their red ribbons and heart-printed banners clashed brightly against the normal, Spadian blues. Most exciting was the young prince whose stoic face charmed all those he passed, offering them a polite wave but not much more. It didn’t seem to bother the crowd as they gorged themselves on his handsome features.

Next were the Clubs, a cold nation of ice and snow, but their green symbol was an ironic feature plastered for all to see. It was almost a mask, the clover of their nation a sign of luck and prosperity, even in the dead of winter. Despite this, people found themselves ogling the impressively tall, burly man with the gentle smile as he rode down the streets.

Lastly were the fashionably late Diamonds. Bright and warm, covered in gold and jewels, the King of Diamonds flashed his ringed hand enthusiastically to the people surrounding him. Women and men caught the kisses he drew from his mouth, blowing them into the crowd with fervor.

Overall, the arrival of the three foreign kingdoms was a cheerful success. Servants busied themselves making last minute preparations and ran around the castle like bees in a hive.

Alfred could hear the commotion from his room, finally released from his bounds he rubbed at the bruised skin of his wrists with a scowl. His father had never acted this tyrannically before, at least, not to Alfred. Had it always been there and he just hadn’t seen it?

He shook those thoughts away and pulled on his navy coat. It dragged down in the back and he couldn’t help but wonder what Arthur would be wearing. No doubt, they would dress him up like a doll in Spadian nationality and the Brit would loath every second of it. This is exactly what Arthur had been trying to avoid for so long and yet, here Alfred had made his worst nightmares come true.

He mentally cursed himself for it but a soft knock on his door banished those thoughts.

“Your highness, it is time.” A calm voice spoke through the wood. When Alfred opened it, he was greeted with the familiar face of the royal Jack.

“Yao,” Alfred recognized, doing his best to bite back his anger and his anxiety. He had to do this right, for Arthur’s sake. “Let’s get this over with.”

The walk to the ballroom was long and the sound of chattering people exploded to life the second they swung the grand doors open. There were nobles and ladies scattered around the hall, each decorated with elegance and riches. Some were already dancing and others were drinking, gossiping about petty affairs that made Alfred’s head hurt.

The Chinese man pushed him onward and towards a large, stage-like platform at the end of the room. It had chairs, in which already sat the current King and Queen as they watched the people buzz below them.

Alfred ignored any greetings he received as he walked through the crowd, not truly on purpose, but his mind swarmed with different scenarios that could go wrong at any moment.

He took his place in a chair, it was high up where he could see the entire room clearly. It was more often than not used for his parents and their more esteemed guests to lounge during parties such as this one. When they weren’t dancing around the ball room, they sat perched and watching like hawks to a bustle of prey.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Yao called after Alfred was seated, earning looks from all across the room. “I am proud to introduce our guests, who have traveled far to come and greet our new Queen and congratulate the young, Prince Alfred. So, without further ado, please welcome your majesties...”

The short man took a quick bow, pulling the doors of the ballroom open, and gestured for those outside it to come in. As he did, he dutifully introduced each one.

“Prince Ludwig, of the Hearts. King Ivan, of the Clubs. And King Francis, of the Diamonds. Welcome to The Spades.” Yao bowed to them once more.

The three took in their surroundings, obviously sizing up the room, its decor, and its occupants. At once, three pairs of eyes set sharply on the three, Spadian royals sitting on the other side of the room.

King Ivan was the first to speak. “Ah, it is nice to meet you, your highnesses.” He gave a small bow of his own, but even his crouched stature was far taller than anyone else in the room. “However, I am not seeing the newly found queen. I was told we would get the chance to meet him and I was looking forward to it quite a bit.” Something sparkled in his lavender eyes that made Alfred want to hurl, or punch him in the face, whichever came first.

The creepy Club did have a point, however. Where was Arthur? This ball was supposed to be a celebration of him coming to the castle, surely his parents weren’t going to leave him locked up throughout the entire thing!

As if on cue, the door creaked open once more and each curious face glanced to it. Standing with guards at his sides was Arthur, dressed in the finest clothing Alfred had ever seen him in. His blue eyes widened slightly, watching carefully as his betrothed strut into the room looking nothing less like complete, Spadian royalty.

“Arthur!” Alfred jumped up. As much as he told himself he would behave, the sight of Arthur finally out and free of chains made his heart beat erratically. The only thing that brought him back down to earth was his father’s cough and a harsh grip on his wrist, preventing him from jumping off the stage and towards the other blonde across the hall. Looking back, his eyes met the cold, warning glare of the elder royal and he swallowed.

Relaxing and standing up straight, he stared ahead at the man he adored so much just to find him looking right back up at him. There was something swimming there in those wide, green orbs that Alfred couldn’t quite place and it worried him to no end. So, without thinking, he grinned widely and outstretched his arms to address the room loudly.

“Welcome! Now that everyone is here, let’s get to dancing!” He bounced off the platform in a single leap, landing on the hard floor below and practically racing towards the petite, shaggy-haired man with open arms. “What do you say, Arthur? Can I have this dance with my future queen?”

Arthur’s eyes widened in disbelief, unsure if Alfred was trying to get them in trouble again or not. But, here in front of so many people, what could his father really do? So, he smiled and nodded, reaching out and allowing his hand to be taken.

“Of course.”

Within an instant, he was pulled close against a warm chest and an arm snaked around his waist, drawing him ever nearer.

“Good.” Alfred breathed, softer now that he had Arthur so close against him. He pulled the shorter man towards the middle of the room, ignoring the people that shifted to get out of their way, and immediately started twirling their bodies together to the music that flowed gently through the air. “I missed you.” He whispered.

Arthur only made a small sound of agreement, but his stiff limbs relaxed the longer Alfred held him close. He did his best to ignore the obvious eyes that were boring into them, even if they were being discrete, Arthur knew better than to think they weren’t at the forefront of everyone’s gaze.

“I’m sorry...for what happened. You didn’t deserve that.”

Green shot up and met blue. Arthur wavered at the look of sincerity and regret that twisted the younger man’s sweet face. It wasn’t a look that fit Alfred, he was meant for smiles and laughter, not worry or anger. The Brit shook his head and offered a small smile.

“Don’t worry. It’s far from the worst thing I’ve ever endured.” He assured.

His response only seemed to make Alfred’s brows furrow further together and his frown deepen.

“That’s not the point. I don’t want them to hurt you.” The prince voiced, removing his hand from Arthur’s in favor of pulling down at the other man’s sleeve. He could see the darkness of bruises lingering there from his binds, much like he had on his own, but Arthur’s looked even worse. Not only that, those familiar metal, bracelets encircled his pale wrists. It seemed even during a ball his father couldn’t trust Arthur not to kill him. For once since he returned, he thought the king actually got something right. “I promised you that I’d be your hero.”

“I don’t expect you to keep all your promises.”

As much as he wished he didn’t, Arthur couldn’t shake that feeling of betrayal he had when he realized Alfred was the man he had spent years loathing. No amount of sweet words and gifts would change that overwhelming ache in his chest at being lied to for so long.

Alfred frowned more at that but didn’t press the issue. He knew he had a lot to prove to Arthur and he wouldn’t stop until he made everything up to him and then some. But for now, he was content to have his lover close and to twirl him around the room to the sound of music.

Several dances later, Arthur opted to take a small break and convinced the young prince to grab a drink instead of just showering him in open affection. Alfred had pouted but agreed, running off to find the nearest butler with a glass of wine.

“It is nice to meet you, your highness.”

Arthur nearly jumped out of his own skin when a low voice ghosted past his ear. He turned to find a very tall, very intimidating man looming over him with a gentle grin. He nearly looked like he could pick him up and break him in half over his knee if he wanted. Arthur sincerely hoped he didn’t try.

“Hm? Did I say something wrong? You’re looking at me as if you’ve seen a ghost.” The large man’s face morphed into something of a pout, if one could truly call it that.

“O-Oh, no, my apologies. I didn’t hear you come up.” Arthur dismissed quickly, taking a small step back. He may be a pirate with incredible magical abilities and a talent for weapons, but at the moment, he had neither of those things. It didn’t help that he had gotten quite the thorough instructions from the king before being dressed for this horrendous dance that if he were to act out of line, his brother would not go unpunished. Thus, he had to play nice.

His explanation must have been enough for the tall man because he smiled again and nodded. “I did not mean to scare you.” He told him, accent thick on his tongue. “I am King Ivan, from the Club’s Kingdom. I would be honored if I could have a dance with the future Queen of Spades.”

He held out a large hand and Arthur hesitated to take it. He wasn’t exactly jumping at the opportunity to be manhandled by a very powerful stranger, but he didn’t have much reason to refuse either.

“Of course...” The Brit muttered, slowly lifting his own hand and placing it in the much bigger one. Without a moment to reconsider, Ivan pulled his smaller body close and was turning around in time with the music. Arthur barely had enough time to register what was happening as he was shoved, almost surprisingly snug, against the smothering body.

“I’ve come to meet you, Queen Arthur. I wanted to see you for my own eyes, it’s been quite a few years since we first heard about you. We weren’t sure you would ever actually come take your place.” Ivan talked casually, spinning Arthur around in circles as he did so, arm firmly planted against his lower back to keep him secure.

“Yes, well, I didn’t think I would either.” The pirate replied, almost bitterly as he spared a glance towards the platform the current monarchs sat on. He could see the King’s icy stare even from where he was moving in the middle of the dance floor.

“We Clubs have been watching these silly Spades run around trying to catch you for so long, it was most amusing. I’m almost sad the fun is now over.” The Russian sighed, his conversation moving as if Arthur hadn’t spoken at all.

What a particularly odd thing to say to the next queen of said kingdom.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the man who held him, taking in his childish frown of disappointment now that his apparent ‘fun’ was over.

“But, I get the feeling a new game is going to begin soon and it is exciting to finally meet the most interesting player. You’re not like the rest of these stuffy Spades.” Ivan’s smile once more tugged around the edges and, to Arthur, it almost resembled more of a smirk. He felt the hands around him tighten, as if drawing him closer to tell him a well-kept secret.

“I do believe most of the other people here are not murders and thieves.” Arthur replied easily. He may be put off by the other male, but he was not one to back down because of a little intimidation. He had his pride and he would keep it, as much as he could in this damned place anyway.

“I’m not so sure. But, perhaps your brand of depravity is a little bit different than theirs. That doesn’t mean there are not some similarities in the ruthlessness.” Ivan offered after a bark of laughter. He seemed genuinely pleased with Arthur’s answer. “Oh, but your dear prince...he’s not like the rest either, is he? Just look at him now, he’s glaring at me as if I’m about to rip your throat out. That is funny, da?”

Arthur ignored the low chuckle that emanated from the bigger man and twisted his head enough so he could see past his large arms. Sure enough, there was Alfred, two wine glasses in his hands and narrow eyes. He didn’t look jealous so much as he looked purely predatory.

“I think he and I will become very close friends. That would be great, yes?” Another deep laugh fluttered out of the Club’s chest, but something in Arthur told him that ‘friends’ was not exactly the right word to describe the thoughts Ivan was having at that moment.

“Of course. It would be lovely to have a good relationship between the Spades and the Clubs. I look forward to it.” The Brit announced, a tad too loud, but he felt the need to get out of the man’s grasp as quickly as possible. “Please, excuse me. I believe the prince has retrieved our drinks.”

Slowly, Ivan pulled back his arms and released the shorter man with a content smile.

“Thank you for the dance, your majesty. You are very fun.” He said.

Arthur gave a short bow, “And to you as well, King Ivan.” He told him, before turning on his heel and speeding off towards Alfred. Taking one of the beverages offered, he brought it to his lips and wasted no time drinking it down.

“What did he say?” Alfred asked lowly, cold eyes still hovering on the tall form retreating off the dance floor.

“King Ivan? Not much. Just that he thought our little game of cat and mouse had been rather amusing for him.” Arthur mumbled. It seemed he underestimated some of these other lands. He was a wanted man in each kingdom, including Clubs, and yet the King was content in watching them for his own amusement instead of trying to capture him for his crimes. “I believe he rather liked seeing you upset as we danced.”

Alfred’s gaze was still narrowed when blue eyes turned to him instead, softening immediately when they finally landed on Arthur’s gently, smiling face. Slowly, the prince brought his free hand up and ran his fingers across his lover’s cheek and cupped his face. “Of course I was upset. How am I supposed to feel with someone else holding you like that?” He asked, but his voice was somewhat amused. “More so, I don’t entirely trust him. Ivan isn’t exactly known for his good intentions.”

“Ohoho, gossiping already?”

The pair turned at once, finding a smug looking Francis standing not far behind them.

“It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, soon-to-be Queen Arthur.” The Diamond royal grinned, reaching out and grabbing the Brit’s hand. Without a moment of hesitation, he bent down in a bow and placed kisses upon the back of the pirate’s hand. He failed to notice the look of disgust that crossed the pale man’s face as he did so. “You’re far more lovely in person, might I say.”

“I appreciate the thought.” Arthur muttered, pulling his hand away and instead wrapped it around one of Alfred’s arms.

The Diamond stood tall again, his eyes scanning over the pair for a moment, before another grin plastered his face. “I must congratulate you two. This has been a long time coming, and we have all been patiently waiting for your arrival. We were all shocked to hear that the Prince of Spades had gone missing. It had been so long that we all began to assume the worst. But, it is fortunate that you were in safe hands the entire time after all, hm?”

The blonde king held a strange look on his face that Arthur did not like very much. He looked like he knew something but was holding back, whatever it was.

“It is very fortunate. I was lucky to be under Arthur’s care.” Alfred spoke up, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the other man with a silent dare to question him.

“Ah, as I said. Safe hands.” The Diamond chuckled, lifting a glass of wine he plucked from a waiter’s tray and raising it to the couple before him. “Not many of us marked find happiness with their chosen half. It is a game of wars and lying that we play, there is not much room left over for love between the likes of us.”

That was true. Most kings and queens did not care for one another, tolerant of the other more often than not and friends at the best of times. If he remembered correctly, the Prince of Hearts found his to-be queen more of a platonic companion than anything. And while that was fine for him, it wasn’t what Alfred wanted for himself. It had been a true fear of Alfred's entire life. He wanted an actual relationship with his betrothed, not just a political one.

He had found that with Arthur.

“But,” The young king began again before either of them could reply. “It is nice when it happens. I wish you two the best of luck, you are a rare exception indeed.”

Francis smiled from behind his glass before taking his leave, walking towards a group of well dressed noblewomen with flirtation on his lips.

“Diamonds always were strange.” Arthur muttered, twisting his body so he was standing in front of the taller man now.

“You would think it was the Hearts that were so sappy.” Alfred offered, earning him a small chuckle from the shorter male as he wrapped his wine-free arm around his slight waist. Their bodies pressed together without hesitation.

“Do you believe what he says?” The Brit murmured softly, his lips grazing the soft skin of the other’s neck. “About us?”

“You mean that we are a rare exception? I mean, yeah...kind of. We are, aren’t we?” Came the prince’s soft reply, pressing his own lips into that pale hair. “I love you, more than anything. I can feel it in every part of me. Every time I look at you, I am overwhelmed with just how much I adore you.”

He grinned a cheesy smile against the other’s scalp, feeling the way the smaller body warmed up against him.

“So you say.” Arthur replied after a moment, pulling his face away and looking up at his betrothed with a questioning look.

Alfred just laughed, the sound ringing out into the space around them and lighting up the room in an instant. Several people turned and looked, only to be greeted by the sight of their prince staring warmly down at the man before him.

“It’s true, and I’ll keep telling you every day if I have to. I really do love you, sweetheart.” He grinned down at him knowingly, easily picking up on the light dusting of pink that tinted his queen’s face.

Arthur looked to the side, feigning interest in the dancers on the floor spinning in circles, as he sipped his wine.

“I could do for another dance.” The pirate said quietly, but that was all that was needed since they were pressed so intimately close.

“Whatever you want, honey. I’ll give you anything in the world.” The royal laughed again, softer this time, before he finished off his glass and beckoned a butler over to relieve them of the cups. With that out of the way, his newly freed hand intertwined with the slender fingers of Arthur’s as he pulled him back towards the dance floor.

Once more, eyes were on them.

It was almost normal now, all things considered. How each curious glance pointed their way, laced with fake acceptance. Arthur was beginning to almost revel in the disapproving stares.

Let them look.

Let them see how he was twirled around and dipped, kissed mercilessly upon his cheeks and neck as laughter fluttered from his chest.

Let them see how Alfred looked at him, and only him, proving the golden boy of The Spade’s Kingdom was all his.

Let them watch as their arms tightened as they grew closer and whispered together like young kids sneaking out together into the night.

It was scandalous. It was exciting. It was everything Arthur yearned for.

They twirled their way around the dance floor until the ball began to disperse, guests filing out slowly but surely as the night grew later. Some guests lingered, drinking one too many glasses of wine or attempting to coerce a fellow partier to be their bed mate for the evening.

Alfred and Arthur, however, stayed pressed close. The closer they got to the inevitable end of the ball, the sooner they would be separated. If they just danced a little more, drank and laughed just a bit longer, maybe the party would go on.

“I don’t want them to take you.” The prince whispered against his queen’s lips, his large hands enveloping his pale face on either side. “When I think of you all alone, chained up…gods I want to kill them.”

Arthur leaned his head slightly into one of the hands planted gently on the sides of his face, closing his eyes for a moment just to enjoy the feeling. “Who?” He asked quietly.

“Anyone who hurts you.”

A small chuckle rumbled out of the Brit and he opened his eyes again. Green blinked up to meet blue, silent for a few moments until a third voice broke the peace.

“Your Majesty and your Grace.” Blinking and looking to their side, both blondes were shocked to find the Prince of Hearts standing near them. “I wanted to introduce myself to the future queen, as I did not have the chance earlier. I am Ludwig, I hope we have a good relationship in the future between our countries.” He stated and it sounded so rehearsed it almost hurt to listen to. Still, he sounded sincere, in his own way.

“Oh hey, Lud. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. It’s been what? A couple years or more, at least?” Alfred chimed, a sunny grin growing on his features. “How have you been?”

For a moment, the stern look on the pale, blonde’s face softened a bit. “I have been well, thank you, Alfred. I am glad to see you back home safe and with your future queen. Things have not been easy for you, I know.”

The two continued to talk remarkably casually for two rival kingdom heirs, but Arthur hardly listened to a word they said. Instead, his gaze was hard and unyielding as he kept it on the young Heart.

It took a while for either of the two taller males to take notice of the odd silence, but when Alfred prompted for Arthur’s input on a funny joke he had just made and received no answer, he glanced down to find his lover stiff and peering darkly.

“Artie? Baby? What’s wrong?” Alfred asked, tightening an arm around his waist to pull the lithe body closer.

Still no answer, but now Ludwig’s attention was focused on the other man whose look was unwavering towards him. There was an unreadable expression in his eyes that Ludwig had been trained all his life to avoid.

“Your Grace,” Ludwig started slowly, eyes watching carefully. “Is something the matter?”

There was no reply for a moment, just blues on green, until Arthur opened his mouth without moving anything else.

“How could you?” His voice was surprisingly soft, a mere whisper between his lips. But his eyes hardened deeper and his face contorted into an angry sneer.

“What?” Ludwig blinked, confused.

Alfred’s arm tightened again, protective in its brace as he leaned slightly forward and towards the smaller man to look him in the face. “Huh? Artie doll, I think you’re confused. What do you think Lud did? He just got here.”

His concern was lost upon deaf ears, however.

“How could you?” He repeated, twisting his way out of Alfred’s arms so he could storm the short distance to the foreign leader with malice clearly written on his features. He only stopped when he was right in his face, scowling at him. He threw his hands in the air as if his question were obvious. “Just because of what he is! He is still your brother!” He yelled, shocking everyone left in the ballroom, including Alfred and Ludwig.

“My brother? What do you know of my brother?” The Heart Prince reached out and latched roughly onto Arthur’s upper arms, gripping him in such a vice it caused him to twist slightly to ease the pain. “If you know something then tell me!”

“Ludwig, let him go!” Alfred was by them in an instant, pushing between two colliding planets as he pulled them apart. He pried the foreigner’s hands off of his fiance and sandwiched himself between them, glaring daggers at the other man. “Hands off, Lud.” He growled, the warning clear in his voice.

By now, the commotion had stirred up the curiosity in the room. Every face was turned towards them, some excited to see the events take place between such high ranking individuals, others afraid for the aftermath of what could come from such an ordeal.

Not that they cared, the only eyes that mattered were the narrowed ones of the king as he stood up from his seat.

“Guards.” He spoke gruffly, motioning towards the three. “Seize the future queen and take him back to his room. Everyone else, out.” He ordered, watching as the armored men moved across the hall to do just that. The remaining guests did not need to be told twice and were bustling to get out of the room and away from the scene.

“Wait! It was just a misunderstanding, we can talk this through.” Alfred bellowed, instantly circling around to pull Arthur against his chest to shield him from the oncoming soldiers. “I’m not letting you take him there again, he doesn’t deserve it!”

He missed the confused and worried expression that crossed Ludwig’s face at that. What did that mean? More importantly, what had Arthur meant?

“Now, now, son. We’ve been through this.” The King said, his voice feigned innocence, but the venom dripped from each syllable. “I have been through this with your…beloved as well. He knows the consequences of his actions. It is such a shame, causing a ruckus in front of a crowd like that? What will your poor brother think knowing you caused him so much pain for something so trivial?”

Without hesitation, Arthur stiffened in Alfred’s arms. He had forgotten....how could he have forgotten? He let himself slip, he had told himself he wouldn't make a mistake. That he could do this right, for his brother! But his tongue was too ready to slice through egos and his hands too poised to strangle stuck up throats. He had let Peter down.

“Please, please, no, I’m sorry.” The Brit’s knees felt weak and he might have fallen down and begged for forgiveness, had Alfred not been holding him up so tightly. “Please, I can be better. I will be better. Just don’t hurt him!”

The arms around him pulled him ever closer and a warm breath fell onto his neck. He could hear the prince’s nervous breathing against the shell of his ear. His pleading must be hard for him to listen to.

“My, it’s too late for that, isn't it? You were told what would happen and yet you still acted out of line.” The elder royal’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Escort both the future queen and the prince to their rooms using any means necessary. Take Prince Ludwig back to the guest quarters, ensure he is treated with the utmost respect.”

With that, the guards advanced once more, but this time there were more than even Alfred could fight off alone. Arthur hung loosely, visibly devastated, in one arm as the other fought uselessly to keep the numbers off them.

The pirate hadn’t even put up a fight. Why should he? He would only make things worse for his brother if he did. He allowed the guards to drag him away, listening numbly to Alfred’s shouts growing dimmer and dimmer as they were forced apart once more.

[nihilnovisubsole]

My fashion queen, incredibly important question: How would one go about figuring out fashion *style* for characters? I've noticed your OCs always have a Look(TM), and I've gathered from your blog (and fics) that you've got an eye for aestethics - please, could you give me advice at least where to *start*. I'm completely unaware of fashion and, frankly, completely overwhelmed at the prospect of just starting..

Ah! Previous Anon again - forgot to add a more specific question about fashion (I’m squeezing in 2 quesiton in one xD). Do you have fashion advice for sleek/distant female character’s clothing that doesn’t hinge on formal dresses? (as is discernable, I have literally NO idea what a Grown Ass, Self Respecting Woman would wear)

wow. that’s high praise. when i got this yesterday morning, i knew i wanted to give it the answer it deserved. this is over 1500 words long, so apologies to anyone on mobile, but i wasn’t letting go until i’d really sunk my teeth into it.

unfortunately, since you’re anon, i don’t know enough about your character to suggest anything specific. instead, i want to take a step back and see if we can solve the root of the problem - “where do i start?”

when i was a teenager, an english teacher told me this: “the biggest constraint in writing is no constraint at all.” when you have the whole spectrum of something - in this case, clothes - to pick from, it is overwhelming. the natural human instinct is to freeze up. so while it may sound strange, if you’re just starting out, you might feel better if you have some constraints to work within.

with that in mind, you can treat finding a ‘signature look’ for your character like solving a murder mystery. you eliminate all the suspects that don’t fit until you know enough to narrow it down to the one that does. that’s going to involve something else you’ll recognize from murder mysteries: you’re going to have to interrogate the character. open them up and get to know them - their background, their likes and dislikes, their quirks, the role they play in the world around them. every answer will give you clues and weed other things out, and eventually, you’ll get a box small enough that you feel comfortable working in it.

now, i love fashion, and i love using clothes to send messages about a character’s personality. so as someone who’s had that interest for my whole life, i work from the other end. the constraints happen, in large part, without me thinking about them. i tend to zoom right to a certain aesthetic or item of clothing, say, “okay, what outfit can i build with this,” and go from there. but since you’ve said you’re “unaware” of fashion and it’s intimidating to you, i’ll try to ease you in through a different route and see whether that helps.

so, if we’re going to pick your character apart, let’s think about some practical questions first:

what setting does your character live in?

if you’ve narrowed your setting down to a historical decade, you’ll find most of the style questions already - firmly! - answered for you. for example, a victorian woman would, by default, wear skirts. if the character is contemporary, you’ve got a lot more wiggle room. if you want to mess with historical fashion rules for symbolic or story purposes, awesome, but i think that’s probably more advanced than you’re looking for right now.

if the setting is fantasy or sci-fi, what’s its dominant aesthetic? is it cyberpunk? sleek ~apple~ sci-fi? or is it more like star wars? is it medieval fantasy? woodsy faerie fantasy? JRPG-style fantasy? you get the idea.

what does your character do?

speaks for itself. what’s their job?

what is your character like, just in general?

this is where everything you know about their personality goes. if they’re a fussy courtier who’s worried about their reputation and appearance, they’re probably not going to be comfortable in plain, casual clothes.

what can your character afford to wear?

again, speaks for itself. do they buy designer brands? are they trying their best with what they have? or are they super strapped for cash and just have to get the job done?

does their social scene have an easily-identifiable aesthetic that you could work with?

does your character wear urban/street fashion or preppy rich-kid clothes? are they part of a subculture that dresses in a certain way, like teddy boys? do they have the desire or freedom to go all-in with that style, or do they have to play it down, like being corporate goth?

do they need to wear something they could travel, do hard work, or fight in?

goes with the job question above. do they need some kind of outerwear or accessory where they can hide weapons? do they always need to be ready, or is it situational?

basically, where does the character’s aesthetic need to sit on a chart of form vs. function?

what do other characters who are similar to your character wear?

look at your favorite movies, games, and TV shows and see what professional designers are doing with characters like yours. what colors and cuts are they using? what other elements do they choose? do you like them? if you don’t like them, what would you change? sometimes you can learn more from what you hate than what you love.

hopefully, you’ve already culled a huge swath of fashion ideas that you Know You’re Not Going To Do. you may still not know what you do want to do, either! that’s fine. let’s move onto some more artsy questions:

are there any colors your character would prefer or avoid?

it sounds silly. it’s not. a limited color palette will go a long way toward making a character’s outfits look unified and purposeful. obviously, in real life, most people don’t restrict themselves as much as fictional characters do. but if you were a costume designer, you’d want to have some guideposts to work with.

are there any motifs you associate with your character?

animals, elements, religious or cultural symbols, plants - you can sneak all these into their clothes’ details. maybe their dress has beading in the shape of a peacock, or rose earrings, or icy sparkles, or a bear pelt for a cloak.

have fun with meanings! moon motifs for mysteriousness, poisonous flowers, etc. let your inner lit major out.

do you want your character to have a certain silhouette?

this may seem odd if you’re just going to be writing your character and not drawing them, but think about it anyway. do you want to emphasize that your character is tall? is everything they wear skintight? do they have a large, unique hat?

a great example of this is maleficent. not only does she have a horn-shaped headdress, her huge, flowing robe tells us there’s a much bigger power in her than her body would suggest.

is there a certain ethos you want their clothes to project? what, in their world, would do that? what in our world would do that?

let’s say you want your character to look very powerful, to the point where people would find their looks alone intimidating. should they wear sharp, simple, severe clothes, maybe in dark colors? or should they wear very embellished clothes, like royalty? what are your setting’s ideas about beauty? modesty? does your character play by the rules, or do you want them to stand out?

what colors, shapes, and styles appeal to you personally?

for all the time i’ve spent talking about restrictions and guidelines, it’s important not to lose the fun of it, either. use your favorite color! give them clothes you’d want to wear in real life! character style is a playground where you can let wish fulfillment run wild.

at any time, feel free to turn to google or wikipedia if you’re not sure how to answer one of these questions. if you see an interesting idea, pick it up and follow it - what you’re doing here is training your eye, and that’s how you’ll learn. that said, if you’re already intimidated, i wouldn’t dive too deep into couture/aesthetic blogs until i had a more solid grip on how i wanted the character to look. it comes back to what i said earlier - there is such a thing as too much to choose from, especially when you’re not sure what you should be looking for yet.

there’s one other thing i want to mention that can help bring a character’s wardrobe together: repetition. if you’re planning several outfits for a character instead of just one, echo some of the motifs, shapes, or colors from one to the next. they don’t all have to be identical takes on the same thing, but if they have certain traits in common, they’ll feel less like separate outfits and more like a matched set. they could all be in members of the same color family or have similar patterns on them. maybe your character has a certain accessory that they wear with everything. you get the idea.

while i may not be able to plan your character’s wardrobe outright, i hope this makes the whole process seem more straightforward. or that it gives you some ideas to work with, or any other kind of help you might take away from it. this post is getting unfathomably long, so i’ll wrap it up, but i’d be happy to put any of my own characters through a “question test” like this one if you’d like to see how it works in practice.

finally, if you can find an interview with an artist or costume designer who worked on something you like, those things are worth their weight in gold. i read an interview with colleen atwood when i was in middle school, and it revolutionized the way i thought about fashion and storytelling. and when i say “revolutionized,” i mean “i owe basically everything i just told you to that article.” dig into them and see how they think and talk about their art! they’re more qualified to teach you than i ever will be.

[obsessedwithereri-nz]

Stone Cold Chapter 1 (FULL)

Hey guys! I decided to post the full chapters of my first ever fic on Tumblr because why not! Follow the tag #stonecoldfic to find the rest of the chapters! Enjoy!!

Levi x Eren

Summary:  Ever since Levi was a pre-teen, he knew he’d have to marry her, otherwise he’d have to answer to his abusive uncle which never turned out well for Levi’s wellbeing. But after meeting a certain singer at his favorite bar, he knew he was in deep, deep shit.

Warnings: None

SLAM

The polished wooden door slams open. A dark-haired man of short stature bolts from inside the gorgeous ‘American Dream’ home, desperation is written all over his objectively perfect face. A thick layer of pure white snow coats the driveway, almost making him slip and fall as he makes his way to his parked car now also covered with snow.

Reaching into his trousers, he pulls out his keys with shaking hands and attempts to insert the key into the driver door lock.

“For fuck’s sake. Come. On!” the man yells.

“It’s okay, Levi. Calm. Take a deep breath and calm…” The familiar voice sounds inside Levi’s head, but he gasps as if someone were whispering in his ear. He glances around him, however, realizing that, of course, he’s alone.

Levi lowers his grey-blue eyes back down to his still trembling hands. Releasing the furrow of his brow, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He looks down once more to find his hands perfectly still.

The corners of his mouth pull upwards ever so slightly, which has become an almost foreign feeling to him once again.

“I’m coming. Please wait for me.”

-----

Alcohol and good music.

That’s what Levi would answer with if someone asked him what he thought made a good time. Music can make you feel good, and alcohol can make you feel even better, plus if you drink enough of the good shit, it’ll make you forget about all the bullshit going on in your life. But in Levi’s case, he wishes it’d do more.

“Maybe if I just keep drinking, it will all disappear,” Levi says to himself as he sits in his car, parked outside an old fashioned building covered in white paint. The car is his most prized possession, a beautiful black 1966 Chevrolet Impala. He takes one last long drag of his cigarette before stepping out of his car, throwing the butt to the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of his leather dress shoes.

“Tsk… yeah right. But one can only try.”

Just like any other Monday afternoon at exactly 5:45pm, Levi exits his car, locks it, and walks up to the usual bouncer.

“Ackerman! What a surprise.” Not really. “Another rough day at the office?”

“Does today end with ‘day’, Nile?” It’s a good thing for Nile that he knows Levi decently well after all his visits here, otherwise, he’d probably be shitting his pants at the deathly look Levi never ceases to wear. His cold grey eyes, sunken into his sockets, shadowed by dark circles, and his contrasting pale white skin could make even the manliest of men look the other way.

“Ha- always the jokester, aren’t we, Levi?” Nile laughs alone. “Go on in, man. I think you’re going to enjoy yourself tonight. We got a new face for the stage! He’s a goodie.”

Levi not at all subtly rolls his eyes and enters the bar, which goes by the name The Library and is, in reality, more of a lounge that features excellent live music, delicious food and the most unique cocktails around. The booths have extremely comfortable sofas on either side of black and white marble tables. Hanging from the ceiling are human-sized bubbles filled with cushions and a place to put drinks, and a nice small stage over in the corner furthest from the entrance and right by the bar. What’s better is that the good performers take song requests. Which is why Levi is beyond grateful it’s not a jukebox, because humans can say no to the shitty songs.

It’s a place anybody who is of age can go to do almost anything- relax, drink, eat, study, drink, work, play board games, drink, listen to music… you name it. Levi absolutely only goes for the music and booze; all the other bars in town around are filled with loud, smelly drunk assholes who have no respect for the other people around them, and Levi has no tolerance for people like that. Especially after being around said people at his work, minus the drunk part.

Although he does enjoy a strong drink, or five, he doesn’t do it for the social life, or to ‘let loose’ as some say. He drinks to escape and forget his cursed reality, even if it’s only for an hour or two.

He waltzes through the building over to the bar, takes his usual cushioned stool seat, removes his sleek suit jacket and lets out a sigh when he sees the bartender flirting it up with another customer down the other side.

“Oi, shitty glasses!” Levi projects down the bar, giving them a very unimpressed look. “You gonna do your job and get me a drink or not?”

“Leeeeeviiiiii!!” the bartender screeches like banshee, seemingly forgetting they were just talking to someone not five feet from them.

Levi winces at the awful sound then proceeds to grunt in annoyance when he sees them vaulting over the bar and racing over towards him with their typical ginormous smile that even the Joker would be terrified of. And, before he knows it, he can’t breathe. Shitty Glasses may not look physically strong from the outside, but fucking hell they would break Levi’s back if they hugged him even 0.1% harder.

“Get your fucking paws off me, crazy hag!” Levi groans with all of his might, and shoves them away. They stumble back a few feet, glasses falling down the bridge of their nose, and stare at him.

“Tsk”, Levi says with the tiniest of smirks that only people closest to him would recognize as a smirk, “how you doing, Hanji?”

“You always do know how to keep me on my toes, Levi,” Hanji exclaims as they vaults back over the bar flawlessly after playfully winking toward him. “Well, I am doing much better now that your booty is in that bar seat. Now, what can I get ya?”

“Jameson on the rocks.”

“Oh, going straight for the good stuff, huh?”

“Trust me. If I have to keep going home to all of that bullshit, I need that liquid gold in my system. And a lot of it.”

After hearing the melancholy tone in Levi’s voice, Hanji gives him a sad yet comforting smile then grabs the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey off the shelf, grabs a glass for each of them and begins to pour.

“Alright tough guy. What happened?” Hanji demands.

“Huh? What makes you think that anything ‘happened’?”

“Do you want them in alphabetical or chronological order?” Hanji giggles. “Well, for starters, you always start off with the strong stuff when you’ve had a particularly shit day. Was it the parents?”

Levi is shocked at how their first guess is spot on. Although, it wasn’t his parents either of them were thinking of or referring to.

Levi works for his girlfriend’s family in their furniture business, but it’s no ordinary furniture business. This shit is all handmade with the finest materials one can buy and majoritively custom orders from very “important” people with very “high net worths”.

Does Levi give a fuck about furniture? No. Does he give a shit about the difference between an Ottoman and a Hassock? Fuck no. Does he give a rats fucking ass about all these very important people? Absolutely fucking not! The only thing Levi does care about is getting through the day without punching somebody’s lights out or getting alcohol poisoning that night.

Sometimes he wishes he could purposely mess up these people’s orders just to make sure they don’t come back and buy from them again. But then he would have to deal with his soon to be parents-in-law getting on his ass even more than they already are. And as of this day, he has not made an overly noticeable mistake in years, yet they still find something to pick at as if they don’t have a fucking company to be running.

“Do I really need to answer that?” Levi answers as he buries himself in his glass.

“Oh, hun, I really don’t understand why you don’t just up and quit already. You’re obviously miserable there.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hanji.” He puts down his now empty glass and stares at the freshly cleaned bar top.

“Actually, I don’t know. You’re not exactly one to share details, Levi. Not that I mind, of course, like yes I’d like to know what’s making you so upset all the time but I’m not going to pry.”

Levi finally looks at Hanji again and raises his eyebrow while keeping his stoic expression plastered to his face.

“What? I know my boundaries,” they say, lifting their hands up off the bar to either side of their head.

“Not when it comes to personal space you don’t,” Levi mutters as he returns to look at his empty glass. Hanji sighs, grabs the whiskey bottle again and fills Levi’s glass with more.

“Hey now, everybody needs a hug every now and again. Anyway, you know little ol’ me is here to listen if you need, and I’m not gonna blab. Hell, I don’t know who I’d blab to!”

“Look, it-!” Levi slams his hands on the bar, startling Hanji and other bar-goers around him. Quickly realizing his sudden outburst, he looks around and sits back down in his seat and buries his face in his skinny hands. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t, okay. That’s all you need to know.”

“Alright, I’ll back off. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I’ll be right back.”

He lowers his hands to reveal his furrowed brows, and all they do is wink and walk away from behind the bar and behind the curtains by the stage. Levi rolls his eyes, downs his already filled glass and begins to eye the whiskey bottle Hanji left out in arms reach, considering pouring himself another glass. Yes, this would be his third glass and probably not his last, but he does need to drive home. Sure, he could get a cab, God knows he can afford it, but there’s no way in hell he’s leaving his baby out for drunkards or teenagers to vandalize or steal. Although, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s driven home drunk before. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he could get somebody seriously hurt or worse, but all his cares and worries in the world fade away when that first drop of amber liquid makes contact with his taste buds.

As if out of nowhere, a loud screeching noise sounds from the stage, snapping Levi out of his alcohol-induced daze to see Hanji standing right beside him, blocking his view of the stage.

“What the fuck? You letting some amateur on the stage tonight or something?” Levi says with a big scowl on his face, irritated that his quiet place was disrupted by something louder and more annoying than Hanji’s voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna like this one.” They send him yet another wink and walk out of his line of sight, revealing some snot-nosed kid standing on stage.

However, that not particularly nice thought vanished from existence as soon the ‘kid’ looked out into the crowd. Then all Levi could think and say was:

“Wow.”

[multific]

The Bartender

Pairing: Clyde Logan x Reader

Summary: You are a jewelry designer, you have your own brand. What happens when you leave New York to look for inspiration, you end up in a bar called Duck Tape where you meet with a certain Logan.

A/N: I know I haven’t been posting much lately. I got 2 jobs for the summer and they are taking up most of my time and energy, and I apologize for the lack of activity. This idea has been in my mind for the last month, and now I finally wrote it. If anyone wants a part 2 (because obviously this is not the end), write to my inbox, if many people writes, I will make this into a series! Also, this somewhat ignores the happenings of the movie. Hope you like it! Enjoy~

You started off in a poor family, you decided to come up from there and made your own life.

Being the head of a jewelry line was hard. You were a hard working woman. You had everything, well almost everything. You had money, cars, designer clothes and jewelry. What you were missing is love. Of course, you dated men before, but many of them turned out to be gold diggers and you broke up with them.

You started of your brand young, many doubted you, and they said you will fail, but you trusted your creativity and worked very hard, your company soon became a well-known one. People loved your ideas and products, and you couldn’t be more thankful. Fashion and jewelry was your passion since you were young, since you could draw, you remember you were always sketching up pendants or rings and later on you used those as a collection to honor your childhood. You didn’t let the fame and money get to your head, you always supported your family. You set up your base in New York and lived there for many, many years.

You loved your life in New York, but recently you felt like you ran out of inspiration. So, you decided to move to a new state,

West Virginia.

You moved into a nice little house. Since money was no problem to you, you found the perfect one easily and quickly got it furnished up, everything was done before you arrived. Luckily your great friend and assistant was taking care of things back at New York for you. You had been friends with her since childhood and now she was your right-hand.

When you walked to your new home, you knew, that at that place, you could find what you had been lacking, inspiration to work. You settled in that day, and after you were finally left alone, you went out to the balcony, you took a deep breath and said.

“A new start.”

***

You spent the next couple of days driving around and looking for things. It was so different from the big city. People were calmer and you quickly found out that they really liked to stare at luxurious sport cars. And luckily for you, no one seemed to recognize you.

But you couldn’t be happier, you liked this change and you needed it. You loved the clean air, your little backyard and the accent.

One day you found a salon, you decided to head in, you wanted to get your manicure done and maybe your hair as well.

“Hello.” you said as you walked in. You tried to look friendly, you needed to find some friends after all.

There was only one woman in the whole shop. She looked around your age, skinny and you could tell, she used to be one of the popular ones, back in school.

“Hi.” she said and smiled. “My name is Mellie Logan, how can I help you?” she was kind to you, which made you happy. During your few weeks of stay you met with many not-so-kind people.

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It’s nice to meet you. I would like to get a manicure and maybe a little haircut if possible.” you said.

“Absolutely. Let’s start with your nails first.”

During the time that she was working on your manicure the two of you talked a lot. It was nice to finally talk with someone like this, and not just with your friends over the phone. She told you that she had two brothers and that she has a thing for cars. You too liked cars, but you didn’t know as many things about them as she did. You just liked them, because you felt like you achieved something, when you drove around your Ferrari.

“So, where are you from? It’s obvious that you are not from here.”Mellie asked.

“Well, originally I’m from (country/state/city) but I came here from New York. I needed change, you know?” she nodded.

“Well, your nails are done. Let’s move to the chair, so I can work on your hair.”

***

“Do you now any good bar around here? I’ve been looking around for one, but with no luck. I like to work in bars for some reason, if they are not that busy, I can find it a perfect place to work at.”

“I got’cha. Duck Tape. Just down the road. Say that Mellie sent you an they will give you a discount. It’s a lovely place. You will like it.”

“Really? Thank you. I will definitely check it out tonight.” You said with a smile, you looked at Mellie trough the mirror and for some unknown reason she had a mischievous smile on her face.

You had to admit, he did an amazing job, with both your hair and nails. You would have stayed but she got new customers, so you had to go.

***

“Laptop - check. Sketchbook – Check. Pencils – Check. Seems like I got everything.” You took your bags and headed for your car. You looked up the exact address of the bar and put it in your GPS. It guided you to the place and you parked your car.

You got out and headed for the entrance. Outside the bar, and the balcony was a man sitting and smoking. You greeted him and he smiled back at you.

You entered the place and it was exactly how Mellie described it. It wasn’t so busy- thank god – so you settled at the end of the bar. The bartender wasn’t there, maybe he or she was dealing with customers. You placed your laptop on the table and whipped out your pencils and sketchbook and you let your mind wander off. Suddenly a voice called out.

“What can I get ya’?” you looked up. Your eyes met with gorgeous deep brown ones. He had full lips and moles on his face, dark hair which framed his face perfectly. And that accent, it was so sexy.

“Oh….I’ll take a coke please.” you said nervously. The man nodded and went to get your drink.

“He likes ya’.” another voice called. You looked to your left and saw a man drinking a beer.

“E-excuse me?” you probably looked like an idiot. ‘What does he mean?’

“Clyde. The bartender. He likes you.”

“He doesn’t even know me…”

“I know him, he is my little brother. And I can tell when he likes a girl.” and he took a sip from his drink. You blushed. You looked back at the bartender. ‘Yeah, “little” brother.’

You were about to say something when Clyde came back with your drink. As soon as he poured it out, he left to clean off some tables.

“My name is Jimmy, by the way. He is my brother Clyde.” the man beside you said and he pointed at the bartender. “And who are ya’?”

“My name is (Y/N). Nice to meet you.” after the sudden shock you greeted the man and gave him a handshake. He looked nice and handsome, but not as handsome as Clyde.

“And what are ya’ doin’ here?” he asked. It must be very obvious that you came from somewhere else, since everyone noticed it.

“Oh, Mellie told me about this place when I went to get my hair done.” you said and drank from your coke.

“You know our sister? That’s good. And how are ya’ likin’ this place so far?” you knew he didn’t mean the bar but the state.

“I like it here. I came from New York. And so far, this is very different, but in a good way.” you chatted with Jimmy. He tried to flirt but he quickly noticed that he wasn’t your type so he stopped and held a friendly conversation with you.

“Oh so ya’ are a designer. That’s what ya’ve been drawin’. Can I see?” you handed him the book. Meanwhile you took a closer look at Clyde. He was very tall and looked fit, you noticed his prosthetic, but you knew better than to stare, he must feel insecure about it already.

Clyde caught your eyes and you smiled at him, he turned red and quickly looked away, it made you smile. You felt like you were back in high school.

“These are good.” Jimmy said and gave your book back.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly the door opened and three men came in. One of them looked so full of himself.

“How can I help?” Clyde asked. You watched what was happening.

“Guys! Look at this a one-armed bartender!” all of them let out loud laughs, it made you cringe.

“Actually, I miss my hand, not my whole arm.” said Clyde as he showed them his prosthetic.

“I’m sorry. The one-handed bartender.” the “leader” of the three assholes saw you. And came next to Jimmy and talked to you.

“And what does a beauty like you is doing here with these losers? Ditch them darling. We can show you how real men are.” and he winked at you, it gave you a shiver down your spine, and not the good kind. You could see that Jimmy was about to say something but you beat him to it.

“No, thanks. And I bet he is even more of a man than you’ll ever be.” you said as you pointed at Clyde. “One hand or not, believe me, he knows what a woman wants.” everyone froze at your response, they didn’t see this kind of sass coming from someone like you. After a few seconds of silence you spoke up again. “This is the part where you leave and never come back.” you said and drank from your beverage. All three left in defeat.

“Well, well, well. You are something Angel.” said Jimmy.

“I dealt with worse before. Also, I can’t let those assholes talk shit.” and you looked at Clyde.

“Thanks.” he said and came closer to you and Jimmy. “Your drinks are on me.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t do it for that! I don’t want you to get in trouble with the owner or anything.” you said, and it made Jimmy chuckle.

“Darlin’ I am the owner.” said Clyde.

“Oh.”

Taglist: imreadinggoaway fleursirvart  v-2bucky ehsebastian crunch-time-sports pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmiler

[kairi-chan]

Fighting For You [3/?] - SasuSaku

[First Chapter]

Summary: They were from different worlds. They were both interested, but knew a relationship between them was less than likely to happen, even if they both wanted it. Sasuke’s profession was dangerous, and Sakura was sheltered. Her parents’ did not approve of him. Slowly though, feelings started to take root and both of them were willing to fight for each other.

Genre: Romance / Humor

Rating: M

A/N: Co-written with @ss-tyytyy she will be posting it on her FFnet, while I will be posting it here on tumblr.

Sakura watched Ino position her food on the table, and readjusted the small flower vase for the ninth time before finally snapping a picture. The blond smiled, obviously content with her photo and quickly typed up a caption before posting it. She then flipped her phone over, screen first on the table, before finally looking at her again.

“So,” Ino propped her elbows on the table and leaned closer to her.

She pushed the chicken around her salad, refusing to meet her gaze. “So what, Pig?” her voice was merely a whisper. She couldn’t shake off the way Sasuke looked at her earlier, or the way his muscles rippled as he sparred with Naruto. It was sending all sorts of feelings and sensations into her system that she couldn’t explain.

The blond scowled. “What do you think of Sasuke?”

“I don’t think he likes you very much.” She teased.

Ino stabbed her chicken with her fork and ranted on. “He thinks he’s so high and mighty! He’s not even that good. I bet Naruto could kick his ass.”

Sakura laughed. It was really easy to rile Ino up. And she wasn’t going to lie, she liked teasing her best friend because her reactions were always gold. “I know. And he ruined your chances of getting Naruto’s hands on you.”

“I know!” She screeched. “What a bastard. Now I know why Naruto calls him that all the time.” She paused for a while before blurting out, “Oh my gosh! Did you see the latest summer collection? They’re adorable!”

This was exactly how things were supposed to be for Sakura. Brunch dates with Ino on Saturday mornings in fancy places while she listened to her rant on about boys and her latest fashion obsessions. After she would go around the fashion district and maybe do some shopping.

Her driver would then fetch her, and bring her home. She would have just enough time to freshen up and have dinner with her parents. Both of them were very busy people, but they always made it a point to spend time with her at least three times a week. It was like a schedule to the both of them. Ino often commented it wasn’t normal, but Sakura never paid too much attention to it. She loved her parents, and cherished all the time they could spare for her.

“Darling,” Her mother reached up, and Sakura bent down for her mother to kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

Sakura smiled until her green eyes disappeared and walked over to her father.

“My precious flower is always beautiful.” He cooed. She kissed his cheek and settled into her seat. “Just like your mother,” He pointed at her, and then winked at his wife. Who blushed in return.

Sakura laughed and shook her head. Despite being married for twenty-two years, her parents still behaved like two teenagers in love. She eyed her father with a small smile on her face. Even if he was a CEO, he was still pretty humble. And not as scary as people thought him to be. She then shifted her gaze to her mother. The fine lines on her face only emphasized the knowledge she had acquired during her years in medicine. She adored her mother, and so desperately wanted to be a doctor, just like her.

“How’s your Shadowing going, darling?” Her mother asked. “Tsunade isn’t working you too hard, is she?”

She shook her head and took a sip of water. “No, mother. She’s a little scary sometimes, but she’s been very nice. Dr. Tsunade even offered more hours for me to stay. Next week, she’ll allow me to watch a surgery!” Sakura spoke excitedly, to which her mother’s smile only widened.

“She’s a good surgeon. I knew she would like you.”

Her father crossed his arms and smirked. “Good thing she recognizes talent when she sees it! My daughter will exceed her, I am sure.”

Sakura grinned and started to eat. The rest of the dinner was filled with lively conversation. Her father shared funny stories of how he liked to scare the new recruits sometimes, only to end up laughing as soon as they exited his office.

“I think,” He said in between laughs. “I think he requested to be moved to a different department!”

The two women laughed. They then moved to the living room for dessert.

“Sakura,” Her father pulled out a small box and presented it to her. “I know how much you love strawberries. I heard the first harvest in London was good, so I had some brought for you.”

She felt her cheeks color. Strawberry season wasn’t even starting yet, and here her father was, air shipping fruit halfway across the world just because he knew his daughter liked them. She opened the box and her green eyes glittered. They were red, and plump.

“Thank you!” She grinned. She eagerly dug into the fruit and ate.

Her father grinned back, and plopped down on the sofa next to her. “This is exactly what I needed. Just a night to spend with my two favorite ladies.”

Her mother looked up from her phone and asked Sakura, “Is Ino dating someone new?”

Sakura stopped mid bite. “Yeah, she is.” She replied warily. “Why?”

Her mother showed her screen to her husband. “Hey, isn’t that MMA fighter? Uhh… I forgot his name.”

Sakura froze. She did not want to have this conversation with her parents. It was embarrassing enough that her mother followed Ino on Instagram, and they were both friends on facebook. “Naruto.”

“Ah yes!” Her father perked up. “He’s a good one. I watched one of his fights in the pantry once. Young and agile.” He nodded.

A wave of relief washed over her. At least her father slightly approved of Naruto. Slightly.

“Have you met this boy, dear?” Mebuki asked.

Ah, she was dead. “N-no,” She lied. “Ino likes to talk about him a lot, though. I think I waved at him through facetime once.”

Both of her parents gave her a look, but let it pass. “No boyfriends until you graduate medical school.” Her father said with a stern stare. To which, she merely nodded meekly.

Her mother laughed and held on to her father’s arm. “Sakura’s old enough, don’t you think? She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Sakura was thankful for her mother’s trust. But she knew her father always got into a huff about these things. “Exactly, Mebuki. Which is why I’m sure boys would just fall all over her!”

Sakura laughed half heartedly. This wasn’t exactly the case, but it had happened on more than one occasion.

After taking a shower, Sakura lay in her bed and scrolled through her phone. She finally saw the selfie she took with Naruto at the gym earlier. She sighed and placed her phone down. She stared at her ceiling and contemplated how her life had been going so far.

Maybe Ino was right. She needed to get out more and live. But how could she with her overprotective parents and high expectations? Sakura groaned and turned to her side. She picked up her phone and scrolled through her instagram feed some more. She stared at Ino’s photo with Naruto again and saw that she had tagged him. She clicked on his username and looked through his profile.

It appeared to be a personal account, and yet he had more than a hundred thousand followers. There were no photos of Ino on his feed, though. It was mostly professional photos taken during fights, and some videos of him training. There were occasional funny photos of himself, and selfies with his manager. And then, her breath hitched. It was a photo of Naruto and Sasuke.

Without thinking, she read the caption and hastily clicked on the tag with Sasuke’s name. He also had a lot of followers, but her face fell when she realized it was his professional account. The feed was clean, and it contained photos from his fight, videos of him training, and snippets of interviews. It barely contained any casual photos of him, which made her frown.

She wasn’t going to lie. She repeatedly watched the videos of him doing push ups, and pull ups. She adored the way his muscles rippled. Sakura also enjoyed listening to his voice during the interviews. He often gave one word responses, and smirked often. Which she enjoyed. She found herself laughing when someone asked him about his friendship with Naruto.

“We see you and Naruto train together often. I heard your managers were good friends. What do you think about him?”

Sasuke smirked. “He’s a loser,” came his automatic response.

“Aren’t you afraid you may have to fight him one day? I believe you two belong to the same weight division.”

He shrugged. “If it comes, it comes. It won’t affect me, or my standing. I’m still going to beat the Dobe anyway.”

Sakura laughed. His confidence was mostly taken for being cocky. She wasn’t going to lie, he was cocky, but there seemed to be so much more to Sasuke than that. Plus, since she had already seen Naruto and Sasuke’s exchanges first hand, she knew he was bluffing. They were both good friends, and it seemed like the media ate it up like hotcakes.

She read through the comments, and through more of his photos. She found a link of a compilation of his best fights. She clicked it and her phone redirected to Youtube. Sakura found herself holding her breath with each second that passed. All of the videos were less than five minutes long, and that was already including his entrance. The cut version, at least. Sakura couldn’t take the idea of someone punching that face. It was too pretty to take a hit.

Luckily, he almost never received them. Sasuke was quick, and dodged gracefully. It almost looked like he was dancing. His face was mostly nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable glint of fire in his eyes. He was in it to win, and he always did.

After watching nearly all of the fights on his youtube channel, she moved to watching other fighters. She couldn’t believe how brutal these fights could get. She felt all too relieved that Sasuke never received a fatal blow.

“Oh my god, is that blood on the mat?” She muttered to herself as she pulled her phone a little closer. The guy kicked him in the face and sent blood splattering. He fell on the mat with a thud. “Oh my god!” She screamed. Sakura was never one to be fazed by blood. It was next to normal for her. But the thought that people actually placed themselves in situations to get knocked into the next week baffled her.

“He could be a model with how hot he looks.” She muttered, as she rolled on to her other side. She closed the Youtube app and went back to his instagram. Once she got bored with that, she went to google and searched up his name.

Sasuke Uchiha

Even his name sent thrills through her body. After reading his wikipedia page, she checked the time. It was already passed midnight. She set her alarm and put her phone away to her side table. All of her stalking suddenly made her feel so tired.

“Why do I do this to myself?” She whispered as she pulled her blankets to cover her lithe body. Tomorrow would be another day. Another day where she would start her routine again. But she half hoped that she would get a little disruption, and an invitation to come and watch him train again.

Sakura started her day early with a yoga class near the hospital. She always liked attending, as it helped prep her up for her day. It was nice to sweat and practice both physical and mental discipline before her day actually started. After she took her shower, her driver fetched her and drove her to the hospital.

She walked through the halls and smiled warmly at the staff who had recognized her as Tsunade’s ward. She usually shadowed her from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. Doing hospital work always made Sakura forget everything else that went on in her life. It was one reason why she liked being there in the first place. Other than helping people of course. She always knew that helping was one of her life’s callings.

During lunch, she decided to eat at the pantry, instead of staying at Tsunade’s office. The television was on, and the other hospital staff gathered around to watch some reruns. Sakura perked up as soon as she heard his voice.

“I train hard. It’s only natural that I win.”

Her green eyes were glued to the screen, completely forgetting the meal in front of her. She caught herself smiling. She had already watched this interview last night, but it still sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach to hear him again.

After her hospital shift, she decided to spend some time for herself. She saw Ino’s Instagram story that she was spending some time with Naruto. She didn’t want to bother her, so she walked to the park across the street and found herself a tree to sit under. She had two more hours before she had to meet Ino and their other friends for dinner. Sakura was half hoping she would bring Naruto along. He seemed like he would get along with their group of friends. She then found her thoughts drifting back Sasuke’s smoldering gaze. She shook her head to clear it and pulled a book out of her bag.

She had had enough of him invading her thoughts for the day. For now, she wanted to spend time getting lost in another world. Sakura opened the book and began reading.

“Forehead! You’re late!” Ino chided.

Sakura laughed nervously and took a seat next to Shikamaru. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” Her green eyes then roved around to everyone at the table. Tenten, Choji, Shikamaru, Ino and Naruto were there.

“Hey, you’re here!” She greeted him.

Naruto grinned, making his whiskered cheek rise, until his blue eyes disappeared. “Hi Sakura-chan. I didn’t really have a choice, ya know?”

The whole table erupted in laughter. Everyone knew Ino probably threatened him to join, but judging by seeing no damage on either of them, Naruto had come on his own free will.

Dinner was filled with laughs and stories. She rarely got to see Tenten since she was busy with her summer job, and Shikamaru and Choji were helping out with their family businesses. It was all the more reason for her to cherish these moments with everyone. But as the laughs died down, the food all gone (mostly thanks to Choji), and the bill paid (courtesy of Ino), they all shuffled out of the restaurant and said their goodbyes to each other.

“When can I go and watch you train again?” Ino asked Naruto.

“I have a fight coming up, so I’m a little busy. I’ll have to ask if you can come when my coaches are around.”

Sakura watched as Ino pouted at Naruto, who then grinned. “I’ll ask and then I’ll call you, alright?”

She brightened up. “Yeah! Hey, can Sakura come, too?”

“Sure! But just so you know, Teme won’t be there.”

The pinkette turned bright red and flailed her arms around. “It’s fine! I don’t want to intrude.”

Naruto and Ino laughed. “Hey, it’s no problem. I can ask Kaka-sensei if you can. But as soon as I get a free day with Sasuke, I’ll let you two know, alright?” He kissed Ino’s forehead before walking away.

Sakura watched him leave. The hope of seeing Sasuke again made her heart soar. She was more than excited to see him again.

A/N: Now we got a glimpse of Sakura’s life. What do you guys think? Tyy and I love hearind your thoughts! 

[igotbangtanvelvet]

Unpopular K-Pop Opinions

Lately, everyone has been making these “Unpopular Opinion” videos on YouTube... Since I don’t have a YT channel, I thought I would make a Tumblr post with some of my unpopular k-pop opinions. Some of these are super obscure, but I wanted to make my opinions a bit more unique because a lot of the videos I’ve seen are all saying the same things, and thus, are not by any means “unpopular opinions.” I just have a lot to say about K-pop. :) Disclaimer: As I’ve said, these are MY OPINIONS... I have mine and you can have yours. Plz don’t fight me. 

1. Yoongi (Suga) is the best rapper in BTS 

Although according to my research, both Suga and RM have the same abilities concerning speed in rapping, Suga’s flow is better to me and his voice is super unique and interesting. 

2. EXO-CBX should have used “Horololo” as their main comeback in Korean over “Blooming Day” 

Horololo is the bop of the century, and no one can tell me otherwise. I wish this was their main comeback, or even a comeback for all of the EXOmembers. I don’t know if the sound would be as good in Korean because we only have the Japanese version, but it is such a freakin’ jam. 

3. Momo should join Twice’s rap line 

It’s true that Momo’s improved her vocals a bit, but I would prefer her as a rapper, like in Do It Again (debut) and Signal. 

4. “If You Do” is still the best GOT7 comeback

What. A. Bop. A+ visuals, choreography, mv, and song quality. 

5. Peek-A-Boo was a better song/comeback than Bad Boy

Although I love both of these Red Velvet comebacks, Peek-A-Boo had the prettiest outfits, the more interesting choreography, and was a catchier tune. 

6. Taeyhung is a more handsome visual than Jin in BTS

Don’t get me wrong, I love Seokjin but Taehyung is more aesthetically and visually stunning. 

7. Chaeyoung of Twice is one of the most underrated idols in the industry 

Though Twice is one of the most famous girl groups in K-pop, Chaeyoung rarely gets put in the spotlight, nor does she get to display her true talent as a rapper (and singer!). Hopefully Twice will showcase a new side that allows for more rap in the future. #ChaeyoungFighting 

8. BTS’ new music isn’t as good as their old music

Obviously, I am so happy for BTS and their wild success over the last year or so, but I miss stanning them a few years ago because their music was just better... The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever album (with both Parts 1+2) is my favorite, along with the Dark & Wild album. 

9. I lowkey actually like “Wolf” 

I know this song has become a meme among EXO stans, but I genuinely like this song... #NoShame #Chogiwa

10. Pentagon is currently the most underrated group in k-pop

STAN TALENT, STAN PENTAGON. This group is full of visuals, ridiculously talented singers, rappers, and dancers, and I’m SO TIRED OF PEOPLE SLEEPING ON THEM. They are kings of changing concepts and are incredible performers... And don’t get me started on their personalities... ALL AMAZING. I am glad Shine is receiving so much love. Finally, people will start recognizing them for the legends they are <3  

11. Cherry Bomb was the best kpop choreography of 2017

Although 2017 was filled with so many great comebacks, NCT’s Cherry Bomb had the most innovative, incredible choreo! As a dancer myself, I appreciate their precision and sharpness, as well as their stage presence and charisma.

12. I don’t like Gfriend 

Though I will admit that they have excellent dancing/synchronization, I dislike their music style and think their concepts are a bit boring... Please don’t kill me

13. Monsta X has the best rap line in all of k-pop

I.M and Jooheon. That is all. 

14. NCT has the best choreography in the industry currently 

Although I stan many groups, both boy and girl, I think NCT has the most innovative and interesting choreography, and some of the most talented and captivating dancers and performances in k-pop now. There are no weak dancing links in NCT. 

15. Danger is still the best BTS choreography 

Though people always say BTS dances get more and more complex as the members practice more and more, I still think Danger is the most interesting and difficult choreography. 

16. Twice does not deserve the hate they get. They have improved their vocals SO MUCH.

We all have seen the Cheer Up MR Removed that people use against us ONCEs... It’s been a while! Try watching some of their newer performances. Especially listen to Jungyeon, Jihyo, Chaeyoung, and Nayeon. They sound great. 

17. “Cool Hot Sweet Love” should have been Red Velvet’s title song instead of “One of These Nights” (2016)

I did really like this Velvet era, but I thought that Cool Hot Sweet Love was simply a better song and had interesting choreography and prettier outfits. Some of the outfits for OOTN were just unflattering and boring. This could have been a more memorable era with these songs switched. 

18. EXO and Red Velvet have best non-title track songs among idols... 

Their full albums are GOLD. 

19. E’Dawn of Pentagon and Xiumin of EXO have the best/most natural aegyo among male idols 

To be honest, I find most aegyo super cringy, but these two naturally pull it off well. 

20. Guys in suits is the sexiest concept. Keep your shirts on. 

Honestly, I prefer the classy suits to the stripping on stage. 

21. NCT’s stage fashion is not “ugly”

One thing I love about NCT is how unique their choreographies and concepts are... They are always interesting and look nothing like other groups! 

22. Tzuyu isn’t the prettiest Twice member

Although she is absolutely STUNNING, I think Mina, Chaeyoung, and Nayeon are prettier than the visual maknae. 

23. Red Velvet is the best girl group of the new generation of k-pop

Queens of vocals, visuals, concepts, and variety shows. They are well-rounded and have proved themselves over the past several years, showing that they can hold the title of Korea’s best girl group, even over popular groups like Twice and Blackpink. 

[mylovelifehasnicknames]

Meet Me

I just told a friend the other day my current love life dilemma, which involves 4 different people, some from my past, but who have all contributed to why I consider my love life all fucked up. To keep them all straight, I had decided to give them all nicknames to help my friends associate who they are to me. Throughout this blog, I hope to detail each one and name their defining characteristics and actions that led to me being who I am today. Maybe Ill find some common traits that I can flag. I also hope to relate to many of you, as the events of my love life are certainly no strangers to the rest of the world. I should tell you about me first though because I’m pretty cool.

I’m not from around here and I know you don’t know where around here is but it’s not important. What’s important to note is that my family and friends are my everything, leading to loyalty being my greatest asset and weakness, all in the same. My parents got divorced when I was 12. Shitty thing #1 to happen to me. But I must preface...my parents are two of the most amazing people I have met. My dad is the hardest working man I know with a heart of gold and that takes pride in telling people that I am “my father’s daughter”. My mom is the strongest woman I know, never needing anything or anyone and who taught me to be independent, but also gentle and forgiving. My older brother was away at college when this went down and my younger sister was too young to really understand the dynamics. Yes, I am the middle child and I’m not sure we’re as fucked up because of that as people like to blame, but it can present problems some don’t have to deal with. In hindsight, my parents should have sat us (at least my sister and I) down together, all 4 of us, and explained that “Mom and Dad wouldn’t be together anymore, but we we’re still a family”. Not at all how it went for me. I was laying on my couch in our basement watching TV and my mom came downstairs and sat on the edge of the couch. Didn’t ask me to sit up, mute the TV, etc...I can’t remember her exact words, but the message was that her and my dad didn’t love each other anymore and they were getting a divorce. In classic Younger Me fashion, I just said okay without making any eye contact and went back to watching TV and my mom went back upstairs. Knowing myself now, that’s how I deal with conflict until I can fully process it. It was sometime after that that my dad came downstairs and sat in the same spot as my mom and asked how I was doing. I shrugged my shoulders (I wasn’t one for words at this age, I often shrugged my shoulders when asked a question like I couldn’t be bothered) and my dad started crying. He’s always been an emotional guy, so I wasn’t surprised. I started crying too because I was starting to process what is happening and my dad reached down and hugged me. Again, I couldn’t be bothered to sit up and hug him, but I just laid there and cried. They seemed like happy, normal parents, but I’ve certainly learned as I’ve gotten older that things are not what they seem on the outside. So I trudge through junior high with this event lingering, while also dealing with being a young teen, being overweight, having mental health issues that my parents tried every answer in the book to heal, being made fun of consistently by people I still have not forgiven to this day (remember how loyal I am? That means I have a hard time forgiving) and not facing this event head on. Next thing I knew, my dad’s stuff was all gone and I found the divorce papers on the stove one day after school when no one was home. I’m nosy, so I obviously flipped through them and seeing my name accompanied by all those legal terms made me very uncomfortable. Balance that with having to be the middle man between your two parents because you’re the only child that can and God forbid they actually speak to each other, bouncing between apartments with my dad, and simply growing up. But life goes on...

I enter high school in the fall of 2003, still overweight, still struggling with mental health and my overall image, but learning to go my own way. I’m an above-average basketball player, but am not accepted as a “friend” to the older girls on the team. They made fun of me a lot which was shitty. I recognize that now as someone who worked in a high school for 4 years and who is now in Higher Education. I don’t know if they were jealous or didn’t think I belonged there or thought I was weird....but they were not accepting of me on their team. I learned to be reserved and quiet, but still grind and get the work done, but I didn’t want to cause any ruckus among anyone, ever.

I grew close with a young man I high school who I spent a lot of time with. I’ll introduce him in a later post (Thong Guy), but we made great memories and he eventually was my first kiss. Oh did I mention he had a girlfriend all throughout high school, but told me he wanted to be with me? Yes, I was a sucker.

I went to a local community college to play basketball and had a great experience there. I partied a lot, but met forever friends and won a shit ton of basketball games. That is also where I met the guy who will be referred to as Mush.

I then decide to go to a four year college to continue my basketball career and that’s where my love life spikes. I met who I thought was my forever. Her name will be The Ex. Yes, her name. We were head over heels, having the best time. Little did I realize that she was gong to grind me down to become my least-favorite version of Me I’ve ever been.

Fast forward about 3-4 years and The Ex is gone, but her remnants are not. I begin graduate school and become an assistant coach for the basketball team I played for. I eventually get a job and continue coaching, but want to live my life in a very different way. See, at this point, I was still a virgin at 25 years old and I was sick of it. I felt like I was missing out on such a fun part of my life waiting for “the one” that I couldn’t fully feel like I was thriving. So onto Tinder I go, I meet “The Condition” and I bang him after knowing and hooking up with him for 6 months. He became my “first”, which I swear he cares more about to this day than I do.

Then comes The Druggie, 5AM Tinder, lots more of “The Condition”, Micropenis, Bumble Dad, and Marshall Buttstuff III. My “number” isn’t large, but man, do I have good stories. Those posts will be forthcoming when I feel like diving into the depths of my soul again.

[erhiem]

You are welcome world builder, our ongoing series of conversations with the most productive and thoughtful behind-the-scenes craftsmen. In this entry, we chat with Edgar Wright, Ron Mel, and Russell Mel about tying The Sparks Brothers together, escaping the maudlin drivel, and imitating the band’s energetic humour.

Love makes you flirt. Inherent passion can only seep through for so long. Eventually, it must break, and those around you are made aware. You don’t want to be quiet when it comes to your love. You want your friends, neighbors and strangers to know about it. After a few days under its influence, you are shouting from the tops of the mountains, “sparks God is the greatest band in human history!”

pop-rock duo ron male and Russell Male Infects certain people in a certain way. Consuming sparks is like catching a virus, and you spread your glee as soon as you bump into others, and it makes its way to the next person after that, and so on. The band is simultaneously prolific and unseen, but its champions are nearly infinite, and more importantly, very loud.

edgar wright Couldn’t understand why there wasn’t already a documentary dedicated to his talent. After meeting Ron and Russell in 2015, the prospect of The Sparks Brothers Boiled. Wright was in love, and even though Sparks is admired by many, and all the weirdest musicians appreciate his magic, Wright wanted the rest of the world to be equally enchanted.

The Sparks Brothers Edgar Wright’s blatant rally is crying out. He was honored that the Meles took his friendship with him, and even though people say never to meet his heroes, Wright discovers a great generosity flowing from Ron and Russell. And the stories he gave to Wright demanded a larger audience.

“Talking to them on camera in a documentary is no different than the first coffee we had,” explains Wright. “Meeting Ron and Russell in person started worrying about the idea that there should be a documentary. Their story needed to be captured on film.”

Unbeknownst to Wright, Ron and Russell had already been approached about possible documentaries. They always refused. The last thing they wanted was a dull Best of Sparks recollection or a documentary serving as a preemptive headstone. But getting Wright out was an impossible notion.

“We’re fans of Edgar’s movies,” says Russell. “Any previous hesitation of not doing so for reasons such as, ‘Is this obituary for a band, and here’s your fine gold watch, and see you later,’ went away. Edgar insisted That would be a thesis in the documentary. All the different eras along the way have led the spark so far. Knowing all this, we trusted Edgar to do what Edgar does best.”

What Meles saw in Wright’s films was a kinship. They recognize a strange partner, and Strange look out for each other. The brothers didn’t even need to discuss the alternative. Their cooperation was undeniable.

“One factor that determines how people get along best is a shared sense of humour,” Ron says. “Obviously, Russell and I have it through music. Edgar has the same thing. It’s a secret club, people who have a certain sense of humor, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a romantic situation. Or is creative.”

Music doctor common to all parties Avoiding hard work was paramount. As envisioned by Wright, the task became one of transferring, or better yet, transferring sparks sensations. The brothers spent decades doing heavy lifting. The director only needed to wrap his film in piracy, claiming his aesthetic for his narrative.

“When you know what Ron and Russell are capable of,” Wright says, “on stage and on records and in videos and on album covers, it’s just a gift. Now you’re able to get in touch. [the film] in such a way. I mean, in terms of all the media, using all the tools at your disposal in the same way that they make up an album. “

Wright flashed sparks in front of him and took out his scissors. He used to slip here and there. Then, he glued the parts back together, and the resulting Frankenstein monster uncovers the tissue that links Sparks’ earlier era to its current iteration. The method is right there in madness.

“There were things that were a jumping off point,” Wright continues. copying some of the aesthetics of the album cover and video. All interviews are done in the style of Richard Avedon covers big Beat. I think I told Ron and Russell a long time ago, ‘Hey, we should do all interviews like this.’ They are in black and white like the same classic cover. It makes the collection stuff really pop. “

Putting Ron and Russell’s energy on his passion didn’t feel like a decision to Wright. The Sparks Brothers’ The aim is to bullhorn their vibe and grab the attention of those who are yet to fall under their spell. Once viewed, viewers must race to collect the album and the videos they missed.

“Even small things like animation are no-brainers,” says Wright. “Because Ron and Russell have used animation brilliantly in recent videos. In fact, stuff with the stop motion puppet versions of Ron and Russell, they were done by Joseph Wallace, who in 2017 wrote ‘Edith Piaf (Sad It Better Than Me)’ did a video for him.

Russell Mel was excited to see Wright explain the Sparks style, but he still wasn’t sure what. The Sparks Brothers will actually be about. He was unable to see what the outside audience would do to his story.

“We didn’t know what the thrust of the film would be,” Russell says. “What is the angle of this documentary compared to other documentaries? Where is the clear point of the great dilemma? Where is the big problem with drugs and overcoming it and how does it affect music? None of the band members are hating each other.”

But creating a narrative wasn’t really Russell’s or Ron’s problem. Considering Wright was at liberty to take that pressure off. And he does not need to panic with his director.

“Once we saw the documentary,” Russell continues, “and started getting backlash, [the theme] There was something that never even killed us. It is about the emotional side of creative endeavours and to have one’s own creative values ​​and one’s own integrity. It was something that was a real bonus for us, because we’re so close to the position, and we never thought it was some kind of angle, but Edgar did. “

Wright always thought he and the brothers would get along, and he made the film to prove their creative connection. somewhere dropping out Sparks hides. His rhythm and his utterly comical humor is at the bottom of every script.

“I think what Ron and Russell have done in the band is no different than what I’ve done in my movies,” says Wright. “His approach to the subject is completely honest. That doesn’t stop us from playing with form. That’s what’s great about Sparks. His approach to the lyric-art and the emotion that goes into the lyrics is extremely honest. But there’s a kind of takeaway where you can play with the expectations and reverse the genre. And that’s what I’ve done in my comedy films and things.”

There was a lot of self-deprecation to be had within that worship. The Sparks Brothers Cannot exist as a grand love festival. The jabs were needed as a joke. Pedestals were built only so that mails could be taken away from them.

“I love Sparks, and I love music documentaries,” says Wright, “but that won’t stop me from making fun of him at the same time.” I knew these guys would be sports. You can tell that from music videos and TV appearances and album covers. They are not an old-fashioned band with no sense of humor about themselves. “

Ron Mel invites Wright to do his worst. They knew their collaboration would increase the reach of Sparks. whatever fun or creative fulfillment went into making The Sparks Brothers Did not compare to actual sales of more records.

“In a very basic way,” says Ron, “maybe even in a selfish way; It’s a great thing that those who’ve seen the documentary, who didn’t know about Sparks before, will now get their first exposure for the band. Yes, it’s something that Sparks fans will go crazy for, but it’s at least as inspiring to know that there are people who, for whatever reason, don’t know about the band, and thus they don’t know about it. I’ll find out what we’ve done. You can have an instant history of twenty-five albums and get them online.”

The Sparks Brothers It was fun for the Meles brothers, and it’s a cherished production for Edgar Wright, but the music remains the thing. Songs are messages. Like music videos or album covers, documentaries are another means of slapping a potential listener’s face.

Hey, check it out. The spark is wild. You will dig it and fall in love. pass it.

Edgar Wright’s The Sparks Brothers opens in theaters on June 18.

Source

The post Edgar Wright and the Sparks Brothers are Here to Spread Love appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.

[harryscuddles]

Hi sorry if this is weird I’m so very very unable to socialise.. I finished rereading y&b yesterday bc you reblogged something about it. I was wondering if you had any other favourites you would mind sharing? If it’s too much of a bother please just delete this,, (I’m so sorry for being annoying alfkfk)

hiiiiii!! noo youre not weird or annoying at all!! i’m glad you asked tbh i mean most of these are the classics but theres some other really really good ones that are really worth reading!

so as requested, here’s a list of some more of my all time favourites: 

Love Is A Rebellious Bird

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who “has made Mozart cool again” according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.Don’t hum Bolero.

Unbelievers

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Here In The Afterglow

“If you hadn’t noticed, I don’t have many friends,” Louis whispers, the blossom of insecurity in his stomach unfurling and clawing its way into his throat.

Harry is silent for a long time, and then he speaks; a soft, slow uncurl that makes Louis’ stomach shake. “I’ll be your friend.”

-

1970’s AU. In a tiny town in Idaho, Louis’ life is changed forever by the arrival of a curious stranger.

Wild and Unruly

Harry is a cowboy sitting on the biggest oil reservoir in Wyoming, and Louis is the paralegal assigned to pressure him into selling his land.

Love’s Truest Language

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn’t really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow.

“Where’s your order forms, then?”

“I don’t want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him.

Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

your love is as bright as ever (baby love me lights out)

Harry’s got a late night talk show, Louis’ got a couple of Grammys, they’re best friends who like to kiss.

We’ve Got Nothing To Lose

“Oops!” A deep and slow voice fills Louis’ ears as an arm reaches around his waist, to keep Louis from rebounding into another white-outfitted body – this time a short young girl who could only be gymnast.“Hi,” Louis replies as he turns to smile up at the person and thank him for preventing Louis’ life from dissolving into a real-life game of Pong, but the words dry up in his throat when he sees.

The person is a boy, tall and lanky with curly brown hair pushed away from his face messily and held back by a gaudy Union Jack scarf, green eyes sparkling from all the camera flashes and impossibly pink lips curled in a wide smile that nearly encompasses his whole face.

And Louis recognizes him instantly. And he thinks that maybe if walking into the Olympic Stadium during the opening ceremony wasn’t enough, having Harry Styles’ arm around him might be the killing blow.Also known as an Olympics AU where Harry is a pro tennis player, and Louis is a pro footballer. They meet at the opening ceremony and fall in love, obviously.

Oh Glory

Tomlinson looks Liam over, tilting his head. “Are you a swimmer as well?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, a little cautiously. Harry wonders if it’s Tomlinson’s fame or the unimpressed eyebrow that’s making Liam wary. “Distance, I’m doing the 1500m. Harry here’s a sprinter.”

“Ah,” says Tomlinson, turning his glinting eyes back to Harry. “So you’re not an endurance man.” A beat passes, and his grin grows, wide and filthy. “Shame.”

Harry Styles is Team Great Britain’s newest swimmer, and has spent his whole life training for this moment, a chance at the gold medal in the Rio 2016 Olympics. All his training, hard work, and dedication to no distractions is tested when he’s assigned to the same Rio apartment as Louis Tomlinson, British gymnast and Harry’s childhood crush.

These Inconvenient Fireworks

Future AU in which nobody tries out for X Factor but the boys end up finding one other eventually anyway. Louis is a jaded bastard who owns a cat named Duchess and teaches drama to teenagers, Harry is an idealistic aspiring photographer/part-time footy coach, Zayn teaches English lit and wears leather jackets, Liam saves people from burning buildings, and Niall is Niall.

Pull Me Under

AU. As the first British footballer to come out at the prime of his career, it helps that Louis Tomlinson is in a long-term, committed relationship. Even if that relationship is fake. (Featuring Niall as Louis’ favourite teammate, Liam as Louis’ agent, and Zayn as Liam’s boyfriend, who just happens to be good friends with one Harry Styles.)

In Vogue

‘Is that why David Beckham has been featured multiple times on the pages of your life’s work? Does your criteria seriously consist of one thing – a man’s ass?’‘Well the ass is a man’s best asset,’ Harry smirks, holding the Martini glass high up his face. ‘And don’t call the magazine my life’s work. There are far more important things in life, Louis Tomlinson, than what’s printed on the pages of a magazine.’

Fashion AU. Louis is the editor in chief of Vogue magazine, and Harry’s running British GQ. Featuring Zayn as the crazy creative director and Louis’ confidant, Liam as the sports writer that gets to sit front row at fashion week and DJ Neil as the only sane person in the whole story. (There are no skinny jeans in this fic)

Escapade

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He’s rich. He’s handsome. He’s reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

The Dead Of July

Being an Avenger means continuing to be Captain America and smiling and being honorable for the public and Harry does his best. But it doesn’t give him time to figure out who he is supposed to be once he takes off his uniform and puts the shield to the side. Just being Harry had always involved Louis, and Harry fears he doesn’t know how to exist without him.

or: Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

California Sold

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

Relief Next To Me

AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

The Baker and the Blogger

Title: The Baker and the Blogger (why do I suck so hard at titles? Help me out here ppl)

Pairing: Jin x reader

Rating: PG

Type: FLUFFIEST OF FLUFF

Inspiration: I somehow wore an all-pink outfit today (which is weird, I’m usually in black), which of course got me thinking about Jin. And I guess I’m craving some kind of dessert? Again, any constructive feedback is much appreciated!

You

The smells of cinnamon and vanilla hit your nose as soon as you open the door. The café is decorated in neutrals, with white, gold, and pink accents (like flowers and throw pillows at the comfortable booths). You were a food blogger, which meant that you tried to go to every new shop as soon as they opened. Your friend had beat you to the punch though and had been raving non-stop. So even though you had a list of places around town you needed to still review, you bumped the Pink Princess Bakery to the top of your list.  The name had made you imagine something super tacky, but it was somehow tasteful and comforting-you immediately felt at home. Which was strange, since you probably stood out in your ripped black jeans, oversized black hoodie, and black Supergas. It wasn’t that you were Goth-you just always seemed to gravitate toward darker colors.

The desserts behind the counter made your mouth water. In addition to the standard bread and cookies, there were cupcakes, tartes, cakes, and every other type of dessert you could imagine. There were also Eastern-style desserts, which had less chocolate and sugar, but looked equally delicious. The irresistible smell of freshly brewed coffee also lingered in the air, and you knew that despite your aesthetic clash with the décor, this would be one of your new favorite places.

You were snapped out of your admiration for the pastries by a friendly “Annyeonghaseo!” You stood up from your inspection of the case a little too quickly and almost felt dizzy. Though the person in front of you may have had something to do with the dizziness. He was relatively tall and extremely broad shouldered, and was wearing (what else?) a fluffy pink angora sweater. He winked at you, and you blushed almost as pink as your surroundings. You ignored it though. 

“Uh, yes, hi, can I have a latte, and one of the éclairs?”

“Of course! A great choice. Would you like a lot o’ latte or the smaller size?”

You winced at the lameness of the joke, and didn’t even remember your reply due to the secondhand embarrassment, but the man behind the counter seemed unfazed. His smile was as big as ever as he placed the éclair on a small plate and passed it over the counter to you.

“I’ll bring your latte over in just a minute! Feel free to sit wherever you would like,” he beamed.

Overwhelmed by his effervescence, you chose to sit in a secluded corner, where you could take sneaky photos for your blog, and people watch. Some were working, and others reading, but no one seemed to be in a rush, and the atmosphere was very relaxed. As you surveyed your surroundings, the man behind the counter approached with your drink, still smiling.

“Is this your first time here? What is your name? I’m the owner! My name is Jin. We opened about a month ago, but things are just starting to pick up…” he said quickly.

You were somewhat overwhelmed by the rapid-fire questions, but there was something warm, and almost parental about him.

“I’m ___” you said simply. Did he know that you were a local blogger, or was he just this friendly to everyone? Part of the reason that you chose blogging was because it meant that you could be out in the world, but in limited quantities. You didn’t have to deal with people face to face all of the time. Just as you were thinking that you didn’t mind Jin’s company too much though, he winked again, blew a kiss, and returned to the counter to serve other customers. Was he a player? All of this winking and air kissing seemed a bit sleazy, but you didn’t get that vibe from him. You decided to ignore it, and jotted down notes about the furnishings, Wi-Fi, prices, types of coffee, and anything else you might need for your blog. The rest of your visit was uneventful, though you made sure to star (THREE TIMES) in your notes that it was the best éclair you ever had. Jin waved frantically as you left, and you again ducked your head in sudden embarrassment or shyness. You couldn’t figure out which.

Jin

Jin kicked himself as you stepped out the door into the spring day outside. Could he have acted like more of an idiot? The air kisses and dad jokes had started as a joke with his dongsaengs, but out of context they just made him seem weird. You should ease people into your weirdness, he thought to himself. As he loved baking (obviously) and cooking, he tried to keep up with the local food and restaurant “scene.” Though you kept a low profile and focused on reviewing the restaurants rather than providing personal information, he had recognized you immediately through the few photos with friends that you had posted on your blog (always in the context of reviewing a new place). Your blog was one of his favorites, and as an avid follower, he felt like he might have messed up his chance at a good impression. You were even cuter in person, and had a sort of tsundere charm (not to mention fashion sense) that reminded him of his brother Yoongi. He was dreading reading the review that you would post. He sighed and wiped down the counter. He was literally never awkward (*LIES*), but of course he had to blow it with you.

You

You stared at the cursor flashing on your laptop screen. You had been trying to write a review of the bakery you had visited earlier that morning, but you didn’t know where to begin. The only thing you could seemingly remember was the blinding smile of the owner. You wanted to evaluate the place fairly and honestly, and professionalism was important to you. You were a “brand” and you didn’t want to undermine people’s trust in your reviews. You remembered that the éclair melted in your mouth, and the coffee had kept you going all day. But for some reason, those kept fading into the background, and the clearest thing in your memory was Jin’s bubbly small talk. You sighed and snapped your computer shut. You never had writers block. The only thing to do to make sure you were truly objective in your review was to return tomorrow and gather more information.

Jin

Jin was shelving a fresh batch of rainbow macarons when he heard the bell that he had put on the door jingle. He almost dropped the tray when he saw you come through the door. You were again wearing black from head to toe (though to be fair, he was again wearing pink, so to each their own). Today, you actually made eye contact with him, which he considered to be a step forward. Your eyes were almost as rich as the chocolate he used in many of his creations, but he stopped himself before he said anything weird. He took a deep breath, and smiled his friendliest smile.

“Back again so soon? Is it the pastries you can’t get enough of, or me?” He wanted to die the minute he said it. If he burned his tongue on coffee today, it would only be the universe realigning his karma.

You gave him a blank stare for a second. As he could feel his ears becoming as pink as his shirt, he noticed the smallest upward quirk at the side of your mouth.  He froze. He could only imagine how dazzling an actual smile from you would be, but he already knew deep down that he was up for the challenge.

In a quiet voice that he almost missed, he heard you mumble, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

[adamnsey]

in translation

summary: god, for a romantic, for someone who lived to hear those words, how he dreaded them. how he dreaded those three. little. words. 

a/n: hi !! this is just sorta how i picture alec’s and magnus’ first ‘I love you’ going. it does not follow what happens in the show.. uhhm its a little bit of a mess but its sweet i promise !! takes place 1 soft early morning. i hope u like it , please enjoy. (p.s happy pride month 2 all !! to love and be loved is what we will always do best <3 )

warnings: ummm rlly soft n poetically gooey lol

words: 3.7 k

Magnus Bane couldn’t stop realizing how beautiful everything was.

It had started with his bedsheets, which were decorated with lulling maroon patterns imprinted on soft gold. Magnus thought it odd that he had had these sheets for decades, had probably spent years resting his eyes on the fabric while his mind saw other things. He had owned the sheets for so long, bought them in a market he could no longer name, in a town he was no longer sure existed. So long, and yet he’d never even noticed them. Seen, sure. But noticed? Never.

It was only here, now, that his eyes trailed down and he realized, in a somewhat shocked fashion, that the patterns bore a stunningly calm design. The red danced around in thick circles, and the lines that swooped around twirled and seemed to reach for something. .

In the bluish early morning light, Magnus traced the sheets with sleepy fingers, and had revelation after revelation about just how very nice the sheet was, and just how many nice things he owned. The gold was perfectly offset by the light, and Magnus’ eyes felt happy to be open. He picked out all sorts of patterns amongst the maze of red lines; flowers and boats and just amorphous collections of lines that he could recognize from the back corners of his mind. He was familiar with these sheets.

He knew these patterns, he knew the comforts of them. His hand slowed to a stop as he made his final revelation: as many senseless patterns he saw in the gold, all the lines came back together. Always, always, they came back into the same, original design. The design he knew.

How nice, he thought.

He went back to tracing, and, almost subconsciously, his fingers ghosted over to the waterfall sheets, a cascade of fabric rippled and bent with the pressure above it, the red lines sinking and withering to accommodate the sleeping boy above them. Slowly, Magnus followed the sloped of the red, and he smiled, because he knew his destination before he had even begun. His fingers dipped and then-

Alec.

Just Alec.

Sometimes, looking at him hurt in the most wonderful way.

So sometimes, when Alec was laying there, all Magnus could do was just look at bits of him. Bits at a time. It would be all too much to try and take him in at once. A sensory overload of sweet feelings in his mouth and stomach. His eyes would maybe squint, as if he were looking at the sun.

In early morning, Alec Lightwood was luminous.

Magnus Bane couldn’t stop realizing how beautiful everything was.

He looked at Alexander Lightwood.

“This is your fault, you know,” said Magnus, smiling.

This was the time. It had occurred many other mornings, and but Magnus hardly cared to keep track. He knew when he felt it.

In early morning, he knew. .

When he was looking at Alec and he couldn’t stop thinking in verse, in songs, in poem format he’d learned in Paris; when he started thinking in four different languages in one train of thought, picking out the right words to describe Alec’s breathing, Alec’s nose, Alec’s entirety. When he would try and pluck out the perfect words, with a complete disregard for linguistic regularity. This was when he knew: he was in too deep.

His mind in poetry and his heart sleeping next to him.

So he’d turn away from the boy for just a moment, the way some people look at the ground at a fireworks show, or at a campfire, when the heat is coming off so strong, yet your eyes are locked on the dancing flames. It was like that. He would look away from Alec not because he wanted to, not because he had to, but perhaps because he knew with a blinding, brilliant, dizzying, comforting certainty, that Alec would be there when he looked back. And so would the feeling.

Magnus would look away, but the Alexander mindset would stay. Like seeing the world through rose-coloured lenses, Magnus seemed to see everything that morning in an aesthetically inclined way. First it was the bedsheets, in all their golden, maroon, memory-filled glory. He realized he truly loved those sheets, and there were no other sheets in the world he’d rather have.

Magnus looked at the bedsheets, and he felt home.

Next he lazily watched as the window breathed open one side of his curtain. The corner edged upwards delicately, and morning light took its opportunity and jumped through to land on the bed as the lacy corner of the curtain settled back down. Such a tender moment, Magnus’ heart seemed to grow at the idea that the world was full of them.

Magnus looked at the window, and he felt pure.

He watched as his cat- who had been a shadow up until then- jumped up onto the bedside table with a little mmrrp? He smiled as Chairman delicately edged his way over to Magnus, carefully sidestepping a paperback and a glass of water. Magnus let his arm lull to one side; his fingers hung suspended in front of the cat’s face. With delight, Chairman closed his eyes and pressed his nose to the fingers, pale pink against white against honey. Magnus grinned quietly at his little cat, who always seemed to be there at the perfect times, whom Magnus thought sometimes was wiser than himself. He loved him.

Magnus looked at Chairman, and he felt family.

It was then that the fire in Magnus stomach dulled, and he wanted it back.

He would turn, knowing how it would feel when he did. It would be good. It would be the last five minutes relived, again and again, every good feeling he had felt, amplified and softened.

He would turn again to look at Alec.

Alec.

When they had first met, Magnus thought that in the whole entire world, there had to, absolutely had to be a word to describe Alec. In all the languages, surely, surely there had to be one.

English was, obviously, out. Too literal for its own good. Too much thought and not enough heart. French was closer, but not quite. Spanish seemed to get some of it, but not enough. German, Polish and Italian, he could come up with nothing. Indonesian seemed close in a way. And he tried to start at the very beginning; Latin, Greek, which were good, and yet…

He tried. He really did. There were very few words Magnus did not know, and even fewer languages. And yet he couldn’t find the one word that struck him completely as just Alexander. For some time, when he was working or reading, his mind would be on other things yet the air around his mind would just be on the search. He remembered this time all too well, a time of uncertainty and budding feelings, mood swings and bottles and living too much inside his head, putting too much of his heart outside of him and being unsure if he’d ever get it back.  

He looked up definitions and synonyms. For a little bit, it was borderline obsessive. It was as probably the most he had ever been interested in languages.

He did not find the word. Of course, he found words, letters in rows that came closer to describing Alec Lightwood, that Magnus could happily pin onto Alec in the back of his mind. But Magnus liked knowledge, and he liked defined.

And when it came to languages-

There was no word that could encapsulate Alexander Lightwood.

That had been when they first met.

God, had Magnus been naïve.

Because there wasn’t a single word for him.

No one word could ever hold Alec, because it was never meant to. As Magnus got to know him better, he stopped reading definitions and obsolete bibles and Facebook posts, and he started reading Alec instead. What he learned was more that books or google could have ever given him. Because Magnus knew, now.

Alec defined himself.

He was his own language. He was words in the form of his actions.

He was shy in the form of his skittering eyes, his fleeting looks. He was open in his unapologetic smiles. He was caring as one of his hand would reach for Isabelle’s and the other would find her head, without even having to look at her. He was insecure as he licked his already wet lips and spoke his truths into the neck of a bottle. He was beautiful as he shifted from warrior to lover in seconds, his complexion somehow erasing all the differences between the two. He was careful as he looked fully into Magnus’ eyes, his hair a halo and soft against Magnus’ stomach, his lips holding a question but not asking it. He was harsh as he stood outside Magnus’ apartment in the pouring rain, holding a phone in his hand with eleven missed calls.

He was soft as he pulled a sweater around his head and got stuck on purpose, his laughter and words intertwined inseparably as Magnus pulled the fabric back over his head.

He was Alec. This was him.

Magnus had been ignorant to think it could have been any other way. This was it.

Alexander Lightwood was a language Magnus had had to teach himself. It was the hardest language he’d ever had to learn.

And it was- absolutely, positively, by a landslide- his favourite one.

He looked over at Alec, amorphous boy that he was.

Magnus looked at Alec, and he felt…

He felt.

He just felt.

The last five minutes washed over him like a warm dream, and he tumbled in the words of all languages. Magnus leaned over and touched his lips to Alec’s nose, his hands finding the cave of his shoulder without even having to look. He rested like that, and softly nudged his head under Alec’s chin. He thought of all the times he had lay in his empty bed- all the times before and after Alec- all the times he’d lay there, awake when he should have been asleep. All the times, he’d run a hand over the cold, sterile sheets next to him and loathed the emptiness of them. All the times he’d been woken up by a voice inside his head rather that outside of it.

All the time’s he pressed his lips to his own shoulder, just for the moment of blissfully pretending that the skin was not his own.  

There had been so many of those times.

Slowly, Magnus edged his head and inclined his neck all the way up to look at Alec. From his angle, Alec’s eyelashes fanned out against the white of the ceiling. Dark hair glowed. He was more celestial than human. Something you see and save on the ceiling of a church, so that all who seek comfort and beauty might also catch a glimpse of it.

All those times, alone. Pretending.

And now this.

This, Magnus realized. This was so beautiful.

He pressed his lips to Alec’s chest and grinned. “All your fault.”

This is his. No more pretending.

This is his.

“What’s my fault?”

Magnus would have startled at the noise, but he felt the words vibrate in Alec’s chest before they were spoken to the air above his head. They were slow and sleep-covered, and Magnus was utterly pleased by their sound. Joyous, even. Elated. He tilted his head up again. Admittedly, an awkward angle, but Magnus didn’t further himself.

“Morning,” said Magnus.

With his free arm, Alec rubbed a knuckle to his eye.

“Hmm,” Twisting himself, he looked out the window beside him as if to verify the sun’s presence. “Morning.” he agreed.

He let his free arm rest at the bottom of Magnus’ back, his finger following the hollow of his skin. He looked down at Magnus, mildly amused or concerned.

“Was I still dreaming when you said that? Or- did you say that? In my dream, or in real life?”

A little reluctantly, Magnus repositioned so that they were perfectly arranged. He nudged his forehead to Alec’s and Alec let him, his fatigue overtaking curiosity. He faltered against Magnus’ body and let out a sigh Magnus felt in his everywhere. Magnus brought his lips to touch the very tip of his cupid’s bow and asked, “Why not both?”  

Alec coughed out a small laugh and shook his head. “Really?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” Alec’s eyes were downcast, half of his mouth upturned. He toyed with the ties on Magnus’ pajamas.

“I am absolutely not. I just wanted to know what my boyfriend is dreaming about this fine morning. I actually resent such accusations,” said Magnus, feigning offended.

Alec’s smile grew, eyes still downcast. He stayed quiet.

“Oh. That bad, huh? I see. Well. Fine. You don’t have to tell me, but just know what I’m thinking is probably ten times worse that what actually- do you want to know what I’m thinking?”

Now Alec looked up, and without hesitation, grinned. “Yes.”

Magnus had him now. “Well,” he started seriously, “there’s you. And I’m hoping there’s me, and I am guessing that there’s a bed somewhere in there, although, really, how necessary can one of those be in this day and age-“  he fell forward and his voice dropped in pitch and volume as he recited to Alec his supposed dream. About five seconds in Alec was gasping for breath, and he  shoved Magnus away to the other side of the bed. Magnus, his laughter drowning out Alec’s, fell back into nearly the same position. Magnus widened his eyes innocently. “What, did I miss something?”

“Oh my god.” laughed Alec, and his eyes were wet. He looked exactly like himself and he ran his sleeve along his eyes and looked at Magnus. “You’re not good at that, you know.”

“Actually, in the dream I probably would have actually been better-“  

“Not that,” he said loudly, causing Magnus to fall forward again and laugh helplessly, this time into Alec’s shoulder. Magnus’ heart swelled as he felt Alec shake with reciprocated laughter.

“I meant changing the subject,” Alec continued, when he was put together.

“Well,” Magnus plucked at a loose thread on Alec’s sweater. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Not well.”

Magnus clutched his chest like ouch.

Alec leveled himself down so they were eye level with each other again. The sheet around them were a twisted, scrambled mess.

Sincerely, Alec asked, “What’s my fault?”

Magnus stayed quiet for a second, which was a mistake on his part. Alec knew him well enough to see him off guard. Avoided his eyes, Magnus tried, “You know, you never did tell me what you were dreaming about.”

Keeping his face the same, Alec pulled his arms from where they rested on Magnus’ waist and crossed them over his own chest placidly.

“Alright,” moaned Magnus, letting his head flop in a defeated fashion to Alec’s shoulder. “Okay. Nothing is your fault.”

Despite the joking nature of the conversation, Magnus didn’t miss the small relieved look that fled to Alec’s face when he said those words. He instantly felt terrible, and softly he wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck. Alec let him, and even loosened his own knot of arms wedged between their stomachs.

“Well. Good,” said Alec, “because I just woke up. So. I didn’t really think I could have screwed up that fast.”  

Alec smiled brightly. Magus tried to match its luminosity, but somehow, he fell short. Alec noticed.

After a few second, he asked in a quieter voice: “What were you talking about, then?”

For some odd, inexplicable reason, Magnus felt himself falter knowing he was going to have to tell Alec now. It wasn’t like he would ever, ever tire of telling Alec of his affections for him, it was just this particular phenomenon was so foreign to Magnus, it would make little sense to Alec. He was the reason, the root of all the beauty in Magnus’ eyes, and while this was happily something Magnus could experience, he didn’t want Alec to feel intimidated by it. Or like he was somehow responsible for making it last. He wanted to put it into terms Alec could understand, and even now, he knew Alec wasn’t great with compliments. He wanted to tell him in a way that brought as much joy to Alec as it seemed to bring to Magnus, but he didn’t know if he could. The whole thing was a hopeless, love-filled mess.

How to explain to the sun of all the shadows it creates?

Magnus pulled himself away and looked right to Alec. This was his, no more pretending.  “Nothing is your fault.” He said, then added, tentatively, “And so is everything.”

Wow. Great. Zero confusion there. Job well done, Bane. Pancakes, anyone?

Alec’s face bundled in a questioning look. Magnus sighed.

“I’m sorry. That’s confusing. What I mean is…”

And then something strange happened.  

Magnus stopped. He just stopped. He took a moment and just took Alec in.

His cheeks and carved cupid’s bow. The mole at the edge of his face. The hair that curled out from above his ear. His lips that were always chapped in the morning. He was here.

Whatever Magnus said, Alec would be okay. He might not understand, but he would be understanding. Magnus had long ago promised that he would always be himself, regardless of who he was with, and Alec not only reminded him of that, he emphasized it. Magnus knew what to say, because he always knew what to say around Alec. He always knew.

Magnus watched Alec’s lip gently curve into a smile.

Love was bringing out more in each other than you could have ever brought out alone.

Magnus tucked a bit of Alec’s hair behind his ear and said, “I am just so glad I met you, Alexander.”

He watched as together their smiles faded in a magical, happy way. In his peripheral vision, he watched Alec’s hand come and touch his cheek, slide over his neck. He watched Alec’s lips part as he lightly touched Magnus’ eyelids. He would never hurt him.

Alec said, “Me, too.”

It was, Magnus realized, a beautiful moment. He closed his eyes and let Alec wash over him, knowing full well that Alec saw it, too. Alec saw the beauty. Magnus was tired, suddenly, and lulled forward, tangles of arms draped over him like sunlight, and lazily he watched the fabrics of Alec shirt shift with his breathing. He thought and hoped nothing would pull him out of this moment.

And nothing did, and nothing ever could.

Until.

“I love you,”

Magnus didn’t know if he was in or out of a dream, and for a second he didn’t care about the difference. It could have been seconds or hours with his eyes closed, and he didn’t care to find out. Magnus raised his eyes and saw Alec, immediately knowing it was not a dream. As well as Magnus knew him, he would never be able to recreate in precision some of Alec’s looks. This was one of them.

One half insecurity, one half pride, he licked his lips and his eyes fluttered down and up, carefully watching for Magnus’s reaction. Magnus didn’t have one for him. Not yet.

He whispered, “What?” not sure why he was whispering. It felt better than shouting, he supposed.

Evidently not the reaction he was hoping for, Alec looked down. “Um,” he smiled shakily at the sheet. “I never said it back to you, uh. That day. So I thought I might- I mean, I guess you didn’t technically say it to me but I still wanted to. Say it, I mean. To you.”

He kept talking.

Magnus was not listening. During his break filled monologue, Magnus woke up. As Alec fluttered to explain himself, Magnus rose slowly in the now pure morning air. The sun broke over him and around him. His breath was silent as a deer and he sat up, with sheets cascading off his waist. He tried to hear what Alec said, but in the background, there was something more. The air around his head was full. Full of the words he’d been always, always so terrified to hear. Terrified they’d be a lie. Terrified the person would twist around the definition so that it could only hurt Magnus.

God, for a romantic, for someone who lived to hear those words, how he dreaded them. How he dreaded those three. Little. Words.

And here was Alec, rushing to explain himself, giving up an explanation for the words. The phenomenon was so foreign for him. The phenomenon was so foreign for Magnus. The concept was so foreign to them, as it is to all of us, as it probably will be for the rest of time.

And yet we will keep saying these three little words. These words that we dread and long to hear. To each other, we will always say these three words. We will say them because it is truer than not saying them.

We will love because that is what we do.  

And by the end of Alec’s speech, Magnus rose over him like the beautifully drawn ceiling of a church.

“Alec,” he said softly, and Alec looked up hopefully, the same gleam in his eyes that appeared when he would hear his name from that mouth, the same gleam that would appear for the rest of his life.

“Alexander,” said Magnus, and he cupped Alec by the chin and together they rose in the morning sunlight with the sheets cascading down then like wax off a candle, with three words between their mouths and fear in their eyes and smiles being born on their lips.

“Magnus,” whispered Alec. He knew it was true.

“Alexander,” said Magnus. He knew. He always knew.

They knew what the words meant.

They couldn’t seem to stop realizing how beautiful they were.  

Grinning, Magnus asked, “Would you say it again?”