#reblogging this mainly because it has so many of your paintings in one place

[ackerfics]

effervescent (i) — eren jaeger.

chapter i ; a constellation of miracles.

— eren jaeger x female reader (encanto au)

— warnings: angst. generational trauma.

— series summary: a young boy of fifteen seeks to save their dying miracle, never realizing that during his little adventure, he finds out the truth about the disappearance of his father, the seer of their little town.

— chapter summary: meet the enchanted family of the jaegers.

— word count: 6.5k

— notes: this is an experiment, to say the least. let's just say this is the pilot chapter of this mini series (i know, i'm starting another one when tpt and sunshine aren't finished yet yikes) so i don't know if some of you guys will like this hejnej. this will mainly focus on eren and reader's youngest son but i assure you that there will be moments between you and dilf!eren that will make the butterflies flutter like no tomorrow. tbh, this is purely for fun because encanto earned a special place in my heart and i didn't think too much in making this series but we all know that in the long run, i'll take this seriously hhhh enjoy reading, loves !!

reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated !! <3

Caspian Jaeger looks exactly like his father.

There’s no shed of you in his features. It’s a fact that his brothers have leverage over him. The eldest among the three of them got all of your facial features while the second eldest inherited your eyes and shade of tresses. The longer Caspian stares at the mirror, the more he sees a younger version of the famed Seer of Paradis rather than a completely different person (courtesy of the photo albums you have of your teenage memories that the boy found). The brown, shaggy hair, the blindingly turquoise irises, and the almost-angry default expression on his face — make him feel awful. He has every right to feel this way, knowing that the man disappeared from his life when he needed him the most. Caspian can’t forget your sobs the morning after his father’s departure, his aunt Mikasa supporting your head on her shoulder. They echo like the monsters his oldest brother tease him about.

That was the time he detested anything related to Eren Jaeger.

The young boy of fifteen tries smiling in front of the mirror, his casual clothing pristine and free of creases and his hair still damp from his morning shower. Caspian puffs his chest a little to make himself look bigger — stronger. His side of the family needs someone to continue standing in as their absent father. Caspian slowly blinks at the image the mirror conjures, pushing past the haunting similarities he has with his dad. Instead, he thinks of you. He has to make you, his soft-hearted and amazing mother, proud. Then, the morning chime of the grandfather clock rings around the house. But before you, he has to make his grandfather proud.

So, with a deep breath, Caspian smiles with full confidence. “I have to make my family proud.”

The morning bustle of their little walled town officially starts at this minute. He can hear the neighing of horses and the honking of the donkeys from his window on the second floor. The sunrise hasn’t even peeked over the top of the rocky walls. The sky is still painted a cornflower blue, the telltale signs that the sun will be here any minute. The magic thrumming through the walls of their house beckons Caspian towards the door. He shakes his head at the inanimate object trying to communicate with him by giving him the urge to start the day. His hand hovers over the golden doorknob, the reflection of his father once again staring back at him. The boy shakes his head, running his finger through his hair.

“Don’t think about him, Caz,” he murmurs to himself.

The door shuts behind him. The many spices waft in the air and Caspian instantly knows that his older brother has long since stepped foot in the kitchen. That’s the older boy’s domain after all. The house is livelier than ever. Much livelier than regular days.

And there Caspian realizes the reason why he keeps seeing his father on every looking glass.

It’s the day his younger cousin gets her gift. That’s why her bed was empty when he woke up earlier.

Again, no thinking about negative things today.

Caspian inwardly shakes his head and sprawls his daily schedule in his head. His first stop is you.

He walks under the arching hallways of their little castle, avoiding the house’s attempts at decorating itself. A non-glowing door stands in front of him and with a knock, he peeks his head through the small crack. “Hey, Mom,” he greets, still not entering your room.

You turn from assorting through the laundry basket and a smile lights up the entire room at the sight of your youngest. It’s no secret that your favorite is Caspian, as evidenced by your overly doting nature when he’s around. It’s one of the reasons why his eldest brother scoffs at him every mealtime because you’re the one who puts food on Caspian’s plate as if the boy can’t do it himself. It’s also not a secret that Caspian enjoys your attention but sometimes, he reminds you that he’s old enough to do things on his own. He’s not blind. He knows that you’re doing this because he’s the only one who doesn’t have anything extraordinary in his veins. Ever since his gift-receiving ceremony ten years ago, you’re always there by his side. You’re his mother, yes, but you also stood as his father through the years after his real one dipped.

“Good morning, treasure,” you beam, and Caspian has to squint his eyes at the brightness of your smile.

“Good morning, Mom! Just checking up on you.” He nods his head at the stack of used clothes on the floor. “Do you need some help?”

You shake your head, waving your hand without looking at your son. “I got this, love. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Caspian sings, turning to the door.

“Are you feeling alright today?”

His hand flinches over the doorknob. He doesn’t even have to turn around to witness the sympathetic expression on your face. He knows you always worry about him because of his lack of a gift but this day might have solidified it. A turmoil of emotions continues to churn inside his stomach. Caspian so badly wants to tell you that he feels envious, dejected, upset, nervous — but he chooses not to. So, he turns around and flashes the best smile he can ever show for this day. The boy sees how you flinch and he mutters an apology in his head. “I’m alright, Mom.” I have to be. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He returns your words to you and again, he internally says sorry for being closed off. He reminds himself that he doesn’t have to burden you more with his personal problems, especially when this day is so special to his aunt’s side of the family. Still, the look on your face compels him to let everything out.

“Are you sure, sweetie? You know you can talk to me about what’s bothering you, right?” Now, you’re putting aside your task for him.

He chuckles at your concern. “I’m really fine, Mom. Uhm, I gotta go. The house isn’t going to decorate itself.” Then, he senses the disappointed sulk of the house surrounding the room. Caspian rolls his eyes before patting the wall as a way of apologizing. He fixes you with a lighthearted lift of his shoulders. “I better go, Mom, there’s still so much to do.”

“Okay, treasure. I love you — always remember that,” you remind him.

The regular door then closes and you’re left alone with silence — the very thing that became your companion when Eren disappeared from the family ten years ago. You keep sorting out the laundry in a drone.

There was a time when your side of the family radiated homeliness; how the halls of your house wing reverberated with laughter and gleeful shouts from your children. You can still see Eren crying when your eldest was born, how he gushed that your baby boy looked exactly like you just like he always wished. He whispers to your first son every night, telling the toddler that he would grow up as beautiful as his mommy. Eren’s excitement never deterred at the birth of your second baby boy. Again, he marveled at how the baby got your eyes, saying that they were shining like yours. Then little Caspian was welcomed to the world and he was in awe. A baby that finally looked like him. He was once again crying beside you while hugging Caspian close to his chest, thanking you in a mantra.

He thanked you for giving him a family that’s more than just a constellation, a galaxy separate from the Jaeger family his father established. He thanked you for loving him unconditionally when he thought he never deserved love. He thanked you for being effervescent and pulchritudinous, for being his luminary when all is dark.

Eren loved his three children (even though he still wished for a girl) so much, always at their beck and call when they wanted to play and study. He was there at the gift-receiving ceremonies of the two older boys, hugging you tightly from behind at the anticipation of the special magic bestowed because of their brilliance. He was their role model — their hero.

You play them in your mind like a highlight reel even though it squeezes your chest and it’s getting harder to breathe. Drops of starlight trail down your cheeks as you once again spiral into a pit of missing your husband.

You just want him back home.

Wherever he is, you hope that your wishes reach him and that they’re strong enough to compel him to complete this little galaxy he made. It hurts you to see your sons become detached from the idea of having him home again. It’s almost as if they never acknowledge him as their father, seeing as more than half of their lives, you stood as both of their parents. Nobody even mentions his name in the Jaeger household, a taboo word that’s associated with being a devil of clairvoyance. When someone does, out of an accident, you see the flicker of disdain on your eldest son and the indifference from your second. What pierces you is the anger on your youngest, a look that’s so achingly familiar.

It’s been ten years but the ache feels fresh.

You feel him around you but you have to remind yourself he’s never here.

So, you steel yourself and dry your tears. This day should be perfect for Mikasa’s side of the family. You bury the pining and pain deep in your chest, letting silence be your friend again.

-

The sun hasn’t risen yet but the clanging and shuffling in the kitchen are already creating a symphony on the first floor of the house.

“Good morning, Aran!” Caspian announces with a grin that’s way too big on the boy’s face. “What a fine day, right?”

Aran Jaeger is a combination of you and Eren. The facial shape and nose that he inherited from Eren are completely balanced by your hair color and noticeable eyes. If one were to look closely at his face, they’d say that he’s surely almost a mirror image of his father. However, what stands out from this boy is his warmhearted nature. Given the miracle of healing, Aran developed a love for cooking since he was still a toddler snug within your embrace. He was looking at you with stars in his eyes whenever you maneuver in the kitchen, preparing the meals for the huge family. Because of this, he was dubbed ‘little helper’ by Eren, who adored staring at you in front of the stove with Aran on your hip. After getting his gift, he thought it would be best if he channeled it through cooking — that way, he can learn from you and spend most of his time by your side.

Now, at eighteen, Aran carries the medical support of the entire town of Paradis, inheriting the role of the resident doctor from Grisha. A position he has to live up to.

Clad in his signature loose knitted jacket, its pockets filled to the brim with herbs and spices, Aran turns around at the call of his name.

“Did you drink the chamomile tea I brewed for you last night?” Aran asks while kneading the dough on the counter. “I didn’t see the mug I lent you here.” He gestures at the array of mugs on the open cabinet, a rainbow of various designs that match with each member of the family.

Caspian nervously laughs. “I did finish it but I forgot to bring the mug back here.”

The older boy hums. “How many cups, glasses, or mugs do you have there now? You know that our house can’t transport things, right?” Aran adds more flour to the counter and dough, glancing at the pot of boiling water for the morning coffee.

“I’d like to say less than five but that would mean I’m lying.”

“You have to clean your room, Cas,” Aran laments. “Goldie is moving out of there and you don’t have Aunt Mikasa to clean up after you now.”

Caspian slumps. “I know. I’ll bring them down here after I do my daily chores.”

“You better,” Aran instructs his younger brother to start cutting the vegetables for the omelet since their younger cousin requested to have her favorite food on the day of her gift-receiving. “Did it help you, though? The chamomile tea?” He voices out when the silence becomes thick. If there’s something that Aran is adept at other than cooking and helping people, it’s knowing when they’re hurting. It’s as if he acquired a second sense for it the moment the door lit up for him. That’s why he makes sure to give Caspian a special meal every time. Even though it looks the same as the others’, he pours his understanding into making Caspian’s share. It’s something that he was wondering about — if his miracle transcends physical wounds and pain. Judging by the bright expression on his younger brother’s face while eating his food after a bad day, it does. “I got the leaves from Levi, you know, courtesy of Aunt Mikasa’s connection.”

“Huh?” Caspian looks up from cutting the vegetables, his shaggy bangs touching his eyelashes. He blows on his hair before answering, “Yeah, it did. I slept better after that. Thanks.”

Warmth spreads through Aran’s chest. “You’re always welcome. I’m glad it soothed you, Caz.”

Aran watches his little brother from the corner of his eyes. As the pile of bread keeps increasing on the countertop, so are his concerns for Caspian. Before Marigold was born, the youngest of the Jaeger children was Caspian, thus, the last ceremony was his. And it didn’t end well. There was no party, no fireworks, no celebration. It was almost a funeral. It baffled Aran that for such an extraordinary boy, the eternally shining key the Jaegers were given didn’t grant him the one thing that separates their family from others. Aran was still eight years old at that time but when he saw his baby brother’s trembling lips at the scrutiny and disappointment, he knew that Caspian’s childhood would never be the same again. The little boy ran towards the nursery, slamming the door shut, the sound echoing through the little castle. That night was when the god of healing of Paradis realized he can make others feel better emotionally with his creations. Even if it was just a little spark within viridian irises, Aran was relieved that Caspian slept great.

“Do you want to help me distribute the food to the townspeople?” Aran inquires without looking up from making another batch of pikert and pretzels. “I’m pretty sure the kids in the town would love to have you in the stand today.”

Caspian snorts. “Yeah, they’re always asking me about the family.”

“Yet you still humor them.”

The younger boy shrugs. “Well, they’re kids. They’re naturally curious. Years of rooming with Goldie taught me that much.”

“It’s not like this is the first time they asked you about the extraordinary Jaegers.”

“That’s the thing.” Caspian looks up from his task of beating the eggs, his grin wide enough to make the sun rise from the top of the mountain walls. “I love our family, that’s why.”

Blue washes over Aran in a snap. It’s unfair. His mind takes him to the many times their grandfather berated Caspian for being normal. Cruel and merciless. He doesn’t want to see his baby brother looking like a kicked puppy after a sermon from Grisha but he can’t exactly stop the patriarch of the family as well. He can only watch as their grandfather throws passive-aggressive statements to Eren’s youngest son. It’s unfair. Aran looks away with a faux chuckle, a habit he picked up from their golden child of an older brother. “We love you, too, Cassie.”

“Don’t call me that!” Caspian squawks with warm ears.

Aran snickers, now on the task of making some eierkuchen. “Cassie.”

“‘Ran!”

“What?” The rhetorical question makes the younger boy’s cheeks hot to the touch. “It’s a cute nickname. It’s been a long time since somebody called you that, right?”

“Yeah?! I want it to stay that way.”

“Tough luck, Cassie, because it makes me feel nostalgic so you have to suffer.”

Caspian groans, his bottom lip jutting in a pout. He slumps on the counter stool with his finished tasks. The amount of food on top of the counter island and any free surface of the kitchen erases his sulking mood. He stares at the food his brother made before slowly looking down on his contribution — cut vegetables and beaten eggs for the breakfast omelet. Sometimes, he wonders if his brother’s real gift was super-speed since he had been making that much food every day for the past eleven years. Aran amazes him all the time — fulfilling his role without breaking a sweat — always with a calm countenance and never a stressed one despite the urgency.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Caspian casually states, taking an apple from the fruit basket and mindlessly examining it with half-lidded eyes.

“Hmm?” Aran blinks.

The younger boy glances at his big brother. “Ezra doesn’t love me.” At the confused raise of an eyebrow, Caspian clears his throat. “I told you that I love the family and you told me ‘we love you, too’. Ezra doesn’t fit in the ‘we’ part.”

Aran sighs, almost saying here we go again. “Ezra loves you, Caz. He’s … he just has a different way of showing his love for his family.”

Brown hair bounces off Caspian’s forehead as he scoffs. “Yeah. If constantly bullying me amounts to love, that is. I told you, ‘Ran! He hates me!” He bemoans his woes. More like he exaggerates his aggravation of being in Ezra’s hidden personality. Aran only shakes his head at him, which spurs him to make his point again. “I don’t know what I did to make him look at me like I’m the dirt under his shoes but you can’t deny that he hates me. He’s always making me trip over his vines and flowers! Last week, I could hear him groan when I walked inside the bakery for some light snack!”

Aran laughs. “Cassie, since when did you become Helene?”

“Even without super hearing, I can still hear him. He was literally standing in the same space like me! All I did was greet Niccolo normally like any other day and then Ezra goes around and acts like I ruined his life.”

“All I can say is that you should see it from his perspective. It doesn’t hurt to put yourself in somebody else’s shoes sometimes.”

“As long as those shoes aren’t Ezra’s, I’m perfectly fine with it.”

Aran gives up. It’s the same with Ezra. The more that he tries to make the others see that they can push past their differences, the more they get angry and Aran has to put up with it. He loves his brothers, yes, but the two of them are too stubborn to think outside of their respective worlds. There are times when Aran feels like their brotherly bonds are too strained to mend, that there’s no point in saving it when the two just keep on butting heads like they’re on a schedule. Aran plates the omelet on a huge platter for the family, alongside some bacon and a bowl of salad. “I’m just saying. At the end of the day, we’re still brothers. Fighting will just get us nowhere.”

The plating of their breakfast ends with a spoon clinking against a glass bowl. In an instant, Helene, one of their cousins, appears from the kitchen’s entrance. “I heard that breakfast is ready.”

Caspian jumps an inch in the air. He swiftly turns to the older girl with a hand on his chest. “Stop doing that!”

Helene shrugs with an innocent expression. “I can’t help it.”

“How long have you been listening in?”

The older girl purses her lips. “Enough.” Her answer is clipped, putting a stop to the conversation. She perks up before going inside the kitchen with a swish of her long blonde hair. “Aunt Mikasa and Aunt [Name] are arranging the dining room now. Let me help you with that, Aran.”

“Oh, thanks.” The said boy lets his older cousin handle the pitcher of juice and a pot of coffee. “You can carry the bacon and salad, Caz.”

“Sure.”

The three cousins walk beside the stream of sunlight pouring from the open windows. Now that the sun has officially risen, the town of Paradis wakes up with greetings and bright laughter from every corner.

Every once in a while, Helene flinches in between the two boys, even randomly gasping when all the boys can hear are the chirping of the birds by the trees near their house. It has always been this way with Helene Jaeger, the second oldest of all the cousins. Child of the animal whisperer, she was given the role of communication just like her father, Zeke. The one closest to the animated blonde girl is Caspian's oldest brother but there are still some quirks that Helene absentmindedly exhibits that he can gauge. For example, how she seems to flinch whenever somebody asks her if she catches wind of a private conversation. Another is when she’s buzzing with anticipation when she hears particular whispers that can benefit her curious nature. It’s not a hidden fact that Helene is the source of gossip in their quaint town. Caspian doesn’t even know if that title should be revered. With that aside, the younger boy learns to shut his mouth whenever his cousin is around.

The aurora illuminates the dining room when they arrive.

Their aunt is already within the space, arranging the plates for the respective members of the family. Gifted with a strength that can rival fifty men, Mikasa Ackerman-Kirschtein stands tall with her head regally up high clad in her deep blue dress. Her pixie-cut onyx hair glints against the sunshine and her gunmetal blues lighten up at the sight of the teenagers. Beside her is you, now dressed in a pretty long-sleeved day dress with embroidered flowers, herbs, and butterflies on the material. Your radiance balances Mikasa’s and even without a miracle, you capture the attention of everyone in the room. You follow your sister-in-law’s gaze while placing the utensils in their proper places, a smile automatically pulling on your soft peachy lips.

“Good morning, you three,” you welcome them.

“Morning, Aunt [Name], Aunt Mikasa,” Helene softly replies, placing the pitcher of juice and pot of coffee on the table.

Mikasa smiles. “Good morning.”

Amazed at the spread for this morning, you directly look at your second eldest, “This is amazing, Aran.”

Aran chuckles, coming around the table to give you a side hug. “What can I say? I learned from the best.”

It’s an exchange that happens every morning. It’s anticipated by the people occupying the dining room, their knowing smiles are proof. You always make sure to compliment Aran’s cooking and in return, Aran reminds you that it was you who inspired him to start cooking. It’s a heartwarming display, one that Mikasa wants to preserve as the protector of the family. After Eren left, the black-haired woman took the responsibility of being your pillar. Even before marrying into the family, Mikasa was your best friend since you two were in kindergarten. She followed you around the town after a day of show and tell and you thought it was an opportunity to make friends. You never shied away when she hugged you too tight, even making the effort to squeeze her the hardest you could.

And as Mikasa looks at you from across the table, her heart swells because you’re starting to smile genuinely again. Her love for you isn’t like any other — it's different from what she feels for Jean and way stronger than what she feels for Eren and Armin. If soulmates do exist, she’s sure it’s you for her.

“You have outdone yourself this time, chef,” Jean enters the dining room with Marigold in his arms. “And you made Goldie’s favorite!”

Marigold squeals. “Yey! There’s an omelet!”

“I made sure to put extra cheese in your portion, Goldie,” Aran cooes.

“You’re the best, Aran!”

Caspian snorts from beside Mikasa. “Way to boost his ego, Goldie.”

Marigold squirms in Jean’s arms. When the ash-blond lets her down, she barrels to her favorite cousin’s side, earning a huff from the boy. She can’t reach his waist yet but her hold on his leg is an indication of her affection for her older cousin. Her gunmetal blue irises glint with so much admiration for him that it’s getting hard to not melt on the spot. “I love you the best, Cassie!”

You laugh, making the others chuckle along with you. “It’s been a while since someone called you that, treasure.”

“He’s acting like he doesn’t like it,” Aran teases.

Caspian turns to him with red ears. “I told you I don’t like it!”

“His ears are red,” the older boy stage-whispered to you.

“No, they’re not!”

“You didn’t say it back!”

Caspian looks down on the pouting child. He sighs before ruffling her black hair with a soft smile. “I love you, too, Goldie. You know who you should be saying that to?” Marigold tilts her head, her chubby cheeks begging to be pinched. Caspian glances at the amused black-haired woman beside him, her arms crossed on her chest. He leans down to her level and cups his mouth to whisper in his ear. He makes sure everyone in the dining room hears him, “It should be your mom. She’s standing right there, Goldie.”

“Give mommy a hug, Goldie,” Mikasa states while opening her arms, laughing when her daughter enters her embrace with a giggle. She gives her tickling kisses on her cheeks, nuzzling her nose against her fluffy skin.

“What about me, Mom?” A child who’s the same age as Marigold innocently asks in front of Caspian. He’s the spitting image of his father, who’s shaking his head with a smile. “I need your hugs and kisses, too.” The child reaches for Mikasa, the mischievous glint in his silver eyes never vanishing.

“Will you cut that out, Jack? It’s creepy,” Caspian shivers.

The five-year-old child morphs into a sixteen-year-old blond in a flash.

Jacques Ackerman-Kirschstein is a menace to society. Always ready to prank everyone who passes by, this boy earned the moniker of hellion among the townspeople. As the chameleon of the family, he’s constantly using his gift mainly to babysit the kids and if there’s a need for a second carpenter. What he likes about his miracle though is him having the advantage to fool anyone, having learned how to manipulate his voice for every person he turns into. His parents are exhausted whenever there’s news around the town that features him and his pranks but it’s obvious that they’re also amused by his antics. Like right now, Mikasa only laughs before pulling her oldest son in a hug. Just like how Caspian adores you, Jacques is the same as his mother. If he were to pick between his parents, he’d choose his mom, regardless if he looks a lot like Jean.

“It worked, right? I got my hug from Mom,” Jacques gloats.

Caspian purses his lips to the side. “I don’t think that’s something to be proud of.”

The blond drapes an arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. “It’s worth it.” He then takes a bite on a piece of bacon that he swiped from the table while everyone was talking.

“Hey!” Aran calls for him. “Jack, put that back! Can’t you wait till breakfast?”

“I’m hungry, ‘Ran,” the shapeshifter shrugs.

“That doesn’t mean you should eat before anyone else.”

Jacques then clutches his stomach. “Ugh, I think I have a stomach ache. I definitely need your food, ‘Ran.”

“... I hate you. No seconds for you later.”

The ash-blond boy gasps dramatically, leaning more on Caspian, who’s rolling his eyes at his cousin slash best friend’s spectacle. “How could you?”

“You already ate something, you idiot,” Caspian huffs, shrugging off Jacque’s arm on his shoulder. “You don’t have to hog everything on the table. Leave some for us, pig.”

“I see everyone has gathered here.”

The patriarch of the Jaeger family is an intimidating man despite his amiable smile. He doesn’t tower over everyone like Zeke behind him nor does he glare at people with his dull eyes like Eren did moments before his disappearance. His presence is enough for the grandchildren to straighten themselves, especially Caspian. Grisha Jaeger’s eyes flash behind his glasses, posture firm as if he demands attention from the audience. One could say that he built Paradis from scratch when in reality, the tragedy that befell his previous home made his key necklace glow like a thousand suns. The mountains grew and on a hill overlooking the rest of his people, stood a lone two-story mansion. With everyone he loved gone except for the children that they blessed him, Grisha presented magic to everyone in need.

It’s a story that was told to Caspian before he claimed his door. Grisha talked about how he found love a very long time ago, that’s when Zeke was born. It’s presented to Caspian in a fairy tale. Grisha, young and heartbroken from the evil that took away his first wife, was comforted by a smile that could cure a thousand illnesses. Along came Eren. Then, the family expanded when the Jaegers adopted a girl named Mikasa — there the constellation started shining from the heavens. But when their youngest children turned two, they were forced to flee their home, and the smile that could cure a thousand illnesses was snuffed out.

But in their darkest moments, a miracle was born.

Caspian remembered how immersed he was when his grandfather narrated the tale. He’s a great story-teller, one that showcases how he handles children while still being the town’s doctor. He wonders how it feels being on the receiving end of his proud smile.

Grisha examines the dining room and nods with a smile. “Let’s have breakfast, shall we?”

Everybody follows suit, the scraping of chairs echoing through the room. It just so happened that the person in front of Caspian is the bane of his existence.

Ezra Jaeger was born beautiful and perfect. There’s not much Caspian has to say about him except he’s a proud individual who thinks that he’s above everyone else just because he was given the miracle of nature. With his looks that come from your side of the family, his effeminate features that make people’s jaws drop, Ezra easily bags the title as the Adonis of Paradis — the one who captures the attention of the goddess of beauty yet makes her feel jealous of his aesthetics. He’s known for being a seraph but Caspian sees him as more of a prima donna than a savior. The brunet pities his soon-to-be wife.

He meets his younger brother’s gaze from across the table. Ezra’s face sours, his eyes narrowing at the blank stare Caspian has been giving him. “What?” he mouths.

Caspian merely shakes his head before stuffing his face with eggs. He hears a scoff from Ezra’s direction. “What?” he mouths back.

As an answer, Ezra rolls his eyes like the prissy prince that he is and goes back to calmly eating his breakfast.

The head of the family acknowledges Aran with a warm smile. “You did well, Aran. Thank you for this wondrous breakfast.”

“You’re welcome, grandpa,” Aran replies.

The sound of cutlery on plates envelops the room in a blanket of normalcy. You’re seated beside Caspian, having turned down the offer of being on Grisha’s other side all those years ago, the current position in the table occupied by Helene. Your role in the family is a vague one. When the magical part of the family does their chores around the town, you and Jean spend the entire day cleaning the house. For this day, however, your work lies in supervising where the decorations should be placed, what exact flowers should be painting the house’s walls.

There’s no denying that Grisha loves you for his son, his opinions never change even when you’re alone raising your children. Though he sometimes harbors an awkward air while talking to you, he’s been one of your father figures ever since Mikasa became your best friend. But if there’s one thing that you don’t agree with, it’s the neglect he has for Caspian.

The entire breakfast passes by in a blur and it’s time for Grisha’s reminder of the family’s schedules and chores.

The said man dabs his lips with a napkin. “Mikasa, I heard the bridge was destroyed by the river flood a couple of days ago. That should be your priority today before helping around with the celebration. Jacques, we need another carpenter today and some mothers want to have someone look after their babies while they rest. Zeke, talk with the farmers and inquire them about the newborn cattle. Could you place a good word that we should have them in our pen by the end of the week? Helene, find out about the invitations — how many attendees agreed specifically so that the food preparation is enough for every guest. Aran, my boy, do what you always do. Ezra, our orchid, help your mother with making the town beautiful, alright?”

A chorus of “Yes, Grandpa” and “Yes, Dad” makes the man smile. “Now, then, enjoy the rest of your day and make everyone in the town happy and content. Let’s make this a celebration that Marigold won’t forget.”

While everyone files out of the house, Caspian chases after his grandfather. “Grandpa! Wait!”

Grisha turns around to his panting grandson before he takes one step on the stairs. He freezes for a moment when that similar pair of green eyes look up at him. For a moment, he thought his son came back home. Masking his surprise with a faux smile, Grisha tilts his head. “What is it, Caspian?”

The brunet straightens himself. “What about me?”

“You?”

Caspian nods, his hands clenched by his sides. “What about my chores?”

The silence is palpable until Grisha opens his mouth to say with an apologetic face, “The best way for some of us to help is to step aside. Let the rest of the family do what they do best.”

Caspian Jaeger, the favorite of his mother and the mirror image of his father, has always been the nuisance of the family. Nobody said it out loud but he can see from his grandfather’s eyes that he’s nothing but a disappointment. One of the reasons why Ezra hates him so much is because he’s an embarrassment. That fact he can admit since it’s crystal clear. No matter how hard you or Aran make him see that he’s anything but that, the resounding thought in his mind lingers and pounds until it drills into his skull like a migraine. There’s no point in releasing his frustrations on anyone. Grisha never once treated him like scum, Mikasa and Zeke were always there for him when he needed them, and his cousins made his day brighter than ever. There’s no reason for him to blame everyone that he feels this way. But as he stares back at the reminiscent emerald hues he inherited from the head of the family, he sees it loud and clear:

You’ll ruin the celebration if you touch a single thing in this house.

You’re bad luck.

What if Marigold never gets her gift because you’re trying to help?

And it hurts.

Grisha always wanted the perfect family — a puzzle with pieces that fit with each other and enhances the beauty the full picture brings. Caspian, though, has always been the special case. His efforts of fitting in are futile, the sides of his puzzle piece not fitting with everyone else. Sometimes, he regrets existing. The smiles he donned for the past ten years are just a coping mechanism, something to remind himself he has a purpose even without a miracle.

So, Caspian does what he does best — put on a mask.

The smile on his face is more like a grimace. Caspian nods and that’s all Grisha needs to turn his back and go back to the master bedroom.

“There you are!” Aran appears with a grin. “It’s time to bring the food to the town square. Helene told me there’s someone in need of healing already. Man, can they be more careful—hey, are you okay?” Aran’s mood becomes somber as he trails his eyes over his baby brother’s jovial expression — one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you unwell? Do you need a—?”

“I’m fine,” Caspian cuts off. His tone is awfully chipper and it’s not a good sign.

“Are you su—?”

“Yes!”

Aran follows his little brother’s back with his eyes.

A drawl comes from the other side of the castle’s first floor. “If he wasn’t trying too hard, he wouldn’t be in the way.”

Aran finds himself meeting Ezra’s half-lidded eyes. “You’re not helping, Ez.”

“At least I help the family and the community.”

The younger boy straightens his posture. “Now you’re just being petty and unreasonable.”

Ezra rolls his eyes, pushing himself off one of the pillars, and makes his way towards the front entrance of their house. “I’m telling the truth, ‘Ran. The thing about telling the truth is that it always hurts. Also, stop babying Caspian. It’s starting to become annoying.”

“I’m not babying Caspian, Ezra.” Aran glares. “I am being his big brother — something that you’re failing.”

Aran knows he went too far but as Ezra says, the truth hurts, and even though it’s a slap in the face, one needs it.

After a long minute of silence, Ezra looks at Aran over his shoulder. “If you’re doing it already, then, I don’t see the point in me filling in Father’s shoes.” With that, he goes outside to where you’re talking to Sasha Blouse a few feet away from the entrance, and ends the conversation, leaving behind a trail of pollen and herbal scents in his heels. Aran watches him lose the scowl and greets Sasha with a practiced bow, to which the woman giggles at, complimenting the young man on how polite and gentlemanly he is. Aran nearly scoffs. Instead, he settles for rolling his eyes.

“I’m ready.” Almost as if he’s listening in the exchange, Caspian materializes beside Aran. “Let’s give these to the townspeople now, my arms are starting to hurt.”

Aran lightly laughs, wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders and ruffling his unruly brown hair. “Aren’t you the cutest little helper?”

Caspian groans. “Stop coddling me.”

Aran wistfully smiles. “Never.”

[totromanticfool]

Losing, breaking, stealing & forgetting

I promised myself I would post this once one of my other works would reach 50 likes/reblogs. Welp, it did! Thank you so much for all the love and support! With this piece, I couldn’t help myself! After my first request, this little drabble stayed in my head. Rent free of course! So, I had to play with it a little, and this funny HC came to life. Still, these are my interpretations of the boys, please do not take offense, but enjoy! It will be the boys, separately, with you, the dear reader. Pretend they are already in a relationship of some sort? (I know we all do anyway!) Enjoy!

It was not just his head Artem lost this time.

Artem Wing was very professional when it came to work.

But at home, he lost his head many, many times. Mainly because you occupied his mind, there was only room for you now.

His carefully constructed schedule left no room for errors, so he thought.

He knew it was his flaw, and that was why he always planned everything, so he wouldn't lose any documents, keys, his phone or any other things he might need throughout the day.

He didn’t mind that it happened to him, but having you on the receiving end, he could just feel himself dying.

Your apartment keys were in his slacks pocket. He promised to pick up the case files that he left at your place, thinking he didn’t need them at first.

When he reached for his phone, his pinkie finger got stuck in one of the keychain rings.

He pulled out his phone, and before he could react, your keys fell through the cracks of the sewer lid. This kind of losing was purely accidental of course, but still...

He could only stare at the sewer lid in terror for at least a minute, He had one job! Artem.exe stopped working. (I love saying that. Who came up with that, kudos!)

When his mind started forming coherent sentences again, there were swear words coming out of his mouth that I dare not repeat. Wash his mouth with soap! Filthy swear words.

He called in a favour to Captain Morgan. ''Attorney Wing, you know as well as I do, that I can't fix that.'' ''I know! But I have to try something, what else am I supposed to do?'' panic mode was set in.

Then he called Luke, hoping he could (and wanted to) break into your apartment, secretly, of course. Artem had no problem murdering Luke if this ever came out. He was the law, after all.

After retrieving the files, Artem made Luke swear to never talk about this incident, ever.

But the minute he saw you at the end of the chaotic day, he blurted it out like a waterfall. He should have known he could never keep anything from you.

Artem pampered you for at least a month. Fancy dinners, movies, the best home cooking you ever tasted, and unlimited cuddles. The man has never felt more guilty, and he would do anything in his power to make it up to you. -----

A clumsy 6-foot boy named Marius

Marius von Hagen is as clumsy as it gets. (You can fight me on this one)

He would often bump against his easel or his table, sending paint onto the floor, or you, if you're with him.

Paperwork was always scattered everywhere because of him dropping it way too many times. Thus, he hired a special paperwork assistant (oh the boy has way too much money)

Whenever Marius would visit your place, you had to know in advance.

You would have to hide all the valuable/irreplaceable stuff.

Whenever he would visit unannounced, you would grit your teeth so hard they could fall out. Anxiety level 1000, with every step he would take.

One day, you came home frow work and you saw Marius bouncing around in your living room.

The vase you got from the office the other week was standing dangerously close behind him on the coffee table.

When Marius heard you enter, he got beyond excited, and forgot about his surroundings.

At first you heard Marius call you, then, the ear deafening sound of the vase crashing on the floor, shattering in a thousand pieces.

He didn’t know how fast he could grab you in his arms, chanting ''I'm so sorry miss'' over, and over again.

Luckily, he would always clean up his mess, (all the while apologizing) and replace anything replaceable.

The beautiful vase however, was not that easy to replace. He had to beg Celestine and Kiki to make it again. In exchange for a very expensive dinner, and gifts. (Good thing the boy has a lot of money)

Marius took you away for the weekend as his sincerest apology. While the vase was being made again. ----- Finders keepers is a thing, when it comes to Vyn.

Vyn Richter, the mysterious and very private psychiatrist, had many secrets. Dirty secrets as well. And this was one of them.

On your days off, you often found yourself in the most comfortable clothing, underwear not an exception.

''Where are they? I was sure I put them in here after laundry!'' face red, going crazy. How can a pair of panties just disappear? Didn’t that just happen with socks in a dryer? And I don’t even own a dryer...

You called out to your boyfriend Vyn, asking if he misplaced the clean laundry.

You didn’t get an answer. Figuring he was in his study; you went to see him.

A sexy, teasing smile was written all over his face when you entered.

Not only did he get away with his mischief for more than a week, he was surprisingly calm when you walked in on him looking at your underwear with great interest.

Let me repeat that. He stole what? Yes, a pair of your panties! And not the sexy kind, but the ''I should throw these out because they are way to girly for a woman like me, but I didn’t because they fit so nicely.'' kind. This one? Pink with polka dots, and a small ribbon on the front.

''Vyn, why... uh...?'' There were no other words. You tried to choose between getting angry, or laughing at the sight. Your face said it all, and of course Vyn noticed.

''Dear, you know I would never steal; I was just... admiring them for a while.''

Shaking your head, you closed the door and left him alone with his weird, but attractive mind. You could always buy a new pair.

And you will be asking him about the scene you witnessed, after your giggling subsided.

And he would have a perfectly logical explanation for the scene. (The art of psychology) -----

Where chaos meets Luke's short-term memory

Even though Luke Pearce was the best detective out there, he was still human. And forgetting something was human after all.

Being a chaotic storm, it was a miracle he rarely forgot his keys. Until now, it happened only once!

But for fear he did, you kept a spare key, and gave a copy to Rosa the other NXX boys. On the off chance it would happen, at 5 in the morning. You would not handle that.

Luckily for Marius (let's be honest, he will be the only one awake to help), that was not what he forgot.

But unlucky for you, you were on the receiving end of a major chaos storm meets memory.

Luke actually forgot to turn off the heat, in your apartment. Why would he even turn it on? We will never know. It was early spring, a sunny 16 *C (61 *F) outside.

But when you got home, after a day of running around in the city, leaving you warm and sweaty, the warmth at your place flew at you like a heatwave.

Seeing it was now a high 20 *C (69*F, stop laughing Marius) You could only sprint to all the doors and windows, opening them up all the way in rapid speed.

Even though it was still early spring, you sat in your living room wearing the thinnest summer dress you could find.

Once you confronted Luke, he showed up at your door within an hour, carrying the latest air-conditioning equipment. Along with your favourite snacks, a bouquet of flowers and a whole lot of hugs, kisses and apologies.

You forgave him, on the condition he would never touch your thermostat ever again. -----

I know, these hc’s were slightly (if not very) OOC, Artem would never lose anything. But, I had too much fun with it. And be honest, Vyn would definitely do that. A dirty mind is a joy forever, right?

See you at the next drabble!

Love, Hann ❤

[buckyhoney-library]

nsfw alphabet, b.b

A/N: so sorry it took so long! hope you enjoy! sebastians & nomad!steve should be out sometime this week(end)!

reblogs/likes/feedback are greatly appreciated & highly encouraged

However, do NOT repost/steal ANY of my fics on my blog!

Warnings: 18+, language, smutty thoughts, sorry for any missed typos!

chris evans nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

bucky takes aftercare so seriously! he makes sure that you have everything that you need and you're taken care of first. showering you in praises, holding you close, getting you water or snacks- he is at your beck and call.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part on themselves and on their partner)

thighs. thighs. thighs. He loves laying between them with his head resting on your stomach. His fingers tracing patterns on your skin- peppering kisses on the inside. bucky's arms are hooked around them while he is giving you head, rubbing small circles on the outside.

bucky has grown to love his vibranium arm, because of how much you love it. he has changed arm usage from a weapon to a useful tool in every situation. being able to cool it and playing with temperatures, pinning you down- making sure you go nowhere- or even being able to cause it to vibrate.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

he loves to paint with his cum. as much as he LOVES to cum inside you and make you hold it- there is something so pretty with his cum plastered on your back or on your tummy. "you look so pretty with my cum on your thighs," bucky is especially fond of watching it drip down your breasts or leak down your thighs. bucky just stares in awe of how it glistens against your skin.

D = Dirty Secret (What do they secretly want)

he wants you to praise him. bucky lives off of praise and when you whimper how good he's making you feel or how he's such a good boy? it throws him over the edge, encouraging him to go faster and harder. he'll never ask for them, but when you start hyping him up, fuck he enters a state of nirvana.

E = Experience (Do they know what they are doing?)

1940's bucky as we all know was very experienced but after eighty years of nothing? he needs a little help regaining his confidence, but man will he practice and have no problems asking for help. he'd be a little embarrassed of cumming early or not being able to satisfy like he used too, but bucky watches porn and experiments like no tomorrow, catching up on all the new toys/techniques/positions etc.

F = Favorite Position (Self-explanatory)

bucky's favorite position would be cowgirl or where you're laying on your side, so he could hold you. cowgirl because he gets the perfect view of your body and everything about it.

with an honorable mention of missionary- but missionary with your legs in the air spread for all can see. if he's feeling a little spicy, he'll press on your lower abdomen, adding extra pressure.

G = Goofy (Are they serious during sex or goofy

BOTH. There is a time and a place for serious, rough, passionate sex (and boy does he enjoy that), but for the most part, Bucky wants you to feel good and he wants to learn- which means there will be some mishaps and failed moments, but he loves those moments just the same.

H = Hair (Are they well-groomed?)

he is well kept and clean. bucky isn't hairless, but he does make sure that everything is trimmed up and clean.

J = Jack Off (Do they masturbate?)

bucky only does when you're away or he's gone for a mission. when you're home, he has no problem telling you he's in the mood. when he does masturbate, it is to your pictures/videos you've sent or through facetime/phone calls. he doesn't watch porn unless that is the only option or he is looking for new things to try with you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

oh boy does he have loads of kinks! bucky loves praise (receiving or giving)! during the more passionate and rough sessions, he is into degrading (but not too crazy) innocence kink. if you have met after his second sexual awakening? god, how he loves to ruin you. he loves the idea that he gets to teach you and that you're at his mercy. ice play/warming (idk what the word is) he loves when you call him sarg does this man have a filthy sarcastic mouth. dirty remarks of comments that leave his mouth- god, it's enough to you off in seconds.

L = Location (Favorite place to do it)

he is a traditional man at heart, so he loves the bedroom. bucky gets to be as loud as chooses and go as long as he wants without the fear of someone walking in or interrupting.

M = Motivation (What turns them on or gets them going?)

leggings. jeans. short shorts- anything that enhances your thighs or when you shoot back firey/witty comments matching his energy. The more traditional turn on's as well, suggestive comments, touching his chest letting it fall to his belt, lingering kisses on his lips and neck. "it's like you're begging me to fuck you silly,"

N = No (Something they will not do. Turnoffs.)

nothing with bodily fluids (other than saliva or cum) & i don't think he'd be fond of being too open in public- he's a private guy, but he doesn't mind the simple pda and light touches.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skills, etc.)

okay let me tell you- bucky loves getting head. your lips make him cum faster than anything else. "open wide, darling" he loves the ability to do it virtually anywhere (privately of course) and the quick clean up-but he mostly loves watching you take his length completely, hitting the back of your throat. "fuck, such a good girl taking all of me," hearing you moan into him and gag makes him go FERAL. bucky isn't a head pusher, but he does grip your hair.

bucky does love going down on you too. his cock throbs at the sight of your legs shaking and squirming. the sounds you make encourage him more, but he doesn't stop when you cum- he licks up every last drop of you. "im not stopping, so i'd stop moving if i were you," he'll occasionally pop his head up to make sure that he's doing everything right and you're enjoying yourself- the last thing he wants is for you to fake it (which only happened when he first re-entered the dating world)

P = Pace (Are they fast or rough? Or slow and sensual?)

there is a time and place for everything. bucky loves sensual sex because he feels the most connected to you and he has been without physical/emotional connection for so long that it's become a must. it is also where he feels the most control and the best, when he can be 100% vulnerable- something never thought he could do.

fast and rough is for those needy moments where he can't get his hands off of you- complete feral mode. when you've been teasing him relentlessly and he needs to remind you who's in charge. those nights are when the kinkiest of kinks come to play.

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than regular sex)

quickies are reserved for dinner parties, group outings, etc. where you look too good and he can't keep his hands off of you. "i wanna see if you taste as good as you look". quickies usually consist of fast rough sex that leaves bruises or marks. they also mainly consist of giving/receiving head.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

oh does he! he has almost ninety years of sex trends/toys/etc to catch up on. it will be the middle of the night and you'd be fast asleep only to be woken up by him shaking your arm and going "baby, we have to try this!"

bucky isn't a risk-taker in the sense of public and potentially getting caught, he is a risk-taker in the sense that he is willing to try anything once.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

bub is a super-soldier. his stamina outlasts yours by HOURS. you'd be panting and lying sideways and bucky would be ready for the next round and you'd have to tap out. he would chuckle and hold you, teasing you about how you can't last. "can't handle this cock? i thought you said you could go all night?"

T = Toys (Do they own or use toys on themselves or partners?)

bucky has a whole drawer dedicated to the greatest quality toys. "only the best for you, dollface." he loves seeing how far he can push you with the vibrators. tying the vibrator to your clit and watching you be sent over the moon. bucky wouldn't be too crazy about using toys on himself, but he isn't opposed to being handcuffed (or pegged)

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

BIGGEST TEASE in the galaxy. Touching you, grazing your heat, kissing your neck, rubbing the inside of your thigh, (stuffing a vibrator inside you while you're on the phone), or whispering dirty things in your ear- but God forbid if you tease him back. there will be hell to pay if you try teasing him back. "you better rethink your next move, darling," "i think you forgot who's allowed to tease who."

V = Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

bucky is pretty quiet, with the exceptions of grunts and whimpers. His mouth is filthy and he dirty talks like there is no tomorrow! he is also a cocky little shit and sarcastic- which doesn't stop in the bedroom. "your cunt feel so good around me," "open your eyes, i want you to watch as i ruin you" "look at you, you're soaked for me"

W = Wildcard (Random headcanon for your character)

cockwarming. babe lives for cockwarming. early morning lazy sex, but too lazy to pull out of you. you'd be laying on your side with your leg over his, with his cock buried inside of you. "no, honey, just stay" he would mumble with his head resting in the cook of your neck, placing small kisses on your neck, but falling back asleep.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

baby, that serum did wonders. bucky is packing that seven to eighter. his cock would poke through your tummy and he won't stop talking about it for weeks.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

HIGH. VERY HIGH. he is ready whenever and wherever the time calls.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

bucky's stamina is so high that he probably is starving. he would perform aftercare for you, but once you'd have cared for- he is standing naked in the kitchen making a sandwich.

[fandom-blackhole]

Hi, are you still taking AU requests, and if so: can I get a 77 & a 94 with Agent Whiskey?

I am ALWAYS down to take more of the AU/Tropes! In fact, I should really reblog that post again because I'm in a bit of a writing stump...

Also, this gives me a chance to really test out my Agent Whiskey writing skills, and I wrote this as a little intro into the world I have planned out for a Whiskey fic

77. In Vino Veritas (I am ashamed that I had to google this...)

94. Hair Brushing/Braiding

Send me an AU or 2??

October. It was already October, and  you were only a few weeks shy of having been with the Statesmen for an entire year. It seemed like yesterday that you were recruited. You could still see the glinting eyes of Champ as he asked you to join his rank of agents. You'd thought he was mad at first, playing along just for curiosities' sake, but one thing lead to another, and for all the coincidences out there you joined the Statesmen and started working on October 31st, Halloween day. Which was a bit laughable if you considered your line of work heavily involving human direction, being a forensic pathologist and all.

A year... you still couldn't really wrap your head around it. But then again, you were still getting used to this job, after all it seemed like the places was was made to keep you on your toes at all times.

"Cherry, darling, you have got to stop staring at you computer like that. Gonna strain those pretty eyes of yours if you keep that up," speaking of keeping you on your toes, you jumped slightly and your eyes jumped from you computer's digital calendar up to meet those of your favorite, and least favorite, fellow agent.

"Whiskey," you sighed out, "Please tell me your here for something more than just to pester me. I do have work to do."

Whiskey only grinned, and pulled out the chair in front of your little desk before sitting down and leaning back into the chair.

"Now, I would never do something like that to you, darling! I just wanted to come check in on you, make sure you're not stressing yourself over your work."

You sigh harder, and run your fingers over your temples, before looking up giving the man across from you, whose eyes were sparkling with playfullness but sincerity, and you couldn't help but shoot a small smile back at him. "I am fine Agent Whiskey, and I appreciate the concern, but I do have quite a bit to do."

"Oh come on, its almost lunch, let me take you somewhere to get something, on me."

He was smirking now, and you were just shaking your head softly. "No, thank you for the offer, but I did pack a lunch, and I plan to eat right here so I can get through the paperwork that has been piling up."

"Please darling?"

You only shook your head again, and sent him a look of, "this is not a fight you're gonna win", and Whiskey sighed before slapping both legs with his hands and standing up, "Well, I guess I won't argue with you this time, but the offer stands whenever you want to take it."

And with that he left you alone in you office as you sigh and relax back into your chair, a soft pang of regret echoing through your chest before you turned back to you computer, this time to actually get work done.

---

He stayed away from your office for a few days. Something that surprised you a bit considering how much he loved to show up and distract you while he wasn't away on a mission. You didn't hate Whiskey, not at all. In fact, you found yourself constantly fighting a loosing battle with how much you were falling for his charms and teasing. He was a good man, and you new that, but it didn't change the fact that he was a serial flirt, and he probably only came to you for how you flustered and reacted to his advances.

When he walked into your office this time, all swagger and shiny white teeth, you had been gathering your things to head down to your lab, nearly running into his chest as you opened your office door.

"Now, Cherry, had I known you were so eager to jump into my arms, I might have come by sooner."

As always, you sighed and felt hear creep onto your face, before taking a step back and clearing your throat, "Agent Whiskey, please, I have to get to my lab, I have work to do."

He just stood there, smirk plastered on his face, before he held his arm out, and said, "Well then, let me have the honor of escorting the pretty lady?"

You just rolled your eyes and shouldered past him. "Agen-"

"Darling, we both know you can just call me Whiskey, you don't have to be all proper with the agent each time."

Shaking your head you started walking down the hall, listening as his booted footsteps followed after you with a slump of your shoulders. "Agent Whiskey, don't you have work you need to be doing, instead of following me down hallways?"

He only chuckled in response, stopping next to you as you stopped in front of your lab's entrance. "Ok ok, i know when I'm unwanted, I just wanted to make sure you knew about the yearly Halloween party, and make sure you're going this year."

You knew about the party. It was one of the few things the Statesmen did together as a way to let loose and hang out with their friends and fellow agents. You'd been invited to come the year before, but considering you went even officially apart of the organization yet, and you knew no one but Champ, you had not gone to the party. And in all honestly, you were planning on doing the same this year. You still felt to new to really enjoy partying with people you barely knew, having only a few people you did actually converse with, and you meant to tell exactly that to Whiskey, but the second you made eye contact you were a goner. He was looking at you with some sense of eager hope, one that made you ache with guilt for even think about telling the man no. Damn those puppy eyes.

"I....I guess I hadn't really thought about it until now. I guess I could show up for a little while."

The grin that spread across Whiskey's face, highlighting his singular dimple in one cheek had you fluttering under his apparent happiness. "Wonderful! I cant wait to see you there, darling. Find me and ill buy you a few rounds of drinks!"

Still grinning he took a step back, before grinning out, "and don't forget to dress up, it is a Halloween party after all."

And with a wink, he turned and left you cursing your inability to withstand his charms as you shakily pulled yourself into your lab.

---

You shouldn't have agreed to this. You felt silly, and standing outside the party venue you found yourself repeatedly pulling on stupid black gloves that went with your "mad scientist" costume. This is ridiculous, you should just turn and leave and just sit on your couch and watch Stephen King movies all night as you eat far to many fun size candies.

But you were already here, you were already wearing this joke of a costume with black smudges painted across your face as proof of a failed experiment, so you just sighed and yanked on the labcoat dress before taking a deep breath and walking into the party.

Your arrival wasn't late, but you certainly weren't early either. The party had already been in the swing of things for a little while as Purple People Eater rang out across the venue. It was obvious that a few of your fellow agents had already been going after the drinks as they partied, and you couldn't help but cringe a bit at the sight of so many people moving about.

You were debating over staying or leaving again when you heard a loud, but very familiar laugh echo from your right. Turning your head, you had to bite your lip to stop from laughing as you seen Whiskey saddle up beside you. You thought he'd been the living embodiment of a cowboy before, but now, there was no doubt about it. Whiskey had really played into the stereotype, doning a pair of chaps with fringe along the sides, a lasso loosely wrapped around the shoulder of his pearl snap button down shirt, a vest matching his chaps fringe and all, and of course his stetson and his usual cowboy boots now paired with spurs for good measure.

"You, darling, really look every part of a beautiful mad scientist, and id love to be put on the mission to take you down," he finished with a wink, and this time you could help the small giggle that escaped you.

"Please, I didn't think you could look anymore like a cowboy, yet here you are looking like you step out of an old western! Where have you parked the horse? Out back?"

Whiskey chuckled, smirk spreading as you teased him, and his eyes lighting up as he leaded down and whispered, "No horse, but you know what they say, save a horse, ride a cowboy."

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed, looking around the room before you turned back to Whiskey and saying, "I remember you promising me some drinks?"

Grinning, Whiskey motioned for you to walk first as he followed behind to the closest bar. If you were being honest with yourself, you could feel your hands shaking with nerves. You'd never really teased Whiskey back like that before, and while you had enjoyed it, and could tell he had liked it as well, you couldn't shake the nerves that seemed to be following you, the nerves that always followed you when Whiskey was near.

You downed the first drink Whiskey had gotten you, even as he chuckled in surprise before ordering you a second as he only sipped on his own iced whiskey in his hand. The two of you talked, well Whiskey mainly talked, telling stories about past missions and what heroing things he's done, though some seemed a little far fetched to believe no matter how much he insisted upon them. You laughed, and teased him a few times, and as time ticked on and you finished more and more drinks, you found yourself enjoying the party and happy that you actually came.

Then, as you started swaying a bit back and forth from the amount of alcohol you had consumed, Whiskey leaned forward and said, "I think its time I get you home. I think you've have enough fun for one night, darling."

You wanted to put up a fight, you were having fun and going home meant that your time with Whiskey would end, that all this false confidence you had gotten from your liquid courage would fade and you'd be back to just flustering at his teasing words as he followed you down the halls or sat in your small office, and you didn't want that.....you were having fun...you were having fun with the man you liked... a lot...."

Looking up, Whiskey was staring at you, deep pools of brown swirling as he took in your face, which only confused you, was there something on your face? But then Whiskey smiled softly at you, and said, "Come on, I'll drive you home," and you could only melt at his soft words and expression as he guided you out of the party and towards his vehicle.

The second you were seated, you felt your eyes dropping, the weight of the day paired with the alcohol finally making you sleepy, making you slur your words as Whiskey asked for you address, but you eventually got it out as you leaned against his side.

You fell asleep on the trip to your home, only waking as Whiskey nudged you and helped you walked to your home. He even took your keys, opening the home for you as you stumbled inside, not even bothering with changing clothes as you walked to your bedroom and collapsed onto your bed.

"I know you're tired, darling, but you need to shange into something more comfortable, or at least get these boots off, Cherry."

You just whined and rolled onto your back, lifting your leg trying fruitlessly to yank the boot off, before you heard Whiskey chuckle and walk over to help. Gently, you unzipped and pulled off your boots one at a time, making sure to lay your legs back onto your bed softly. He stood there for a few seconds looking over you, before asking, "Anything else you need?"

It took you a few minutes, but in your intoxicated state, all you could think about was how ratty your hair must look, and how you didn't want to deal with it in the morning, so with puppy eyes and a slight piut on your lip, you asked, "Brush my hair for me?"

Whiskey startled, not expecting that to be your answer, but he smiled and nodded, "Of course."

Gently, he sat you up on the bed, before sitting behind you with the brush in hand. "Tell me if I brush to harshly, ok darling?"

You just nod, and sigh when you feel the first knots coming free from your hair. Whiskey was so gentle when brushing your hair, treating you like you'd break if he applied too much force, and after each brush stroke, he let his fingers slide through the untangled locks of hair, occasionally brushing against skin and making you shiver. By the time hed finished, you'd fallen asleep from the soothing movements.

---

The next morning you woke up to a glass of water and some aspirin on your bedside table with a note from Whiskey that just said, thanks for coming last night and little drawing of a cherry, and no memory past Whiskey mentioning something about an electronic bull from hell the rest of the night and getting home a blur with only a soft voice and white teeth.

While when Whiskey woke, all he could think about was your words you had not meant to say aloud,, right before you both left the party, "you were having fun with the man you liked... a lot...."

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[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

 You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

 “Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

 You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

 Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

 “Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

 Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

 “Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

 Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

 “Congratulations, your graces.”

 The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

 Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

 The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

 Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

 Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

 The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

 “The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

 You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

 While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

 You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

 The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

 You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

 Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

 “Your grace?”

 You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

 “Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

 “Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

 You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

 “Are you all right, dear?”

 You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

 “Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

 “You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

 “Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

 You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

 To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

 You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

 By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

 You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

 It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

 You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

 The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

 Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

 “Jemilla?”

 You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

 “Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

 Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

 “Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

 You nodded.

 “How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

 “Is that so?”

 “Why yes. Look.”

 He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

 “How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

 He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

 “My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

 Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

 “I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

 Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

 “Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

 Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

 “It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

 As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

 “Did you call me a coward?”

 You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

 You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

 “All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

 You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

 Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

 A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

 “Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

 “Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

 Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

 “As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

 Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

 You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

 “My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

 You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

 It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

 In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

 Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

 “You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

 You shook your head slightly.

 “Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

 You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

 “Quite fevered,” you whispered.

 Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

 “Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

 Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

 “Already hiding from your husband?”

 You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

 “Tessa.”

 You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

 “Your grace,” she said.

 Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

 “I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

 You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

 “We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

 “Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

 You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

 “Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

 You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

 “So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

 You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

 “Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

 “Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

 “And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

 It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

 “And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

 “Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

 You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

 “Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

 You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

 Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

 “Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

 “We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

 “You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

 You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

 “Are we, your grace?”

 Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

 “I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

 Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

 “Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

 “Stare into my eyes.”

 You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

 “If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

 The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

 By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

 You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

 “One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

 “Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

 “No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

 You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

 He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

 “After you, your grace.”

 You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

 “Welcome, your graces.”

 You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

 “I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

 One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

 “Your room, your grace.”

 “Thank you. what is your name?”

 She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

 “Thank you, Ingrid.”

 She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

 “Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

 You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

 Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

 When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

 “Hello there.”

 The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

 “Your grace, is something the matter?”

 You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

 The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

 “Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver  a message?”

 “No! No. Thank you.”

 You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

 You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

 After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

 You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

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

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

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

TagList:

@shar74nettt @soapjay @ashanti-notthesinger @caramara3 @caplover22​@blackpinup22 @areubeingserved @your-chaotic-neutral  @zejess93 @reignandrain @ovohanna24 @ramp-it-up  @littlepreciousangel @msblkfire84 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @my-rosegold-soul @sadthotsonlylove​ @arination99 @wondersofdreaming @veganvampre @ohsoverykeri @mery-be 

[redwinterroses]

How much would I have to pay you for you to continue on that train of thought? /hj

asdfghjkl fine. XD

But I'm putting it under the cut because it's gonna be long and it's not like anyone's going to want to reblog this so that shouldn't annoy anyone lol

Rosarian Celebrations

Spring Rains: when the first warm rains of spring arrive, the next day is a festival. If school is still in session, they get the day off, people close most businesses unless they're selling food or other party supplies, and the entire kingdom has a party. Farming villages get REALLY into it and everyone breaks out the last of the winter cider and gets very drunk. Only prissy-pants wear shoes -- go barefoot in that fresh (freezing, it's still cold lol) mud. Many places set up mud-slicks, which are smoothed tracks down slopes that are absolute muddy messes and everyone goes sliding. City celebrations tend to be a little more structured, but there's still a tradition of getting a bit of mud smudged on your cheeks to show you're celebrating, and while few people really go barefoot, there's a special sort of disposable cloth shoe that people will wear that they paint up with all sorts of fun designs. Kids love doing these for their whole families, like Christmas cookies or Easter eggs. If it rains all through the festival, it's considered good luck for the coming spring. (Note; down through the centuries, the name of this festival probably gets corrupted by people saying it fast and becomes known as Springrens.)

Summer's Crest: the longest day of the year is a festival in many countries, and the high meadows of Rosarian are no exception. It's a typical summer festival with outdoor games and competitions of strength and traveling plays and music and such, but at exactly noon the local magistrate or lord will place the first piece of wood on what will become the night's bonfire. Through the rest of the day, everyone contributes a log or a branch or even just a twig -- whatever they can afford or are able to carry -- but every piece of wood is also accompanied by a flower, tied with a bit of silk thread. (And it has to be silk. If you use cotton people judge you.) At midnight exactly, the bonfire is lit, and people spend the rest of the night roasting things over the flames and dancing around it and such. No one is allowed to add any more fuel, but it's also traditional not to go to bed until it goes out (similar to us staying up until midnight to welcome in the new year).

Harvestide: bringing in the crops is always a cause for celebration, long nights, and finally getting a rest after the flurry of work to get everything harvested. Candymaking is a big part of this festival, probably dating back to people preserving fruit and such for the winter. These days though, it's more for fun and less for making food last longer. If it hasn't snowed yet, they bring down snow from the peaks and make syrup candies on big sheets of snow. Caramelized nuts are always popular, and dried fruit with honey is an easy and relatively inexpensive one that even poorer households can manage. (Honey is also a huge export of Rosarian, and bees are incredibly important to their agriculture). This is also the time of year when rose petals are harvested and dried, after which they're used mainly in teas. Rose oil is also extracted, and is one of the more expensive exports from Rosarian.

First Snow: Much like Spring Rains/Springrens, First Snow changes its date and may actually take place before Harvestide, though if that happens it's generally a bad sign and heralds a hard winter to come. It's a smaller festival and each village tends to have its own regional way of celebrating. Snow runs are popular, especially in cities, where people go on barefoot midnight runs through the snow en-mass. This trends toward the younger population that hasn't yet decided running barefoot through city streets is not the best or safest idea, but it's still pretty common. Universities have recurring problems when students decide that if shoes are optional, maybe other clothes should be too. XD One constant, however, is snow-cream: a kind of ice cream made with snow, sugar, vanilla, and cream (and sometimes egg). Venders will set up on city street corners and sell it by the scoop, but just about everyone has childhood memories of setting out clean pans for weeks in hopes of snow, and then collecting it and making tiny little portions of snow cream for themselves and their siblings.

Birthdays: birthdays are celebrated with a bouquet of the person's favorite flowers, fruit pies, and special candles shipped in from Pixandria, which are lit and left to burn down all night long. Hidden in the wax is a trinket of some kind that will be revealed as it melts away -- usually a small piece of copper jewelry or a wrapped honey candy, but can also be a fortune written on a strip of silk.

Weddings: weddings and funerals are the only appropriate time to use roses as decoration, and brides traditionally wear pink or yellow gowns dyed with roses. Weddings take place on hilltops, either open to the sky or in small pavilions built to purpose, and are traditionally very long ceremonies where every relative is given the chance to make a speech and give advice and well-wishes. It's also traditional for the couple to be barefoot during the ceremony, and if you're especially wealthy you might provide your guests with chairs -- otherwise, they sit in the grass or stand the whole time. For reasons you can probably imagine, eloping is common, though considered Very Scandalous lol.

Funerals: funerals are the other time for roses, but in this case only white and true-red roses are acceptable, and they are only used to adorn the coffin and the crypt. Rosarians are buried in the caves beneath their mountains, far deeper than the storage caves that hold winter stores, and there are vast networks of catacombs that can sometimes connect distant cities if you can find your way through them. Funerals are completely silent during the ceremony, save for one member of the family who is chosen to say a final blessing over the deceased and read out their will, if there is one. Afterward, there's a period of mourning called "the wilting" (as in "she's in wilting" or "when he's done with the wilting he'll get around to that") during which the bereaved wear either white or red and traditionally don't eat meat (though that's an older custom that isn't strictly followed by many, other than not serving it during the funeral meal.)

_________

Rosarian Customs

Rulers: The crown of Rosarian is passed matrilineally, and goes to the eldest heir regardless of gender. The second in succession (either a sibling or a cousin from the mother's side) is usually trained as either an ambassador to the other empires or as a military leader, depending on which they're more suited for. If a ruler doesn't have any children, the crown goes to the next closest relative on their mother's side who isn't already the heir to their own family title. If an heir is young enough, they're usually adopted into the royal household and raised with the schooling and training of a natural-born heir.

Jobs: besides the usual farmers/crop-growers and livestock keepers (particularly sheep/goats, rabbits, and bees), a common Rosarian job is that of "pickers" -- people who spend their non-winter months on the high slopes, collecting flowers in various ways. Among pickers are a few subsets -- "seedmen" who purely harvest seeds for planting elsewhere, "pressers" who usually travel in teams with wagons carrying large flower presses and bring back dried and pressed flowers (some of them also specialize in pressing various oils), and "rooters" who bring back full plants, roots and all. They tend to live nomadic lifestyles during these months, and while it can be a bit hardscrabble, it's romanticized very much (similar to how shepherds are seen in medieval literature/art.)

Architecture: Rosarian is a land in which wood isn't exactly scarce, but it can be quite expensive and has to come from special farms or be shipped up to the meadows. So most city buildings and places of business tend to be made of stone -- however, in villages (where perhaps they don't have the time, resources, or skills to quarry) sod houses are not uncommon, and can result in incredibly picturesque townships where the roofs are all gardens and the whole place is heady with the smell of flowers and the buzzing of bees. Low, sturdy builds are the most common (and are useful during the long, harsh winters)

Religion: Rosarians worship a single nameless god who is portrayed as a rose plant: flower, vine, thorn, and root. Those four elements are considered to mean "all of everything" so if you swear something you might swear "by my flower, vine, thorn, and root" and the phrase comes up in weddings and adoptions especially. Places of worship tend to be tall arbors with climbing rose vines, and usually have a gaggle of orphans or street kids around who are hired as caretakers for the vines and given the task of climbing up in the trellises and arches to pluck dead leaves, prune and train vines, and get rid of pests. Children are considered very important in Rosarian religion and are often referred to as "pips" or "seedlings" or even "sprouts" ("sprout" is an affectionate name for kids, like how English-speakers might say "peanut") in holy texts, and one of the priests' highest responsibilities is to make sure that there isn't a child in the community who goes without whatever they need to live and thrive, whether that be food, schooling, clothes, or even an apprenticeship to a suitable job. Priests are usually also very skilled gardeners, and in many cities the biggest apiaries are run by the church.

Pastimes: Rosarians spend most of their winter months hunkered down inside or exploring the caverns beneath their meadows. This leads to an explosion of recreational pursuits in the winter months, and both painting and fabric arts are very popular (and accessible, as everyone has access to plenty of flowers during the rest of the year with which to make dyes.) Stringed instruments are few and far between, but wind instruments -- especially flutes and a small type of bagpipe -- are common, and there's a rich cultural library of vocal music, including hundreds of folk and fairy tales set to verse. During the spring, summer, and early autumn, most people don't have time for relaxation, but the hills often echo with the music of pickers, who communicate back and forth with each other through a musical language that can be heard long-distance across the meadows.

________

...so that's a start anyway. I might have to recycle this for a fantasy novel or a DnD campaign or something someday, lol. I just spent waaaay too long making all this up to never do anything with it.

Anyway, anon, I hope you enjoyed. ;)

[fursasaida]

re: music. please do tell

(for everyone else: this is about my commenting in some tags that the idea that music is "how we decorate time" vs architecture decorating space, or music as something that is pure time or happens purely in time, is bullshit)

there are two ways to look at this. one is practical (and snotty) and one is theoretical.

practical: the production of music depends at least as much on the manipulation of space as it does the manipulation of time (rhythm, pacing, etc). your larynx and vocal chords, string instruments, wind instruments, drums all depend on resonance chambers and distances (length of the string, pipe, vocal cord, etc; dimensions of the drum, shape you make with your mouth, etc). that musical sound of the tinkling brook has to do with the volume of water, size of the stones, length of the drops, etc. this is because music is sound, sound requires vibration, vibration has physical properties that vary with various attributes of extension that are undeniably spatial. even digitally recorded and manipulated music relies heavily on tools for simulating spatial conditions of production--different kinds of reverb, for example. not to mention: you can hear any of it because of your god damn ear, which is another kind of resonance chamber. not to mention: how could anybody make music without any space to move in. even slapping your knee requires fucking up and down. AND HAVE WE CONSIDERED ACOUSTICS.

theoretical: ok ok so we don't have to take this so literally. it can be kind of poetic--or, as in some philosophy etc., illustrative/theoretical. my charge here is that treating music as "pure time" is bad poetics and does not help us explain anything theoretically either. theoretically: space and time aren't separate. i do not blame some random twitter user for not getting this. i do blame somebody like henri cursed-be-his-name bergson. just because it can be useful for certain purposes to think of them separately (like, say, graphing something's speed) does not make it valuable to talk about a pursuit like music in only one dimension or the other. like, the cubists were inspired by bergson; they show you bodies from more than one angle because they're trying to give a sense of duration--the ways you would see it at multiple moments as you move. this is supposed to be full of time instead of static and timeless like perspective. this is also horseshit. there is nothing less spatial about this! it has to do with the fact that the body you're looking at looks different from different angles, i.e. it has shape and directions! perspectival painting shows you actions and processes all the time! arguably it is more timeless to collapse multiple perspectives and moments into a single image! i'm not anti-cubism particularly, it's fine, i'm just saying, like: did anyone think this through actually.

similarly, if you want to use music to talk about the way time passes, how it's always going but does seem to have a present-duration--the present moment is not knife-edge thin--you can use literally any process that happens at a perceptible speed to do this. and you do not need to ignore that whatever it is also has spatial qualities. how would you even perceive time without motion or change in space? music is supposed to be one way. but i'm sorry! a) for practical reasons it simply is not without such motion/change (not even as a digital recording), and b) since time and space manifestly are united in perception, what help is it to try to separate them if you are a phenomenologist (bergson) rather than a (classical) physicist or engineer? henri what the fuck. this has always struck me as mainly a way to completely fail to appreciate music while also being obtuse about time. to speak of music as time only, no space, means divorcing it from the physical process of its production. this means it requires believing in absolute time--something that would pass and would happen even without anything to happen in it. which is just as wild as absolute space (space with a priori locations that would exist whether there was any matter to fill it or not). not even isaac newton, who invented both of them, thought this was something you could perceive or measure empirically. absolute space and time was to him a purely theological-mathematical idea, something that had to exist for the sake of certain premises but could never be experienced as such. your measurements will always be relative, not absolute. so absolute space and time are both bad for theorizing how anything affects us or is experienced--you know, like phenomenology? also fwiw the fact that absolute time can't capture the sensation of duration is still, like, a big problem in physics.

going back to that reblog where i explained that not everybody has always even had the concept of "space" like we do now, there is no empirical reason to believe absolute time or space exists. duration and extension are properties of physical processes (at varying levels of materiality). and many of those physical processes are not better explained but rather impoverished by trying to make them "happen in space and time" rather than things that give rise to spaces and timings. this is why the idea of music as pure time or purely in time leads to such absurd questions as "how can you slap your knee without up and down." it's stupid! it's snotty! but that's because the premise is bonkers!

so. whether theoretically or poetically, music is much more suited to discussion in terms of place. places have or are both space and time. in fact it is to some degree wrong to talk about place as "space and time" at all; rather we get the two separate concepts more by extrapolating from place, in which they are so fundamentally unified that not even a word like "spacetime" really captures it. that is partly what makes place difficult to theorize: places are too much like bodies, or like people, or like communities; you can't pull them apart into axes like "space" vs "time" and not lose what it is you're trying to theorize. (you can, e.g., track and analyze traffic patterns quite well this way, and that can be worth doing! but does that capture the place? does it explain what a place is? probably not. it's a different purpose.)

why were european cathedrals designed to have great acoustics? because those were places for the glorification of ~the divine, which was to be accomplished through both light and sound; both its spatial form (extension, hardness, size) and its nature as a ritual site (repetition, endurance); these qualities or capacities could not be separated. did the music not "decorate" the place just as much as the paintings, sculptures, architecture, stained glass? of course it did. we've all seen videos of somebody stopping in an archway or a big bathroom or whatever and singing; the place is further beautified by that because it is an interaction with the place, its spatiality, its acoustics, its textures, the way it looks, the fact that it invited the singer to sing--whether congruously (maybe a church) or incongruously (the aforementioned bathroom). just like your neighborhood has a distinct soundscape; just like a city has refrains. just like i remember stopping dead in the middle of the old city of damascus because three different calls to prayer had, intentionally or otherwise, overlapped to form a perfect major triad for a moment. i will remember that forever. and i will remember where i was when it happened too. (souq al hamidiyya.) that is part of the place. it happened because of the number of mosques and where they were located. and similarly what kind of sounds, or what kind of music, happens in which places has to do with the normative character of places. some sounds, some musics, "belong" some places and not others, because some actions are held to be appropriate there or not, or because they are or are not held to be characteristic. i'm not saying that's a good thing in itself. it's just the way it is. (and there are some places whose function is specifically to be open to all kinds of music, of course.) but i'm saying it leads to much more interesting questions with much more explanatory possibility. for example we could ask about characteristic rhythms or speeds of sounds in different places and what that means. or look at conflicts over what sounds "belong" or don't and to what degree that is justified in terms of time (time of day, pace of life, epochal ideas like what is or isn't "modern," etc).

tl; dr: explain to me the concept of an echo (which we use as a metaphor for having a strong experience of time quite a lot) using time and no space. explain to me how putting it in terms of time alone, even if you could, captures something that including space, or better, a simple narrative set in a place, does not. now explain to me why you would want to do either of those things.

[astrodances]

Scroldie Weekend 2020: Day 3 - Klondike

Happy Klondike Day!

Woohoo Woo-oo!

I’m so, so happy to finally get to share this - my take on the Blackjack Ballroom, Goldie’s dancing saloon in Dawson, made using The Sims 4 (on PS4)! (Featuring Sims versions of Scrooge and Goldie)

This has been a year in the making and has been quite the journey - I started making this during last year’s Scroldie Week (as a reference for one of the chapters of my story, Always the Lady In My Life - I was just picturing it so perfectly in my mind, I had to make it). Besides my story, its design + layout was mainly influenced by Rosa’s Klondike-based comics, some of Barks’ paintings (namely, “The Goose Egg Nugget” - see the 2nd pic in the photoset above - and “Nobody’s Spending Fool”), DT87′s “Back to the Klondike” episode, and some scenes from @iamthehousethatfloats​ Fortune Favors the Gold (and I was super honored when she and @koizumi-marichan​ used my Sims Blackjack design for inspiration in a chapter after I had shared some preliminary photos 💜).

I finished the building last July, but I may or may not have gotten sidetracked with learning how to legit play poker and blackjack in another PS4 game before sharing this. 😅 (Though that game also has a ballroom with a stage that definitely gives me Scroldie feels.) At some point, I also found out that PS4 Sims players would be able to upload to the gallery soon to share their creations, and then this year, just recently, they came out with The Sims 4 Eco Lifestyle, which includes auroras as a feature, so I had to wait to include that in these photos, too. (They’re so pretty aaaah!)

Photo descriptions for above, split into “rows”:

Exterior of the Blackjack on a snowy winter’s night (totally from Scrooge’s perspective)

a) Recreation of Barks’ “The Goose Egg Nugget” (minus everyone else but Scroldie XD) b) Recreation of that infamous scene from Rosa’s “The Prisoner of White Agony Creek” (+ House’s retelling of it ;))

Scrooge and Goldie dancing together in Sims versions of their formal outfits in DT17′s “The Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains!” (and them dancing in those outfits is based more on that episode’s museum scene, but I’m just having it here at the Klondike shh)

a) Goldie looking out from her dressing room window towards... b) ...the trail to White Agony Creek, hoping that her letter reaches its destination (this row inspired by the end of Rosa’s “Hearts of the Yukon”)

Goldie giving Scrooge a big ol’ kiss by the fire, just because ;)

a) A beautiful aurora over the Blackjack b) Goldie swinging along onstage, singing about gold nuggets (based on DT87′s “Back to the Klondike”)

The beginnings of a gorgeous sunrise over the Blackjack, leading the way to White Agony Valley... 😌

Up next, I plan to make a certain little cabin... 😏

I’ll include the Gallery link to this lot in a reblog of this post, for any Simmers out there who want to download it!

In the meantime, enjoy a bunch of layout + other screenshots and descriptions under the cut! :D

** A quick note about my take on the layout: I know that in the comics, the stairs to the second floor are usually (at least) on the left side of the ballroom (looking towards the stage), and that they tend to head seemingly backstage, but particularly for my own story that I built this for, I have the stairs just on the right side, and they lead up to the dancers’ rooms and have a little balcony looking out towards the stage.

** Second note that you’ll have to use your imagination with the stage a bit. Since foundations (and thus stages) are tricky when used indoors in TS4, the stage is the same level as the rest of the first floor. I just made it a different flooring and put a threshold-type fence along the edge of it. But it works! :D

First things first, some overviews (please forgive any snow flurries getting in these shots XD):

^ Overview of the exterior

^ Overview of 1st floor (entrance is on the right) - we have the bar in the top-right, restrooms bottom-right (mainly needed to serve as a community lot in the game), poker and eating tables in the central area, staircase leading up to the second floor in top center, and the stage far left!

^ Overview of 2nd floor - it’s just on the right half of the picture (the railing should serve as the cutoff). These are the dancer girls’ rooms - starting from the top-right corner and going down in a backwards “L” shape: first two rooms are generic dancer girls’ rooms, then their bathroom, then Snake Hips’ room in the bottom-right corner, and Goldie’s room next to hers!

Now for a walkthrough (littered with so many comics references aha)!

^ About to head in after walking all the way from your claim, and you look over your shoulder to see her face on the moon this stunning view? Sign me up.

^ Coming inside, this is what you see first thing (*love of your life standing against a backdrop of flames onstage not included)

^ Here’s the bar, off to the right of the last photo!

^ Don’t forget to hang up your hat and coat by the door! (But don’t just stand right there like a big dope. The owner hates that...)

^ Some overview shots of the place looking from the stage. The first one in particular is as close as I can get to the image I had in my head of this scene for my story, where Goldie and Scrooge are sitting on the edge of the stage looking out over the place. Note than you can see Goldie’s room up there on the far right of the second story...

^ Close-up of the little fireplace nook I added in! Note the little steamboat model on the mantel of the fireplace. Sure would be a shame if it...caught on fire...

^ Shots of the stage! Of note, the last one is from the balcony area in front of Goldie’s room (can see into backstage-left from here). I like to think that Goldie liked to spend some of her time here overlooking her establishment, looking for her next victim to swindle or perhaps a certain sourdough in particular...

(Also, kudos to anyone who can spot the very subtle not-duck-related decor choice I accidentally made regarding the stage. 😉)

^ One of my particular favorite parts - the dancers’ dressing “room” backstage-right! This is where Goldie was in photo 4a for the original photoset of this post, where she’s looking out of the window towards the mountains.

^ Heading upstairs now, here are some rooms! First, the two generic dancer girl rooms, and second, Snake Hips’ room! (I like the camera I gave her on her nightstand - perhaps she would take up photography of the town as a hobby! :D)

^ And finally the last stop on our tour before you drink some suspicious coffee and wake up in the snow hours later is Goldie’s room! That glyph above the fireplace totally isn’t a “poison glyph,” what ever gave you that idea? 😅

And so ends the tour! Now time for a couple last fun bonus shots:

^ House and Mari, this one’s for you! ;D

^ This one’s really for anyone who just wants the setting of the coffee scene!

^ Idk, perhaps there were some nights Goldie couldn’t seep and would wander to a window to see a view like this.

^ It really is beautiful, isn’t it?

If you made it this far, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed the tour!

Again, I’ll be reblogging this post with a link to download this lot from TS4 Gallery!

[vampireacademysims]

Scrapped Story Challenge

I got tagged by @skyburned​, thank you! <3

The Rules:

Post a few screenshots from a scrapped scene / edit / story!

Share why you scrapped this specific thing

Tag five friends, and watch the fun play out!

As for the Vampire Academy comic, I don’t actually have many scrapped scenes/edits, I actually only found one XD I tend to plan everything as to avoid wasting time on things I’ll not use, so I guess this was an exception.

This is the full panel that got cut to only focus on Rose’s face, back in chapter I - page 7 (top right). After the wasted time editing the whole thing to just use a bit of it made me rethink how I was doing things, so I plan better now. As for scrapped stories.... oh boy, sit down and have some popcorn XD Since it’s not VA related, I’ll put it under a cut. It’s trying to keep the comic going that is hindering alternate projects, but it’s nothing too new if you fallow my other Tumblr... unless you read to the end.

I don’t want to say these are scrapped stories.... more like, Temporarily In Limbo Projects:

The NaNo-born HP thing.

Before I started the VA comic, I nearly started a comic about an original story that was born in a NaNoWriMo over 10 years ago. It was a sort of alternate future of OCs I had in a Roleplay in back in the day, set in the Harry Potter universe. I never finished the story - 250 pages in English and 3 chapters away from finishing it to this day =’). Once a year I go back to read it just to feel the cringe.

What stopped me was all the extras I’d have to edit in, mainly cloaks and robes - because everyone had cloaks/robes, dragons (even if only for a chapter... 6 years ago no one had converted the dragons to sims 2 yet) and the hair of the protagonist. So I started VA instead, because it felt easier.

The AU Slice of Life thing.

From time to time, on my reblogs tumblr, I post images from the most “recent” OCs from the last roleplay I was in - I like to roleplay, ok? Once on FB a friend had posted a link to one of those online generators, there was one about generating demons and I tried it out. Funny enough, the very first result I got remembered about me about my character Thea. So I jumped to Sims and tried to make her as a demon, based on what the generator gave me and this was the result:

This was the first pass at the idea, but I wanted a tail and different feet...

And so came the no.2 pass, that I’m still sort of working on in the background. I liked this idea, placing my characters and the characters or my friend in a different setting. I wanted to write that story, but I needed the input of my friend and she doesn’t seem very interested, so I dunno if I’d be able to write a full story, I need her to bounce ideas with. Then I thought to just make slice of life images, the cool parts I have in my head, without having to layout a whole story. Again, problem would be having to edit things in, mainly tails (all tails would have to be hand painted in), feet aaand in the case of one of my friend’s girls, wings would have to be edited in. Oh and clothes. I don’t think finding decent harem style clothes is easy even today.

The I-Was-14-and-Wrote-Detective-Stories thing.

I got my first PC in 1996/7, no internet those days. And after I finished watching the last episode of a Brazilian soap opera about a female detective (A Justiceira), I decided create my own female detective and write stories. I wrote the 1st story in one hour and it only had 7 pages (in which I believed that American female detectives sporting midriff tops and high heel shoes to active work was completely normal). I still have those printed 7 pages XD And the cover I made for the book lol Only one friend of mine has ever lay eyes on those stories. It started all good and well, robberies and murders and stuff, but fast I branched out to human cloning, space travel, time travel, genetically altered wolves, alien abductions, religious/alien cults in Mexico, plane crashes, ghosts and an incident during the Paris-Dakar event... I was a huge X-Files fan at that time and got hugely influenced u_u I had 22 books planed, I wrote from 1997 to like 2003-ish if memory serves. Only finished 11 while the others stand in various degrees of scattered notes. As mentioned before, from time to time I go back to read it all and feel the ultimate cringe and wonder what I was on back in the day. It’s completely insane at times, but maybe with a bit (A LOT) of polish I could make something out of it. If nothing else, maybe remake the book covers in the Sims because back in the day it was only MS Paint and some cartoons on Powerpoint that I stripped and drew over on paint with a mouse to draw the covers and other scenes. It’s hilarious looking back at how dedicated I was, hot damn! I made wallpapers, Win95 desktop themes, Winamp skins, you name it XD That female Detective was the very first of my OCs and I never made her in the Sims correctly, maybe I should look into that because all I have to show for her is this XD Covers ranging from 1998 to 2003 (I only learned about Photoshop in 2005).

So these are my dirty little secrets that I might or might not one day act upon. Here, have a cookie if you made it this far. As for tags, people who have stories going probably have stuff to show so, @grecadeasimsstudios​, @esotheria-sims​, @veninorchid​, @quiddity-jones​, @cindysimblr, @grisdidthis​​ :P Again, if it is not your cup of tea, it’s ok :)

[thesunnyshow]

EPISODE 4: MILLY

Writing Blog URL(s): @bumblebeenct 

Name: Milly

Age: 18

Nationality: Welsh

Languages: English

Star Sign: Capricorn

MBTI: ISFP-T

What fandom(s) do you write for?

 I write for NCT, but I have written for Harry Potter in the past

When did you post your first piece?

Around the empathy era I’m pretty sure, 2018? I used to do moodboards only but I was inspired by other writers to give it a go

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why?

I find that I stick to the fluff/angst tropes because they’re easier to formulate because I can relate myself to the scenario more. I also find that its also more interesting to write angst because there's complications to a story that take longer to form and you have to really think about the different emotions the characters are feeling.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc?

I write x reader mostly, but at some point in the future I’m thinking of writing an OC purely because the concept I want to focus on has a particular emphasis on name and I don’t think it would work with y/n

Why did you start writing on Tumblr?

I used to use Wattpad but it was very difficult to promote myself and I struggled to meet anyone through it. On tumblr it was much easier to orientate and the community was so much nicer. 

What inspires you to write?

My mutuals! And other writers on tumblr, everyone is so supportive and kind it’s amazing. Also the feedback I sometimes get from readers, it makes me really happy whenever I get a comment or someone interacts with a piece I enjoyed writing, or alternatively when someone supports a fic I wasn’t confident in as it really boosts my confidence :)

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most?

School/ College aus because they’re very familiar and I am confident in getting the tropes and ideas right. But I also like works inspired by movies or songs because there’s so much to work from and it’s nice to see where you can take the plot and lyrics in your own story.

What do you hope your readers take away from your work?

That writing is for everyone, honestly at the end of the day I’m just a kid in my room writing stories about artists I’m a really big fan of. If you want to write you can, and you don’t have to necessarily be a “big” blog or writer to do it. 

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively?

Take a break, that’s my first port of call - usually in the method of food or I look at the inspiration material again, I listen to the song, read the lyrics, consult my friends and mutuals for help. It’s always good to be able to put something down to start again later when you’re struck with inspiration

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful?

My favourite personally at the moment (since one I really like is currently, as of answering this question, unpublished) is ‘Remember Me’ purely because it was the work I was the most passionate about writing and it really let me explore a new field of writing, since a lot of my stuff had been fluff before. My most successful in terms of notes is my Mark one shot ‘Sugar and Spice’ and I’m very proud of it.

Who is your favorite person to write about?

Park Jisung, my ult bias, I have to convince myself to write for other members sometimes as I often resist the urge to be a Jisung blog. However I have been enjoying writing for Mark and Hendery recently, as my other NCT biases

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose?

To a certain extent yes, it really depends on the writer. For many fanfiction stories, including ones we may label “cliche” the only difference is who it’s about, there are countless amazing fics I’ve read which I would assume could be made into a novel, the only thing making it fanfiction being the characters themselves.

What do you think makes a good story?

Feeling! There’s nothing that really constitutes a “good story” as it’s all subjective, but if you can read a story and feel what the characters feel, or even just see the emotions the writer is trying to portray then it’s definitely a good story. I’ve cried while reading most of, if not all my favourite stories.

What is your writing process like?

I plan first in a little notebook so I don’t forget any of my ideas or plans and then I try to churn it out whenever I have access to my computer, my speaker and a comfortable blanket. I like to “get in the zone” and then write as much as I possibly can. I usually think of ideas as I write so the notebook helps me put them in order and make sure I don’t get too ahead of myself.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story?

I have thought about it and honestly, I’m not sure. My fics are not series’ and they’re all very short - most of them under 4k so I’d have to turn the idea into a full length thing you know? But I have thought about doing the opposite with a very old original story of mine I’ve otherwise given up on but still holds a special place in my heart.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand?

I am a sucker for the enemies to lovers trope mainly because the character development in these stories can be so much more interesting and complex. On the other hand I’m not fond of “yandere” type fics, however I have read several well written ones which I cannot speak against because they were actually really good.

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you?

I’d say a lot, in terms of how much I write feedback means a lot to me - it’s also nice to hear what people think of things you’ve written because it’s a different view from your own and sometimes can boost confidence. I am also open to constructive criticism if any writers have any tips or suggestions for future works I’m always open to listen. 

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)?

When I see anyone interacting with my work it’s really rewarding and I love when people reblog with custom tags because it lets me know that people actually like what I do and to me, that’s a success.

Favorite color: Purple

Favorite food: Pasta

Favorite movie: Heathers (1988)

Favorite ice cream flavor: Cookie Dough

Favorite animal:  I would say bees, but I don’t think that counts so I’ll say dogs

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering?

Coffee, either black or a really fancy one with frothy milk

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)

 I’d love to be a singer honestly, but at the moment I’m working towards education I hope one day to be a lecturer

Go-to karaoke song

 Best Part by Daniel Caesar or Escape (the pina colada song) by Robert Holmes because it’s funny

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose?

 Stopping time because there’s so much you can do - except the question is, would I continue to age even if time has stopped?

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose?

My mind goes to two extremes, I think either ancient Greece because why not and the 1950’s purely for fashion and music.

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?

No, but I think if I could restart specific moments I would. There are so many good moments but some things you don’t want to relive even if you can change the outcome.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken?

100 chicken sized horses, I’d be terrified of a horse sized chicken it would probably be able to eat me and I’m not about that life, tiny horses I can deal with. Kill them with Kindness or whatever haha.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been?

A mix of quiet teachers pet and loud side character friend. The duality kills me, I can be shouting with my friends one minute but whispering the minute the teacher asks me a question.

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures?

I’d like to, I think some are really cool and it would be amazing to live among them, but also some are dangerous, but I would love to see or meet some creatures. Imagine living with dragons man that would be epic.

What are some of your favorite hobbies and how did you get into them?

I really like reading, courtesy of Harry Potter, but I also enjoy singing and playing the piano which I started doing more often in secondary school when my piano teacher suggested I started to sing as well :)

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know?

I did Karate for about 10/11 years, and I’m a black belt *insert awkward smile here*

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged?

A lot of the time yes, there is a stigma around fanfiction and often paints us in a negative light but we just happen to be a community of creative fans who want to share and support the people we write about. But I can see where the stigma comes from, sometimes it can be taken a bit far and I am aware that some things make the artists themselves uncomfortable. I think if people who judge fanfiction are referring to it as a single idea it becomes unfair because it is all different, but I also think that writers of fanfiction themselves have to make sure they don’t cross any boundaries when writing that could make readers or the artist (if they ever happened to stumble across your work) uncomfortable.

Do you think art can be a medium for change?

Yes in some ways of course. Art is not only a way to express what the creator themselves is feeling but it is also a way to teach others about issues, prejudices and ideals. For literature specifically it allows you into the shoes of another person you may not have understood before, in art pieces there’s a clear message and encourages people to educate themselves on certain issues which in turn makes room for change.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself?

Sometimes if i’ve been suggested or requested to write something because it isn’t an idea that comes for me but mainly if I am aware that someone is waiting for a fic or someone has said they’re anticipating it I feel like I’m writing for others, but I don’t particularly mind it because it almost encourages me to write to a better standard.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times?

Not particularly, I'm often as clear as I can be when portraying meaning, or I will straight up say it in a different thread or to different people because I can’t keep secrets and I’m a sucker for a spoiler. Although I am constantly worried about the way I come off in messages and things like that - I am a terrible overthinker.

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr?

A few of my closest friends and other kpop stans I am friends with irl are aware of my blog and support me as much as they can with what little information I give them. I think only one of my irls has my url because she reads and I send her my binge reviews when I do them.

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers?

Thank you so much, honestly it’s cheesy but without them I don’t know where my blog would be. The amount of them surprises me everyday and I don’t think I believe it half the time. Also if anyone ever needs help or support or just wants a chat I’m open, its 100% likely that if you interact with me or my posts on the regular then I will recognise you when you come say hi, I’m not that scary I promise.

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there?

Just do it! It’s better to get your stuff out there and circulating to get a better idea of what people like and where your strong suit is, the more you put out the more you grow. But if you’re scared, talk to other creators, we’re always open to help and we can let you know what to do, it was something that helped me out :)

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr?

When I first started there was a lot of struggle with me trying to figure out my style and what I wanted to do, and it was a learning curve of what can I do, what should I avoid and who am I doing this for. Sometimes when I’m really down I will question why I do it, but I never regret it because it has allowed me to make some wonderful friends and be exposed to some amazing creations and get more into something I’ve always liked doing, writing.

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey?

I don’t want this to be too long, but I feel like it could be. I’ve met so many wonderful people and I love all of them so much, but in terms of being formative and supportive these are some of the people I talk to the most. @renjunwrites - I am a huge fan of Denise and to even be able to be in conversation with her about the stuff she writes is mindblowing to me, @nanasarea - nana was one of the first people I spoke to (before I joined discord) and was really accepting of my antics from day one. @glossyjaems - me and Louna have become very close recently and I can’t wait for our project to launch, keep an eye out for that. @mjlkau Anie is really one of the biggest supporters I have, always willing to read what I send her and give me support and love. There’s so many more people I’d love to mention but this would go on forever, to anyone ever involved in my writing process I’m thinking of you as I write this and I love you all (I feel really bad not talking about every single one omg).

Ending thoughts:

“We’ll be alright, I want to try again” - Try Again d.ear (ft. Jaehyun) because this is something I hold close, ‘try again, we’ll all be alright in the end’

BONUS: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL

Interested in your very own episode of The Sunny Show? Find out how to apply here.

[doing-all-write]

star light, star bright

Joe and Ben take a trip on a boat for a ice relaxing Guys Weekend. What Ben doesn’t expect is to fall in love with the owner of the boat. Or to drunkenly sing karaoke with her.

Pairings: Ben x O.C. 

Rating: E (18+, PLEASE do not interact if younger than 18)

Warnings: S M U T. Dom!Ben, but mainly Soft!Ben, bad karaoke and lots of boat and ocean puns (I’m a monster) 

Word Count: 14K

Inspired by this iconic photo: 

A/N: HELLO. IT’S ME. BACK FROM THE DEAD (Or I had three events in a row at work and wanted to D I E) but to make up for it, have a nice thiccc 14K, smutty fic!! This is my first time writing smut so PLEASE don’t judge me too harshly on it!

But as always, feedback, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! I hope you love it! 

ALSO!!! In my most favorite turn of events EVER, I have someone who wants me to tag them! So: @itsabenthing​, you’re a real one. (If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics let me know!!)

The sun beat down, scattering nets of diamonds across the water. The slow roll of Jimmy Buffet's guitar mingled with the waves slapping against the hull of the boat. The gulls screeching as they whirled through the air, diving down when they spotted dinner swimming underneath the surface. The wind fluttered the pages of the book held in her hand as she adjusted the sunglasses on her face. 

The pole she was leaning against warmed her back. She laid the book down and turned her face toward the sun. It warmed her bones and she took a deep breath in, letting the sea, salt and wind fill her lungs.

She checked her phone, made note of the time and stretched her legs and arms out, almost purring as she uncurled from her reading position. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes to soak up this moment as she patted the deck of her boat.  

She had grown up around boats. Her parents owned the Nereid marina and her earliest memories were of sitting on her mom's lap putting her small hands on top of her moms soft ones, feeling the wheel turn smoothly as she memorized the movements.  Pretty soon, she had been the one steering the boat and "learning the ropes" as she loved to tell people and thrived off of their pained groans.

She worked at the Nereid every day, learning from the people who came into the port. Incessantly asking questions. Asking about their boats, their lives, where they had come from, where they were going. Her parents had teased her for being so inquisitive but she was in awe of the people who came to the Nereid.

In her mind, they were great adventurers, living a free wheeling life on the sea that she wanted for herself. She would watch people leave and the pull in her stomach to follow them was so strong she could feel her legs tensing, as if getting ready to jump into the ocean to swim to their boat, desperate to join them in whatever adventure they had planned next. 

Her parents had expanded the Nereid so several of them littered the coast of California but the original one had passed into her care after she had graduated college. Her parents still helped out and offered guidance when she asked but overall, the original marina was hers to make the calls. It had a charming appeal to it, and between word of mouth and the incredibly Instagrammable mural she had added to one wall, people flocked to it.  

As she sat there, soaking up the warmth, she was grateful she had gotten out of bed before the sun had risen. She had woken up early, the last of the stars in the sky fading as the horizon turned from inky black to lilac as the sun began its ascent from the horizon.

Her dad had always told her that each sunrise was different. And that each one had details that would tell her how her day would go. It wasn't until she was much older and in the habit of waking up early that her father would confess he had made it up to coax her out of bed that early. 

Some people had their horoscopes, she had sunrises. Whenever she could, she would haul herself out of bed, and clutching a thermos of coffee, watch the sun rise and predict how her day would go. This morning she had a feeling in her gut that today, the sun rise would be incredible. So she slipped out of her apartment above the marina, jammed her feet into flip-flops, crammed a hat on her head and set out.

The sun rise this particular morning had been various shades of pink. The colors closest to the sun a deep red. She had thought to herself that those colors must be what it's like to be in love. She felt a tug in her heart as she contemplated how long it had been since she had been with, well, anyone since she had broken up with her last boyfriend. She quickly shook herself from her melancholy thought and cracked open her book as the sun's rays grew stronger. 

Now, the sun was beating down, making sure to fry away every last bit of the chill there had been that morning.  She decided she should head back to the Nereid and check in, see how things were going and if she needed to put out any fires. She chuckled as she murmured to herself and one gull that had landed next to her boat, bobbing with the waves, "Well if there WERE any fires to put out, thank god we're by a ocean."

The gull squaked and flew away. 

She shook her head ruefully as she stood up and raised her arms above her head, the crochet tank top she had put on over her bikini rising up above her denim shorts. 

The sea unfolded before her, reminding her constantly how wide the world was. How many people there were to meet, so many stories to hear and places to see. Her body shivered involuntarily as she contemplated the vastness of it all. 

~~~

Somewhere close by to where her boat had just been anchored, another boat was getting ready to pull into the Nereid marina. 

"BEN! HOIST THE BOOM AND GET 'ER READY TO COME STARBOARD." 

"Do you know anything about boats, mate?" Ben scratched his head as he contemplated Joe's Captain Morgan pose. 

"No, not a damn thing. But it sounded convincing right?" 

"Yeah, it's the confidence, ya know?"

"It's all about confidence Benny boy." Joe said, slapping Ben's shoulder as he joined Ben at the rail.  

Ben offered him a beer which Joe accepted with a quick thanks, the sharp crack of the tab opening piercing though the air.  

Ben held his can aloft in a silent cheers and Joe brought his over to gently tap the rim of Ben's. They nodded to each other and raised the drink to their lips as they took a sip.

The sun beat down on them, warming the tops of their heads as the ocean stretched out in front of them.

Joe took another sip as Ben asked, "So, are we getting to port soon? What's the plan?"

Joe considered it, "Well, we plunder first,"

"Obviously."

"Then we do some light pillaging,"

"Of course,"

"Then have a nice meal together because you're my friend"

"That's lovely buddy thank you." Ben leaned into Joe as he wrapped an arm around his shoulder, giving him an awkward side hug.

"Anything for you, Ben."

"Hate to interrupt this touching display of male friendship but we're almost to port" Rich, the  actual captain, called down to them as he deftly steered the craft towards land. 

Joe peered up at Rich from under the brim of his baseball cap, "Shouldn't I be the one making those announcements? I am the captain after all."

Ben snorted, "Correctly identifying the starboard and port side does not a captain make."

"You're just jealous my nautical knowledge is so much better than yours."

Rich barked out a laugh as he shook his head, "The amount of nautical knowledge you have wouldn't even fill a Post-It note."

Joe pointed a thumb back at Rich, "I'm not sure we should trust this guy with our safety out in the open sea."

"I feel much safer in his hands than yours." Ben chuckled.

Joe gasped and brought a hand up to his chest, "I'm being attacked! My character is being demolished by my best friend and Rich!" 

"What? We aren't best friends?" Rich deadpanned.

"Not with those insults you keep hurling my way, buddy." Joe wheeled around and pointed an accusing finger at Rich.  

Ben laughed and stared back out at the horizon. He obviously knew the world was round but he could almost understand why people thought the world was flat for so long. He felt like if he stared at the horizon long enough, he could fall right over the edge and into the swirls of a galaxy.

Joe sidled up to his friend, eyeing him as he watched Ben's shoulders loosen up.

"You enjoying being in the cold grasp of that fickle mistress, the ocean, Benny?" Joe broke the silence as he clapped a hand down onto Ben's shoulder. 

Ben snorted, "Absolutely. A pirate's life is a wonderful live and all that." 

"It sure is." There was a. pause as Joe contemplated how he wanted to best introduce the next topic.

Finally settling on, "Speaking of she's and fickle mistresses and all that, how have you been doing since the breakup?"

Ben shrugged his shoulders, "It comes and goes in waves, ha." Joe let out a snort at his friends unintentional ocean pun. 

"No, but, some days I think I'm okay and then something happens to remind me of her or our time together and I feel a twinge but," here Ben paused and cocked his head to the side, "I think that's just normal."

Joe nodded sagely, "Yeah. give yourself time, man. That was a long relationship. You're not going to get over it right away."

Ben nodded as he brought the beer can back up to his mouth to take a sip and surveyed the horizon. He could see the brightly painted mural getting larger by the second. 

Rich sighed as he deftly steered the boat toward the Nereid. He had worked with Az and her family since he was young. He and Az were basically siblings, which is why, when he saw her standing on the deck of her boat tying it up, he laid on the horn.

Az jumped a foot in the air, dropping the rope she had been holding and managing to hit her head on the boom all at once. 

"Fucking hell..." her voice drifted off as she turned around to see what asshole was responsible for taking ten years off of her life. 

When she saw Rich pulling into the port with their most expensive boat she extended both middle fingers in a salute, complete with huge grin. 

Rich laughed as he saw Az's two-fingered salute but the horn blaring had caused both Ben and Joe to jump and spill some of their beer.

"What the hell, man?" Ben shouted as he stared up at Rich.

"Yo, Rich, what was that about? Did someone cut us off?" Joe asked

Rich shook his head, "Sorry guys, I saw Az and wanted to fuck with her."

Ben and Joe looked at each. Joe cocked an eyebrow and Ben shrugged. They wandered over to the front of the boat to see what was going on. 

Ben's first glimpse was of the sun reflecting off of her hair, causing it to look like gold. Then the two middle fingers raised high. 

Joe noticed the shit-eating grin before he realized that she was directing her two prominent fingers at the man standing near the top of their boat. 

Az noticed the other two figures on the boat about a second too late and lowered her hands, feeling bad that they may have thought she was flipping them off. She raised one hand in a sheepish wave as they pulled closer. 

She laughed ruefully to herself as she turned back to securing her boat, Figures, she thought, the one time Rich actually has two cute guys in the boat I'm flipping them off.  She took one final sweep of the deck as she shoved her book into her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. 

She leapt from the deck of her boat onto the dock, landing with her arms raised triumphantly, waiting for Rich to cast judgement on her landing. 

"And Az sticks the landing! The crowd goes wild! The judges give her all 10's!!" Rich imitated the screams of an energetic crowd as she waved and gave an exaggerated bow to her audience of...three now.

She came out of her bow and saw the two guys she had accidentally flipped off standing behind Rich, clapping along with him.

"Thank you, thank you. Please, no, c'mon, it was nothing." She said with mock modesty as she laid a hand across her heart and pretended to wipe a tear from her eye.

"How's your head doing?" Rich asked as he engulfed her in a hug.

"Well, I DID hit it on a large piece of wood so...not great."

"Ahh, c'mon. We were just having a good time."

"Were we?" She shot back as she stepped back and looked over his shoulder, "Hi, I'm Az, I definitely wasn't flipping you two off. I felt bad when I realized he had you guys on board."

"Oh no, I'm used to pretty girls flipping me off, it's fine." Joe said as he stepped forward with a hand extended. 

Az let out a bark of laughter as she slipped her hand into his as they exchanged pleasantries. 

Az turned to the blonde standing next to Joe and was barely able to keep the "Jesus FUCK you're gorgeous" from falling out of her mouth. 

But he WAS. From a distance she could tell he was going to be cute but up close? Az was eternally grateful that someone as beautiful as this man could exist and be right in front of her.

He was checking all her boxes too; blond hair, dazzling smile, beautiful body (God she should ask who his trainer was and send them a fruit basket and a thank you note) the only thing that would really make him perfect was-

"You alrigh'?"

A fucking British accent. 

Her eyes widened and Rich smirked. They both knew that she was well and truly fucked. 

~~~

"Hey, Sal, how's it going?"

"Great, Az, the fish are biting and the sun is shining. Can't ask for more, eh?"

"Got that right. You stay out of trouble, alright?"

"Back at ya, sweetheart."

She waved at him as she continued down the marina. The sound of her flip-flops thwacking against the wood alerting her arrival to both regulars and newcomers at the Nereid alike.  

Joe, Ben and Rich were sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the clear blue, watching her make her way down the boardwalk. After introductions had been made, Az had parted apologetically, saying she needed to do a lap but she would love to properly show them around once she came back.

"Does she talk to everyone?" Joe asked as he saw her stop at the dock next to Sal's and start talking animatedly to the woman there.

"Pretty much. I mean, she does own this marina so it would be kind of shitty if she didn't." Rich shrugged and readjusted his sunglasses. 

Ben shoved his hands into the pocket of his jacket, "She OWNS this marina?" 

"Yeah, her parents opened it and she took it over when they started branching out to other locations. This one's the most popular though, mainly because of her," Rich inclined his head to her retreating back. "And it's because she talks to everyone. Everyone loves Az." 

"I've been meaning to ask, is her real name Az? Like, A Z?" Joe asked.

Rich snorted, "No, her real name is Azure which is a sick name but she thinks it's pretentious so she shortened it."

Joe nodded while Ben kept his gaze glued on Az as a little boy ran up and tugged on her shorts. She laid a hand over her heart as the child handed her a seashell with a huge grin on his face. Ben felt a smile growing on his face as she bent down to accept the gift, handling the shell with extreme delicacy, listening to the little boy as he told her everything he went through to get it.  

Ben was entranced by her. When they had pulled into the Nereid he could tell she was cute. But when he had seen her up close, felt the full effect of her smile, how her eyes sparkled in the sun, the freckles dusted across her cheeks, he felt his breath hitch.

He could vaguely tell that Joe and Rich were talking about other things but he kept his eyes trained on Az. On her hair falling down her back, the way her hips swayed as she walked, the way it caused her ass to move- 

"BEN. Come back to us buddy." 

Ben jolted as he almost lost his grip on the edge of the dock, catching himself before he landed in the water, "What?" 

"Rich said Az knows some good places for us to grab dinner and they'd love to take us out, does that sound good to you?" Joe asked as he furrowed his brow, reaching a hand out to steady Ben.  

Ben cleared his throat, "Uh, yeah, that sounds great, thanks man." He inclined his head at Rich who just stared back at him, eyes inscrutable behind black Ray-Bans. Ben's gut suddenly dropped to the bottom of the ocean as he had the horrifying thought that maybe Rich and Az were dating. 

Ben quickly dropped his gaze to the blue depths underneath his feet, wondering if it would be worth it to just jump in, start swimming and never look back. 

Suddenly, Rich sprang up from the dock, "I'm gonna go check on Az, see what her ETA is to be done. I'll be right back." And with that announcement, strode off. 

Joe's brow furrowed as he stared at Rich's back. "I don't know what just happened but I would say that we pissed off our captain." 

Ben grunted as he kept his gaze laser focused on the fish cutting swiftly through the waves. 

Joe tapped his foot against Ben's, "Hey, man, you know, you can communicate with me through more than monosyllabic sounds." 

Ben huffed as he ran a hand through his hair, "I know. Sorry. I got myself all turned 'round but I'm okay now."

Joe's eyes cut over to Ben and as casually as he could, asked, "Was it about Az?"

"Uh-I mean-Not, like, explicitly but-"

"Well the way you were checking out her ass was pretty explicit I gotta say, Benny boy."

Ben's cheeks immediately turned red as he raked his brain for something witty to say. He finally sighed and dropped his head into his hands, "It was pretty obvious wasn't it?"

"You looked like one of those cartoon characters when they see a pretty lady and their eyes bug out of their head."

Ben groaned into his hands, "Dammit! She's just so hot and I don't know, maybe it's the ocean air doing something to me but I couldn't stop staring at her and then I saw Rich staring at me staring at her and now I'm worried that she and Rich are dating and I fucked up."

Joe slowly nodded his head as he contemplated Ben's predicament, "Well, it's good that we're by the ocean. If that's true you can always just drown yourself."

~~~

"He was drooling over you."

Az made an indelicate "OOF" noise as Rich grabbed her arm, doing a do-si-do move so she was facing him.  

"Who? The Springer's dog? Because they just told me they tried some new medication to help with that-"

"No. What?" Rich furrowed his brow, "Is that really a thing you can do for dogs?"

Az shrugged, "I guess so. I'm not a vet, nor do I own a dog so my knowledge of cutting edge veterinary practices is sketchy to say the least."

Rich glanced over his shoulder to stare at the basset hound that was, indeed, sporting no less than three uninterrupted strands of drool which was three less than what he normally had.

He shook his head as he turned back to Az, "Okay, that's BESIDES the point. Though I do want to talk to them about that, I'm intrigued...ANYWAY. No. BEN was."

Az stared at Rich for three full seconds before bursting out laughing. Rich sighed and crossed his arms, waiting for the hysterics to die down. 

Az dabbed her finger under her eye, "God Rich, that's hysterical. But seriously, why did you come over here." 

"His eyes were so laser focused on your ass that I'm surprised there's not a hole in the back of your shorts."

Az's hands instinctively went to the back of her shorts, "Thank god I wore my cute bikini bottoms then."

"You fool. You absolute buffoon. One of the most attractive men I've ever seen in my LIFE was so absorbed by your ass that he almost fell off the dock when Joe yelled at him. I may be ace but that doesn't mean that I can't tell when someone is so thirsty for you that he would willingly drown for it." 

Az stood there, staring over Rich's shoulder taking all this information in. The horizon spread out before her, various shades of blue. 

"The title of my memoir should be called '50 Shades of Blue'" She finally muttered under her breath.

"AZ."

"Sorry, sorry! I heard you. I just-"

"It's always 'just' with you. You just can't because of the marina. You just can't because you're focusing on yourself. You just can't because of a million other reasons. You know what it JUST is with you?" 

Az winced with each accusation hurled at her, "Jesus, just tell me so this can be done."

Rich took a deep breath and gripped her shoulders as he leveled his gaze at her, "You just don't believe you deserve this. You just are scared that someone will leave and you'll be left hurting like you were when your ex left you. But you know something? Even if this perfect replica of Michelangelo's David doesn't work out, you'll a) have a great story and TWO-"

Az's lips quirked into a half smile at Rich's lame attempt at humor.

"Is that you'll at least have given it a try. And I'll always be here for you to sing-scream 'thank u, next' with if he turns out to be a dick."

A laugh bubbled its way out of Az's throat, "Okay but like, we've already done that so often they threatened to call the Coast Guard on us."  

A steely look settled over Rich's face, "And Barb from port five can still eat my entire ass. MY POINT though," at this, Rich ducked his head down to look right into Az's eyes, "just go for it, Az. Please."

Az's eyes flickered down at the water lapping underneath the boardwalk. The sun filtered through the cracks of the woodwork causing small sparks to light up as it hit the water flowing underneath. 

She heaved a sigh, "Alright, FINE. Besides, if he's truly as into me as you say he is, this should be easy."

Rich clapped his hands, "Oh sweetheart, it's going to be easier than getting the Springer's dog to stop drooling."

~~~

To lighten the mood, Joe had started throwing rocks and bits of wood into the water yelling, "she loves Ben, she loves him not" with each plop while Ben kept threatening to push Joe into the water. 

"You almost hit a fish with that one." Ben said, in a desperate attempt to distract Joe.

"He looked at me funny."

"They're fish. They look at everything funny."

"Fair point."

"Oh fuck, there's one swimming right at me."

"GET HIM, BEN. SHOW HIM WHO'S BOSS." Joe yelled. 

Ben squinted one eye and gently tossed the piece of wood into the water near the fish. 

"I'm going to call the cops." Came Az's voice in a sing song from behind them.

Ben turned around to find Rich and Az strolling back towards them. Az's arm hooked through Rich's which caused Ben's stomach to plummet.  

She slipped her arm out from Rich's and dug her phone out of her pocket, "Hello? 9-1-1? Yes, this man here is abusing fish." 

"Fuck, dude, we gotta get out of here. I can't go back to the slammer again." Joe laughed as he hauled himself up. 

Ben smiled as he swung his legs up onto the dock. His feet fell next to Az's, encased in flip-flops, toenails painted bright pink as he traced the line of her legs up to meet her eyes. 

Az's hand trembled a little as she offered it to Ben, "Need a hand?" A soft smile grew across her face as his blue eyes met her own. 

The blue of the ocean was nothing compared to how blue Ben's eyes were, Az decided. 

The green of Az's eyes were the most beautiful color he had ever seen, Ben decided. 

The silence stretching between Ben and Az had gone on long enough, Joe decided. 

"SO. Rich. What restaurant are we going to?" Joe loudly asked as he clapped his hands together, breaking the spell. 

Az blinked and giggled nervously as she helped haul Ben to his feet. He smiled down at her and thanked her. 

"No worries, you're lighter than expected." 

"These are fake muscles. A pain in the ass to inflate every morning but so worth it."

The burst of laughter that erupted from Az made Ben smile wider. 

She reached a hand out and wrapped it around his bicep, "So, if I squeeze too hard it'll pop?"

"Like a balloon."

She kept her eyes trained on Ben's face as she squeezed his arm and holy god she was not prepared for how solid it would feel. It took all of her will power not to get on her knees and beg him to choke her right there in front of God and everyone. 

She cleared her throat, "Haven't heard anything pop yet."

"Well, clearly, your hand strength needs to be built up." 

"I think there are some guys who would argue my hand strength is just fine." Az said without thinking. Her eyes widened as she realized the words that had fallen out of her mouth. Ben's breath caught in his throat as the image of Az's hand wrapped around his cock infiltrated his senses. 

Rich's mouth dropped open as Joe made a noise that sounded vaguely like a hamster getting strangled. 

Az ripped her hand from Ben's bicep "Well, I don't know what we're doing standing around here for, I promised you guys a tour so let's get started." She sped away down the pier, mentally chastising herself for coming on way too strong.  

Rich stared at Ben, standing stock still, then at Joe who looked like he'd been hit on the back of the head with a two by four, and muttered, "Well, this is going to be easier than I thought."

~~~

"And this is the mural I commissioned from a local street artist. I actually caught her tagging a wall and I loved her work so much I hired her on the spot."

Ben and Joe stepped closer to take a closer look at the mural that depicted the ocean in a psychedelic fashion. Brightly colored fish, seaweed, shells, sea nymphs ("mermaids are overrated, it's all about sea nymphs now." Az had declared when Joe made a Little Mermaid joke) dolphins, sharks, even an octopus, in neon colors adorned the side of the building. 

"It's really popular with Influencers and such. Tourists come to take pictures of it, it's been nothing but an incredible draw." Az said as she trailed her fingers over it as she walked down the wall. Her finger tips landed on the shark and she turned to look over her shoulder, "This guy is my favorite." 

Ben meandered closer to get a better look at it, "Why is that?"

Az shrugged as she moved to stand beside Ben, "I've always liked sharks. I think they're fascinating and get a bad rep. We're the ones infiltrating their home. If someone tried to come into my home and polluted it at the same time, I'd probably consider eating them too."

Ben nodded slowly as his gaze drifted over the mural. "I like the octopus."

"Yeah? Why's that."

"He has a chill vibe about him."

"I can respect that."

Watching Ben and Az joke about the killer weed the octopus had, Joe hesitantly asked the million dollar question,"So, Rich, how long have you and Az been together?"

Rich snorted, "Too long." Hearing the squeak that came from Joe, hastily realized what he meant, "Oh, like, romantically? You think Az and I are, like, together together?" 

"Um, yeah dude. You seem pretty comfortable around each other and I just assumed..." Joe's voice trailed off as a bemused grin melted over Rich's face. 

"Are Az and I close? Yes. Do I love her? Absolutely. Is she a giant pain in my ass? Since day one when she told me I give off too much of a 'Jimmy Buffet' vibe. Am I also ace so therefore have no desire to date her or anyone? Oh you bet your sweet ass." 

"So...Ben's clear to shoot his shot?"

"Ben's so clear to shoot his shot the whole fucking playing field is barren." 

"You don't know the first thing about sports do you?" 

"Not a thing my man." Rich confirmed cheerfully. 

~~~

The sun had begun to make it's descent and the first whispers of orange and pink began to crawl their way up into the sky. 

Seeing how small the gap between the sun and the horizon had gotten, Az clapped her hands together as she turned to the group, "So, if you guys are interested, there's a great bar nearby that I can get us either free or deeply discounted drinks. You in?"

Joe stared at Az for a beat then threw an arm around her shoulder, "I've never loved anyone more." 

Az laughed as she rested her head onto Joe's shoulder, "And I'm sure it was me flipping you off that won you over and not the promise of free drinks." 

"I've never been so into anything in my life." Ben muttered as he stared at Az. The words came out more intense than he intended. Az felt a warmth spreading through her stomach as she lifted her head from Joe's shoulder. 

Ben blinked at his own intensity but didn't break his gaze from Az's as he stepped closer to her. The movement of her throat as she swallowed was the only thing that broke his gaze. 

Rich's eyes were ping-ponging back and forth, relishing in the sexual tension. 

Joe slowly slid his arm off of Az's shoulders and hesitantly stepped back. 

Az could feel the heat building in her belly, a flush spread across her cheeks as she blinked up at Ben. The voice in her head finally snapped to attention and reminded her to say something, anything. 

Her tongue poked out to swipe across her bottom lip. Ben shifted as his eyes darted down to track its journey, using  his willpower not to capture her lips with his. 

"Good, because the night's just getting started." Az said thickly as she slide her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

Only Rich caught her trying to wipe off her palms in her shorts and rolled his eyes. 

He knew from personal experience that Az's palms always got extra sweaty whenever she flirted, clearly even a target as easy as Ben couldn't escape her clammy palms. 

He just prayed that he wouldn't try to hold her hand in the next 20 minutes. 

~~~

Az jiggled the worn handle on the innocuous wood door. She turned her head to glance back at Ben, "Don't worry, this is usually what happens." 

"Good, because sketchy unmarked door? In an alleyway? I figured you had just lured us back here to murder us and wear our skins." 

"Fucked up that you thought that. I would never wear your skins. I'd preserve them, stuff them and then use them as tasteful decor."

"JESUS Az." Rich declared as he stared at her, slack-jawed. Joe's face was caught in between amusement and horror.

Az winced as she finally got the doorknob to turn, "Too much?"

Ben waltzed through the open door, "Don't think there's ever 'too much' of you, love." 

Az's cheeks flushed and she squirmed as he aimed a wink in her direction before stopping in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. 

There were Christmas lights strung all around the perimeter of the bar. Tables haphazardly littered the floor with chairs floating in between tables like so much debris. The back of the room was taken up by the actual bar. To the right, a small, hastily constructed stage with a karaoke machine looked to be the only thing that hadn't been there since the 70's. 

Vintage concert posters promoting The Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Carol King, Fleetwood Mac, Queen and more were wallpapered in a collage. The jukebox standing guard to the side of the front door was playing Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers. There was a low rumble as patrons and bartenders talked to each other.

When the door opened and Ben stepped in, most of them turned to peer curiously at who had just entered but didn't paid him, or Joe, any mind. A few hands went up and some greetings were called out in response to Rich's greeting as he waltzed into the establishment.

Then Az walked in.

"AZ!"

The bar exploded in a flurry of sound and movement as chairs were abandoned and tables shoved as a crowd foamed up around Az. Ben, Joe and Rich were forced to shuffle to the side as hands and bodies crowded around her. Most of them offering to buy her a drink or updating her on events that had transcribed since they had last seen her. Az took it all in stride. She smiled and laughed and nodded and let herself be carried by the crowd to the bar. 

When she reached the bar she turned her head and Ben saw her eyes flitting from corner to corner, trying to locate them after the crowd had bum rushed her. 

Ben raised a hand and her eyes locked onto the gesture at once. She smiled and he saw her shoulders relax. She turned back to the grizzled fisherman that was either greatly exaggerating the size of a personal body part or talking about a fish he had caught earlier in the day. 

He desperately hoped it was the latter. 

A sharp jab to his kidney brought him back to the present, "What are the odds she's getting drinks for all of us?" Joe asked as he surveyed the crowd that was three deep by the bar. Ben shrugged as Rich weaved his way to a table that was right in front of the karaoke stage. 

Ben and Joe followed Rich and sat down as if this was another normal Saturday night for him. Joe kept staring at the bar when he finally broke, "So, is that a normal occurrence? Or did you tell everyone to pull that stunt so we'd think she's cool?"

Rich snorted, "God, I wish we were that coordinated. No. This is Az's favorite bar. And again, she grew up here so a lot of those people have known Az since she was just a wee tot." 

He shrugged, "Everyone loves Az, I don't know what to tell you."

Ben felt his head nodding in agreement, then without thinking, asked, "Do you love Az?"

Rich's head snapped up so quickly he felt something pop in his neck and Joe's eyes widened a comical amount at Ben's boldness. 

Rich coughed as he tried to find the right words, "Yeah, but like a sister. I'm ace, so, romantic feelings? Not my thing." 

Ben felt like he was going to pass out. Joe could see the gears turning in his friends head and decided to help drive the point home and asked Rich point blank, "So, you and Az are not dating?"

"Nope." Rich popped the 'p' with extra verve, keeping his eyes trained on Ben.

Ben coughed into his hand, "So, uh, is she-uh-dating anyone, then?" He slouched down in his chair, hoping to offset how nervous he sounded with some laid back posturing. 

Rich watched the full grown man in front of him sink so low into his chair he almost fell off of it and thought, Jesus, they're both such idiots. I hope they bone all night.

"No. And there hasn't been anyone in a while." Then realizing how that sounded tried to make it better, "Not that there's anything wrong with her! She's amazing, she just puts all of her energy and focus into the marina. Not saying that she wouldn't do the same in a relationship, it's just-AZ! Thank GOD you're back!" Rich flung his arms into the air as Az approached their table with a tray full of drinks. 

Did you say something that didn't sound great then to make up for it you talked more which made it sound worse?"

"We've known each other too long haven't we?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll be right back." She turned and went back to the bar to return the tray Penelope had given her to transport the drinks. 

Penelope managed the bar and was always willing to let Az pick up some shifts bartending when she needed some extra cash. When summer time got to be particularly heady, Penelope would entice Az to work with promises of free shots and unlimited baskets of deep-fried mac and cheese. 

"So, Az. Your new friends are, how do I want to say this? Absolutely stunning."

Az kept her eyes down as she slipped the tray on top of the stack behind the bar, "Yeah, I guess. I don't know if I would describe Rich as stunning but-"

A sharp sting landed on her hip causing her to yelp, "What was that for?" 

Penelope stood with the towel already rewound and ready to strike again, "You know damn well I'm not talking about Rich and if you don't tell me why blondie can't keep his eyes off your ass I'm gonna smack you again."

She pulled her arm back to show she was serious and Az scampered to the other side of the bar with hands held up, "OKAY! Okay! I'll tell you, just-be cool man. Put the towel down."

Penelope stared at her. 

Az rolled her eyes, "If I sleep with 'blondie' tonight do you really want me to be covered with tiny red marks and he's so disgusted by my disfigurement he jumps into the ocean to get away from me?"

Penelope's eyes narrowed as she considered, "Alright, fine." The towel lowered as she tucked it into her back pocket, "But I still want answers. No one that beautiful has come into this bar since last time you came in."

"Lop, you flatter me."

"I know. It's a tactic to get more information from you."

"I should be mad but I'm just so honored you think I'm beautiful I'll tell you anything."

"Alright, what's your social security number?"

"Not that flattered."

"SPILL. NOW." Penelope ordered, slamming her hands on the bar.   

Az rolled her eyes, "ALRIGHT, GOD. I went out on my boat this morning and as I pulled back in so was Rich with-"

"I so wish you had said pulling out."

"Will you let me FINISH?"

"Bet you won't be saying that later tonight. Blondie looks like he knows how to eat pussy."

Az threw up her hands, "You know what? No. You don't get to know ANYTHING now because you can't behave yourself. Are you HAPPY?"

Penelope shrugged, "Not as happy as I would have been if you'd said you'd pulled out."

"You're impossible."

"So I'll see you in the morning for coffee and a recap of your sexual escapades?"

"Of course. Love you."

"Love you too," Penelope said to Az's retreating back. 

~~~

As she slid into her chair, Az lifted her glass in a toast, "Cheers, I'm glad Rich picked your guys' sorry asses up."

Her eyes met Ben's in the gloom and he saw the Christmas lights reflected in her eyes like so many stars. 

"I'm glad that he picked us up too." Ben smiled at Az and let his gaze linger with hers as he took a long pull from the glass. 

Az couldn't stop herself from staring at his lips. How full they were. How good they looked wrapped around that glass. How good they would look wrapped around certain parts of her anatomy. 

Rich and Joe exchanged glances as Ben and Az fell into a loaded silence. Rich took a gulp from his glass and slammed it onto the table, "WELL. I, for one, am not going to let this night go to waste. It's karaoke time."

Az's eyes lit up as she whipped her head, "You're so right. It absolutely is."

Joe was bouncing up and down in his seat, "Thank GOD someone else brought it up because I was about to ask if I could get dibs on first round."

Ben groaned, "Do we really have to do this? I'm not much of a karaoke guy."

Az turned to him, "You will be after you have about five more of those," indicating the half finished beer in front of him, "so drink up. Because I have a feeling Turn Around Bright Eyes is going to be our big duet." 

Ben's mouth fell open in shock as Joe cheered and Rich rolled his eyes, "God, Az. I fucking hate that song. Even when they covered it on Glee it was still a trash heap."

"Everyone hates that song but by god is it the perfect karaoke number."

Rich opened his mouth to argue, mulled over Az's statement and shrugged his shoulders in defeat, "I can't argue with that logic."

"Oh real help you are." Ben shot to Rich.

"Sorry Benny Boy. We all gotta pay the piper for free drinks somehow. In this case, it's total humiliation in front of an audience." . 

Ben rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink as Az, Joe and Rich cheered. "Let's get this fucking over with."

~~~

"CAUSE I'M MISTER BRIGHTSIIIIIDEEEEE! GUITAR SOLO!" Ben launched into an epic air guitar solo, complete with white man overbite, as Rich gawked. 

"Holy shit, he's such a dork, I can't believe you want to sleep with him, Az. Az?" Rich looked over to see Az flailing as she air drummed along, threatening to hit anyone within a five foot radius.  

Joe was blissfully jamming to the air bass guitar, eyes closed, not a care in the world. 

Rich shook his head in amazement as he finished the last of his drink. 

The table was littered with pint glasses, most empty, a couple filled with a sliver of amber liquid. They had worked their way through most of the karaoke classics. Joe's rendition of Livin' On a Prayer brought the bar down and Az's version of I Wanna Dance With Somebody definitely had Ben feeling some type of way. 

They were well into hour three of karaoke, with most of the patrons clearing out after hour one. Penelope had gotten several incriminating videos of Az that she could barely wait to show her in the morning. 

Lop was currently wiping down the counter, eyeing the plug of the karaoke machine as the final notes of Mr. Brightside died out as Ben looked up, surprised to find himself on his knees after his impassioned performance. 

Az, Rich and Joe were on their feet, whopping and clapping wildly as Penelope gave Ben a nod, the most encouragement she had given him all night. 

Ben stood up and gave a bow then stumbled as a whirlwind of laughter and cheering enveloped him in her arms, carrying the scent of coconut and salt with it. Az was laughing in his ear as she hugged him and pulled back to reveal her smile, making the whole room seem to glow. He stared at it, committing it to memory.

"C'mon Benny boy, it's last call." Az was saying as she wrapped an arm around his waist, "and Lop does not like it when we push our welcome." 

"Some of us have things to do Az!" Lop called from the bar where she was stacking glasses. 

Az rolled her eyes as Ben slung a heavy arm around her shoulders. Joe and Rich were by the door holding it open for the two of them as they sauntered through, the alcohol leaving them warm and loose but coherent. 

"So, have you seen the boat we arrived on?"

Az snorted, "You mean the one that belongs to my marina? Yeah, I may have seen it once or twice." She pinched his waist as he protested, "Alrigh'! It was a conversation starter. You know? One of those things were I say something, then you say something else?"

"I know how conversation works, Ben."

"Are ya sure? Because you've been pretty quite."

Az's mouth dropped open in shock as she stuttered a response and Ben chuckled warmly as he pulled her in closer to his side, "'M jokin' love. Don't worry." 

Az's head lolled into his chest, trying to hide her grin at being called love, as she groaned, "Have I told you you're a giant pain in my ass, Hardy?"

"A few times, maybe." Ben smirked as his hand slid down her back to rest on the curve of her back that sloped down to her ass. 

Az inhaled sharply as she felt his hand move lower. Ben tried to act like he hadn't heard her but his widening smirk gave him away. 

They rounded the corner and saw the marina rise up before them. The sound of the ocean softly lapping against the hull of the boats bobbing up and down momentarily bringing a sense of serenity to Az. 

Ben was transfixed by the change that came over her when she stared out at the ocean. The wind picked up her hair, like the wind was trying to pick her up and take her where she needed to go. Her eyes were fixed on a spot out on the horizon and Ben wanted to follow those eyes wherever they went. He inhaled the scent of the sea and knew that he would always think of Az whenever he smelled the ocean from now on. 

"Sing us a SONG on the PIANO man! Sing us a SONG TONIGHT!" Ben turned to see Rich and Joe stumbling up the dock, arms wrapped around each other and he couldn't figure out who was helping who continue to be upright more. 

"Are they both managing to hold themselves upright? On each other?" Az had turned in Ben's arms when she heard the singing. She had drapped her arms around his neck, peering over his shoulder and could feel his chest vibrate as he laughed. 

"We shouldn't judge too much, we're kind of doing the same thing." He murmured into her ear. 

"Yeah but, we're not THAT intoxicated. I can stand up perfectly fine on my own, see?" Az extricated herself from Ben's hold and he immediately shivered at the loss of contact. Az stood before him and over-exaggeratedly stamped her feet into the ground and put her fists on her hips as she beamed at Ben. 

Ben couldn't help the smile that broke over his face and Az's own smile grew wider as she contemplated the beautiful boy before her. His eyes reminded her so strongly of the ocean, always changing color but still feeling like home. He was charming, kind and funny. She was smitten. And she was fairly sure he was as well. 

But she didn't want to assume. It would rip her from the inside out if she made a move and he gently let her down with that accent and those eyes looking at her with pity. She couldn't handle that. 

Ben watched as a conflict raged behind Az's eyes, causing her posture to deflate. He tilted his head, trying to decipher what had happened but was jolted forward as Joe rammed the full force of his body mass into Ben's back.

Ben had a height and muscle advantage on Joe but when Joe had alcohol and the love he had for his friends coursing through his veins, no one stood a chance. 

"BENNY BOOOY THE PIPES THE PIPES" Joe belted into Ben's ear, causing him to flinch, 

"Hey buddy, you doing okay?"

"Ben, I am better than you have ever been or ever will be." Joe's eyes were going in two different directions as he tried to rest a hand on Ben's shoulder but missed by a mile. 

Az laughed at Joe as Rich tucked his head into the crook of her neck and started whining about how he just wanted some french fries. 

"I uh, seem to have done more damage than I anticipated doing." She sheepishly. 

Ben shook his head, "Nah, karaoke brings out the worst in others. It was inevitable."

"Or the best." She said softly and looked at Ben with wide eyes and bit her lip. Ben shifted as he tried to come up with a response but it was challenging with Az staring at him like that and Joe trying to climb Ben's body so he could get a piggy back ride back to their boat. 

"AAAAAZZZZZ. Please, I just want some fries!" 

Az rolled her eyes and the moment ended as she turned to face Rich and grabbed the sides of his face, "Then by GOD man we are going to get you some fries." 

Joe's face lit up, "FRIES? I also want those!" 

Az giggled as Rich planted a sloppy kiss to the side of her face, "You're worse than the Springer's dog but c'mon gang let's get some starch." 

Joe and Rich cheered as they stumbled down the pier towards fries and Az tried to herd them away from the sides so they wouldn't fall into the water. Ben watched them leave and shoved his hands into his pockets. He needed time to think. To be alone. So he made his way on board the boat they had come in on. 

He climbed the ladder all the way to the top deck and laid out on his back. His arms crossed behind his head to offer some cushion as he gazed up at the stars. 

He wondered what had made Az lose confidence in herself. He assumed he had made it clear he wanted her. Maybe she didn't want him? Maybe that glimmer in her eye was her way of realizing that she just wasn't as into him as he was into her? 

He didn't think he could stand watching those eyes fill with pity as they tried to let him down gently. 

He sighed, picked out the brightest star and sent up a desperate wish. 

star light, star bright, first star I see tonight...

~~~

"I love fries. Almost as much as I love you Az." 

"Thanks Richy that's very sweet. And after watching you eat a whole basket of cheese fries in under two minutes that really means something." 

Rich mumbled something about how potatoes were his one true love as he drifted off to sleep, curled up on the recliner in Az's living room while Joe had taken up more space on the couch than a man that size should have. Checking to make sure both were asleep and not in danger of choking on their own vomit, she exhaled and scanned her apartment for her phone. The soft glow of it alerted her to its presence on her kitchen counter. 

She crept over to pick it up only to be greeted by a text from Lop,

Can't wait to see all the hickies you have tomorrow at breakfast.

She rolled her eyes and wiggled her thumbs over the keyboard as she tried to formulate a proper response. Should she tell Lop the truth? That she was so terrified of being rejected by Ben that she wouldn't even take a chance? Or should she just ignore her text and go to bed? 

She groaned, letting the weight of her head fall forward until it. thunked against her phone as she contemplated what to do. 

She lifted her head, locked her phone and slide open the balcony door. The ocean air filled her with calm as she surveyed the boats bobbing in the waves. 

She looked up and found the brightest star she could. She closed her eyes and with her whole heart started to wish. 

star light, star bright, first star I see tonight...

~~~

30 minutes had crept by and her eyes refused to close. She did everything she could think of to relax and fall asleep. She had counted sheep. She had focused on her breathing. She had pulled up an ASMR YouTube channel.

(She quickly exited out once she realized she was only clicking on videos that had ocean sounds in them and realized how idiotic that was.)

In a moment of pure frustration she threw a temper tantrum, flinging her limbs, beating the mattress with her fists. She cursed her body and brain for failing her when she needed peace the most. 

She took three deep breaths and wondered where Ben was for the 500th time that night. After leading the Drunk Brigade to get cheesy fries and when she asked him if he wanted anything and didn't receive a response, that's when she realized he wasn't with them. 

When she tried to get Joe to give her Ben's number so she could check on him, he had pulled up Spotify and started blaring "Boss Ass Bitch" which meant Az had to wrestle it from him and put a stop to it before the other drunk individuals standing in line started a mosh pit. 

After making peace with the fact that she definitely wasn't going to sleep any time soon, or even at all, she got up and hoped a walk would clear her head. Walking along the dock always put her at ease.

As the wind whipped around her, she pulled the sweatshirt she had thrown on over her shorts closer to her to combat the chill. She had planned to walk to her boat but something pulled her towards the boat that Rich, Ben and Joe had sailed in on. She liked going to the very top of it, it gave her the best view of the stars. When she was younger she liked to spend nights up there, reaching her hand up and pretending she could pluck the stars out of the sky. 

She got to the top and froze as she saw a figure laying on the ground. Immediately her heart sped up and she thought through all the possibilities. 

It could be some homeless person. They wandered the boardwalk sometimes. Maybe I could just leave and deal with it in the morning? 

Oh god, what if it's a dead body? Was her next immediate thought, Then I'll somehow be blamed for the murder and go to jail and my whole life will be ruined.

When the body stirred, the relief she felt was short lived as she realized she would have to deal with a very LIVE body. 

Direct action is the best action. Catch them off guard, knock them out, then call the cops. She slowly slid her phone out of her pocket and dialed 9 1. She nodded to herself, took a deep breath in and raced onto the deck waving her phone over her head,

"YOU BETTER TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE DOING HERE RIGHT NOW BEFORE THE COPS GET HERE ASSHOLE"

Ben jolted awake, not even realizing he had fallen asleep, and tried to sit up only for his head to collide with something solid, causing him to fall down on his back groaning. 

Az rubbed the spot where her head had made contact with the mystery perp and wondered briefly if she was out of her depth if this person was willing to stoop so low as to headbutt her. 

Ben carefully opened his eyes as the voice said, "Okay, headbutting someone is low ESPECIALLY when you're the one who broke onto MY boat and besides, NO ONE wins in a headbutt."

He recognized that voice. 

He knew that voice. 

"Az! Az. Az, look at me. Look! It's me! It's Ben! And I didn't mean to headbutt you, but, christ, you have a dense skull."

Ben? Az lowered her arm as the words cut through her adrenaline fueled rampage. She looked down at the figure below her and fully understood what had happened when her eyes met the blue ones staring up at her. 

"Jesus, woman. You know how to give a wake up call."

Az breathed a sigh of relief, "Well you know how to scare someone! Why didn't you tell me you were up here?"

Ben looked down as he shuffled his feet and muttered, "Needed some time by myself." Az cocked an eyebrow in disbelief as she chewed over what he had just admitted to her. 

Why did he need time to think? Was he worrying about her? That unspoken moment on the pier that was ruined by Az's overthinking and Rich's need for potato products after a night of drinking? 

"Wait, why are you up here? Shouldn't you be holding Rich's hair back as he vomits into a toilet or something?" Ben shot back at her accusingly. 

It was Az's turn to become sheepish and she rubbed the back of her neck, "I, um, I couldn't sleep."

Ben looked at her for a loaded moment before scooting over and patting the spot next to him, "Well, you're welcome to join me. I don't think I'll be going back to sleep anytime soon. Too much adrenaline coursing through my body." 

Az whacked him on the shoulder as she settled next to him and the smirk on Ben's face grew as he turned his face up to the night sky.

"You come out here a lot when you can't sleep?" 

Az hummed, "It's peaceful. Helps me put things into perspective."

Ben nodded, "Wish I lived near water. But I've forests near me which helps. Something calming abou' trees ya know?

"Yeah. Forests. Oceans. Mountains. Anything in nature that's bigger than you that reminds you of how small you are and how big the universe is. And how lucky we are to even be here at all."

"Oh, we're jumping right into the Deep Thoughts, huh?"

Az smirked, "I'm quite quick Hardy, ya gotta keep up."

Ben knocked his elbow against hers, "Well if we're jumping into deep thought territory, every time I look at the night sky I find the brightest star and wish on it. Helps me realize what I want to focus on in my life."

Az's eyes grew wide, "Wait, for real?"

"Yeah. Been doin' it since I was a kid. Why?"

"I do the same thing."

"You're joking."

"I swear on my LIFE."

Ben chuckled, "Well, I don't think we have to go that extreme, I believe you but, wow. Huh. Guess the universe is trying to tell us something." 

"Guess so." Az smiled back at Ben and when he didn't drop his gaze, dropped hers first. 

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear as she drew her knees into her chest, still feeling the intensity of Ben's gaze on her. 

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? Not allowed to look at you?"

"You are but it just, I don't know, makes me nervous?" She flinched at the uptick that ended her remark and mentally chided herself for not sounding more confident. 

"I make you nervous?" Ben could hear the smugness in his voice and knew he should tone it down but couldn't find it in himself to do so. 

"Oh my god, I'm going to regret telling you this, but, yeah. I mean, obviously."

Ben leaned back on his hands as he studied Az's profile, "Why do I make you nervous? Not like I'm intimidating."

"You kind of are though?" When Ben made a shocked noise Az straightened up to face him, "No! No, no. Not in like, a bad way? Just in like, a, ah, you're very attractive?" She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and pulled her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and balled them up, "And, uh, for someone like me, that's very intimidating."

"You're intimidated by me because I'm...attractive?"

"Yes, Ben! I think you're hot! Smoking! A total smoke show! You happy? And I know that you think I'm just some dorky girl who likes cheesy 80's ballads but," she flung her hands towards the heavens as if to illustrate how fruitless it would be for him to like her, "here we are." 

Ben could barely contain the smile that threatened to break his face in two. "Alrigh' well, first of all, thank you for sharing your real feelings." Az clambered up, muttering about how she had embarrassed herself enough when Ben hoisted himself up and grabbed her wrist, "but don't assume you know what I'm thinking." 

Az's body stilled and Ben knew she was listening despite her not meeting his gaze, "You just thought I felt one way abou' you? That's a little short sighted. You ever assume you know everything about the universe? I've got whole universes inside me too!"

Az peeked at Ben through her eyelashes, "You get that line from the last John Green novel you read?"

Ben gently grasped her chin with his thumb, angling her head up so she would fully look at him, "Maybe I did. There's a reason he's so popular. But don't interrupt me." Az pouted and Ben traced the outline of her lip with his thumb.

She shuddered at the contact and Ben stared into her eyes, "I've wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw your hair shining in the sun and your two middle fingers greeting us as we pulled into port. I couldn't believe someone as beautiful as you wanted to hang out with someone like me. I mean, fuck, Az," he wheezed out a laugh, "I've been losing my mind trying to find ways to be closer to you. Make you laugh. Make you smile. I sang fuckin' Turn Around Bright Eyes just because you asked." 

"And you were the best duet partner I've ever had for that song."

"While I take great pride in that, I'm on a role here."

"Sorry. Please continue."

Ben took a deep breath in, "Az, I've wanted you ever since I saw you. But then I got to know you and, fuck, that feeling has just increased. So please," his voice dropped to a whisper as he ducked his head and his lips brushed over Az's as he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Az's breath came out in shaky bursts and she didn't trust herself to move. She nodded and Ben's lips melted against hers as he cradled the back of her head and wrapped an arm around her waist.  

It felt like everything in Az was aflame. The fire that had been building in her ever since she laid eyes on Ben had reached a fever pitch.

His lips moved against hers and he groaned. Her lips were just as soft as he expected them to be. 

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. He grasped her waist with both of his hands, fingers digging into her sides to ground her to him. As if he needed to make sure that she was real and she wasn't going anywhere.

Az had no plans of leaving anytime soon. She stroked the short hairs that grew at the nape of his neck, causing Ben to grip her waist tighter and she let out a moan. 

Ben almost came as she moaned into his mouth. He could feel his cock growing harder and when Az pressed herself closer to him she could feel it as well. 

She pulled back from his mouth with reluctance and let out a shaky breath, "Someone's excited." Ben threw all delicacies to the wind, "My cock has been hard since we started hanging out." Az's eyes grew wide and Ben could clearly see how blown out her pupils were. 

The wind blew a few strands of hair across her flushed cheeks and with a glance down, Ben could see her chest rising and falling rapidly. With that thought, he traced his hands slowly up her sides as Az's breath hitched in her throat. 

"Is this okay?" Ben whispered as his hands crept up her sides, agonizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as Az nodded. She could barely keep herself upright, there was no way she could form words. 

Ben smirked down at her as his thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts and Az jumped. "Easy, it's okay" he whispered as he leaned down to capture her lips with his once again. 

"I know but, fuck, Ben. I've wanted you all day." Az whined and Ben was certain in that moment there was nothing more attractive than the sound Az breathlessly telling him how badly she wanted him. 

"Well, you don't have to wait anymore." He whispered against her lips and Az pressed her lips to his as she gripped his shoulders.

Ben's hands continued their agonizingly slow pace to the front of Az's chest where he realized she wasn't wearing a bra and he let out a groan, "Fuck, Az, I need you." 

"Who's the impatient one now?" Az smirked as she nipped at his bottom lip and Ben whined. 

"Is there anywhere we can go? Preferably with a bed?"

"Inside, there's a room at the end of the hall."

Ben planted a deep kiss on Az and pulled her down the hall. Az's head was still reeling with how he had just kissed her and was only slightly aware of Ben leading her through the door and down the hall of the boat to one of the bedroom's that was located on board. 

Ben turned the knob and let the door swing open as he pressed another kiss to Az's lips. Her hands were clawing at his back and he registered distantly that he might have scratches on there that he would have to explain to Joe. 

Not that he cared. 

Az fumbled behind her as she kicked the door, briefly hoping it was closed enough. Ben had moved down to kissing her neck and she couldn't think about anything else. 

She bent her head back to allow him more access as he nipped at the column of her throat, causing her to release little moans every time that were sending Ben's head spinning.

Az yelped as Ben picked her up, causing her to wrap her legs around his waist instinctively, and he deposited her on the bed where he stared down at her as she pushed herself up to her elbows and stared back. She cocked an eyebrow at him, "What?" 

"Nothing, you're just...fuck. You're beautiful."

Az's smile was bashful and she suddenly found it extremely hard to look Ben right in the eye at that moment. 

Ben, sensing her shyness leaned down so he was hovering over her body and whispered, "Now's the time when you tell me I'm beautiful." 

Az laughed, and remembered this was Ben. Sweet, caring Ben who she had spent all day pining over. She wasn't going to waste another moment getting caught up in her own head. 

Ben went back to sucking and licking at Az's neck as one hand reached up underneath her sweatshirt and traced the outline of her breast, causing Az to arch her back. 

She whined, "Ben...please." 

Ben smirked against her neck, "Please, what?" 

"Touch me. Please. I've wanted this all day." 

"Hmm, I don't know..."

"Please, sir. I'll do anything." Az breathed out before she could stop herself.

Ben pulled back and stared with wide eyes. Her own eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him, pupils blown out, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, hips bucking. 

Ben cleared his throat, "What-uh-what did you just say?"

A look of worry washed over Az, "Uhm, sir?"

"That's what I thought." he growled. 

He leaned down so his lips were right against her ear, "And since my good girl asked so nicely...I guess I'll give her what she wants."

He traced a circle that got smaller and smaller until he was tracing around her nipple as he swung his other leg around so he was straddling her and started to grind his clothed cock into her cunt. Az was only briefly embarrassed thinking about how she could cum from grinding against Ben fully clothed like some pre-pubescent 13-year old. 

She babbled. "Please, sir. Yes. Oh my god. Fuck. Ben. Please, I need more."

Ben chuckled, "I've barely touched you. If this is how you're reacting now I can't wait till I tease your little cunt with my fingers, tongue and cock."

"Oh my GOD Ben, please. I need more. Please, I'm begging you." 

Ben smirked as he started tweaking her nipple with deft fingers. He brought his other hand up to stroke her throat, testing the waters, "How do you feel about me touching your throat? Do you like that baby girl?"

Az whimpered and nodded as she desperately tried to grind her pussy against Ben's aching cock even more. He hadn't even registered how hard he was. He was so focused on Az and how needy she was, his own needs almost escaped him. 

He gently laid a hand over her throat and squeezed the smallest amount which caused Az to throw her head back and let out a moan so loud that Ben was sure every boat in the marina would hear it. 

It made his cock twitch. 

"That's my good girl." he cooed as he continued to tease her nipple. Az whimpered and reached her hands up in a grabbing motion, 

"What is it sweetheart? Use your words."

"Kiss me. Please."

Ben smiled and moved his hand from around her throat to cradle her cheek, "Of course sweetheart." The kiss he gave her was sweet, gentle and deep which caused Az's head to spin even more at the difference between this kiss and his filthy actions. Az wrapped her legs around his waist to bring him as close to her as possible. 

Ben chuckled, "You're already so needy."

Az rolled her eyes, "Shut up." and went back in for another kiss. 

Their lips moved together as Ben reached his hands down to the edge of Az's sweatshirt and gave it a little tug.

Az pulled away and ripped the sweatshirt off in record time. Ben sat up and stared down at Az's body, finally exposed to him. 

"Holy shit."

Az fidgeted under his gaze, "What? Not what you thought?" bracing herself for him to tell her he had changed his mind. 

"Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined you having a body as amazing as the one you have." 

He leaned down to wrap his lips around her nipple as his other hand came to play with the one his mouth wasn't currently occupying. Az groaned but couldn't keep the smile off of her face as she reached a hand up to tug at his hair. 

Ben switched from one nipple to the other as he glanced up at Az, "Couldn't let the other one feel left out."

"God forbid" Az breathed out as she arched her back after he gave a particularly hard nip. 

He chuckled as he came up to plant another kiss on her lips, "Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

Her eyes snapped open as she felt his hands travel down her body, past her breast, where he gave her nipple one more tweak, down her waist, down to the top of her thigh as he danced his fingers up her inner thigh. Teasing her as he brought his fingers close to where she most wanted him. 

"Ben..."

His fingers stilled, "What did you call me?"

She whimpered, "Sir..."

"Better." His fingers danced closer to her cunt.

"Sir...please. I need you." Her hips were bucking desperately and Ben looked down at the beautiful woman underneath him and couldn't believe he had gotten so lucky. 

He fiddled with the edge of her shorts, as she whined. He smirked and moved to trace the outline of her pussy through her underwear, he took in a sharp intake of air, "Fuck, baby girl. You're soaking wet for me."

Az whined, "That's what you do to me. That's all for you, sir. Please." 

Ben groaned as he bent his head down to capture her lips with his as he dipped a finger into her panties and teased the lips of her pussy open. 

Her thighs fell open easily as she bucked her hips to get more of his finger inside her. Ben slowly dipped one finger inside of her, when he felt how wet she was, he added a second, and then a third. 

Then removed them entirely. 

"Baby girl, flip over onto your stomach for me."

Az looked at him curiously but did as she was told, "Like this?" she asked as she looked back at him and bit her lip. Ben groaned and palmed himself through his pants as she looked up at him with her big eyes.

She glanced down at his bulge, "Can I suck your cock?"

Ben almost choked. "Holy fuck sweetheart. You're gonna make me cum if you keep talking like that."

Az giggled and then moaned as Ben thrust his fingers back into her, "I would love for you to suck my cock but first, I really want you to cum for me." He said as he kept thrusting his fingers in and out of her dripping core.

The angle had his fingers hitting her sweet spot right away. He kept palming himself through his jeans. He pumped his fingers slowly into Az's cunt, feeling her walls clench around his fingers, her ass moving up and down as she fucked his fingers, trying to fill herself up more. She whined when Ben ripped his fingers out of her.

"Ben..." She looked behind her and saw that his shirt was off and was making equally quick work of his jeans and boxer briefs. "Take off your pants. Now." he growled as he stepped out of his own, letting his cock spring free. Az was transfixed by it. It was huge. She licked her lips as she saw the pink tip, leaking pre-cum. She groaned as she imagined wrapping her lips around it, making Ben cum down her throat. Swallowing every single drop of his cum as he moaned. 

"Baby girl?" Ben's voice broke Az out of her reprieve and she quickly reached her hands down and shimmied out of her panties and shorts and threw them into the room. 

She pushed herself up to her hands and knees and stared at Ben over her shoulder, "Well?"

Ben licked his palm and stroked his cock a few times as he admired the view of Az's ass in front of him, her pussy glistening with her wetness. 

He licked the fingers that had been in Az's cunt and tasted how sweet she was as he walked forward. He inserted his fingers back into her cunt making her hang her head and groan.

He pumped them in and out a few times and smacked Az's ass, "Lie down on your back."

She yelped but did as she was told. Ben looked into her eyes as she laid down, "I'm so sorry, I should have asked before I spanked you, I'm so sorry-"

Az cut him off with a kiss, "No! No. It was so hot. Sir." She added as she smirked up at him. Ben chuckled as he kissed her lips and moved to kiss down her body. 

Az's breath got shallower the closer he got to her pussy. He nipped at the inside of her thighs as he just barely brushed her clit with the tip of his tongue.

Az almost levitated off the bed, "FUCK. BEN. Please!"

Ben chuckled and inserted two fingers into her cunt and started making obscene sucking noises as he sucked on her clit. Az always used to say she didn't understand why people made so much noise during sex but now? With Ben working his magic on her with his fingers and tongue? She didn't know how she could be quiet. 

All too soon, she felt the familiar burning sensation in her stomach as she reached her edge, "Ben..Sir.."

He hummed against her clit which made her throw her head back and let loose a new wave of moans, "FUCK. If you do that again, I'm going to cum."

"Cum on my face then. Please." Ben said as he hummed against her clit and made a come hither motion with his fingers causing Az to completely unravel. The heat that had been building inside of her all day consumed her body as her vision went white.  

Ben kept lapping until she whimpered and tried to move away, even then he kept slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her. 

"Ben, please..." her voice came out as a whisper as she tugged on his hair to indict she wanted him to move up. Ben placed a final sweet kiss on her clit before slowly kissing his way back up her body. 

Az let out a deep sigh as she closed her eyes and let the few remaining pulses of pleasure wash over her, relishing in the attention he was bestowing upon her. 

Ben paused as he took in Az's body, stretched out below him and whined in the back of his throat. 

The green of Az's eyes were revealed as she smirked at the needy sounds that escaped Ben. 

She quickly pushed Ben off of her and before he could protest too much she straddled him and bent her head down to nip at the line of his throat which caused him to cry out.

Az giggled, "Does that feel good sir?"

Ben's eyes were rolling into the back of his head as Az's core ground against his exposed cock, he could feel the wetness as he bucked his hips up into her, "God, yes, sweetheart, please that feels amazing, don't stop..."

Ben's voice trailed off as Az started kissing his collarbone, then his chest, then his stomach, when he finally registered what her intentions were, he moaned as his eyes fluttered closed. 

Az peered up at him through her lashes and couldn't stop herself from admiring how beautiful he looked. Eyelashes resting on his cheeks, chest heaving, cheeks the color of an English rose and his eyes...were staring right at her as she placed a soft kiss onto his cock. 

He whined and Az's hips bucked involuntarily at the noise. She smiled up at him and he reached a hand down to caress her cheek. 

She hummed and pressed a kiss into his palm. She turned her head back to the more important, and pressing, task at hand. 

She kissed Ben's thighs as he threw his head back and sighed in ecstasy. 

In between kisses, Az teased "I've barely touched you and you're already this needy." 

Only a sliver of blue could be seen as she looked up at Ben, "If I wasn't so desperate for you to suck my cock, I would have a much better comeback" he breathed out in between moans. 

Az smirked and curled her fingers around his cock as she licked her lips in anticipation. 

Ben was huge. She shouldn't have been surprised, Lop had even said he carried himself with an energy that seemed to imply he was hung, but god.

She wrapped one hand loosely around his cock and licked a wide stripe from his balls to the tip where she placed a gentle kiss on it.

The groan Ben let out had her swinging a leg around so she could grind her core into Ben's thigh as she continued licking his cock.

She finally, agonizingly slowly, wrapped her lips around the head of Ben's cock and started to bob her head up and down. 

Ben reached his hands down to grasp her hair and move it out of her face.

Az spit on his cock and started working her hands up and down as she peered up at Ben, "Thanks for the hair tie." 

Ben bucked his hips up into her hands as he gasped, "Not so much for you, mainly wanted to see your lips wrapped around my cock. Been thinking about that all day."

Az laughed and kept one hand pumping the length that she couldn't fit into her mouth. She looked up at Ben through her eyelashes and heard him mutter, "Fuck. Having your lips around me is even hotter than I imagined."

Az hummed and Ben screamed, "FUCK" and pulled her off of his cock, mashing his lips against hers in a frenzy, "If I don't fuck you now I'm going to hate myself forever."

Az laughed gently against his lips, "Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

Ben nipped at her bottom lip as he brought a hand up to lightly smack her ass, "Someone seems to have forgotten their place, baby girl."

Az whimpered as she felt the sting, "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again."

"Damn right," Ben said and stilled as his eyes met Az's with concern, "I don't have any condoms on me. Are there any on this boat?"

Az pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I have an IUD. It's fine. Just, please fuck me right now. Please? I'm begging you."

Ben exhaled and grabbed Az's hips with such strength that Az knew for certain there'd be bruises the next day. 

Az clambered on top of him and lined up her entrance to the tip of Ben's cock, she slowly lowered down and the feel of her walls being stretched by his girth had her letting loose a string of curses that were almost drowned out by Ben's. 

"Fuck, Ben, you're so big, god." Az squeezed her eyes shut as she bottomed out.

Ben squeezed her hips as he took every ounce of willpower not to buck up into her and fuck her until all she could say was his name, "Jesus, sweetheart, you feel incredible. This is so much more amazing than I ever could have imagined."

Az let out a shaky laugh as she started to roll her hips forward and back. Getting used to Ben's length, working it over. Ben couldn't take his eyes off her as Az's hips started rocking harder and harder against his cock. 

He reached his hands up and grasped her breasts, rolling her nipples in between his fingers as Az threw her head back and let out a moan. Ben didn't think there was a better view in the entire world than this one. 

Az reached a hand down to rub her clit as she rocked her hips back and forth and Ben's hips snapped up into her as his hands worked on her nipples. She felt her core tightening and that familiar warmth start building inside her for the second time.  

She gasped, "Ben...sir...Ben..I'm so close, fuck, please don't stop, please"

Ben growled, "I don't plan on stopping any time soon, sweetheart."

Az moaned as she rubbed her clit harder and finally with a tweak of her nipples, Az felt herself coming undone around Ben's cock.

As she came out of her haze she could hear Ben babbling about how good she was, how tight she was, how he wanted to cum so badly. Az slowly leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ben's lips, causing him to pause in his actions. 

She pulled back and smiled at him and he smiled at her. He gently stroked her sides, then grabbed on to her waist and flipped them over so Az's back hit the bed with a "OOF" and Ben ended up on top, hands on either side of her head. 

He grinned down at her as she rubbed her hands up and down his arms, "Think you're so special huh?" 

Ben's grin grew wider as he snapped his hips into her and Az broke down into moans and strained to get more of his cock inside of her. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Yeah, I like to think so."

"Please. Just fuck me."

Ben breathed out a laugh, "You don't have to ask twice." And started thrusting into Az as she grasped onto his shoulders, arching her back.

Ben could feel his thrusts getting sloppy and knew he was close. He reached a hand down and rubbed Az's clit, "Baby girl, think you got one more in you? I want you to cum with me."

Az nodded as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, "Uh-huh, yes sir, please, I want to cum again so badly, please please please please..." the last please fell on deaf ears as Az reached her climax for the third time. Her walls clenched around Ben's cock, pulling the best orgasm he'd ever had in his life out of him shooting thick, hot ropes of cum into her pussy as they both moaned and held onto each other as if they were life rafts keeping each other afloat.

Ben opened his eyes as he and Az caught their breath. They looked at each other and burst into laughter as they came down from their highs. 

"Wow, uh, that was-"

"Amazing?" Ben asked, shyly.

Az's eyes grew warm as she brought a hand up to caress his cheek, "Yeah. Definitely worth the wait."

"Well, sorry. I didn't want to assume you wanted this as badly as I did." Ben whispered as he gazed down at Az with a soft look in his eyes

"Hmm, yes. Because a man who looks like a Greek god and can also make me cum THREE TIMES is clearly someone I don't want anything to do with." Az joked as she pulled Ben's face down to give him a gentle kiss. 

Ben rolled his eyes as Az giggled. Which turned into a whimper as he pulled his cock out of her and he chuckled when he saw her pout, "Alright love. None of that. I'll be right back."

Az sighed and stretched out on the bed. She heard water running in the bathroom and Ben emerged with a warm washcloth. 

He sat on the bed next to her and gently pulled her knees apart as he cleaned her up. Az smiled her thanks as Ben returned to the bathroom to clean himself up.

He walked out and saw Az had gotten underneath the covers, as he pulled back the covers he smiled, "Is this spot taken?"

A slow grin split her her face as she shook her head and patted the spot next to her. 

Ben clambered into bed beside her and when he opened his arms wide, Az snuggled right into them. She sighed contentedly as Ben placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. 

As they both drifted off to sleep, they both thanked the star they had wished on for making their dream come true. 

High above, the star they had both wished on, seemed to shine a little brighter as it hung right above the sleeping couple. 

~~~

Rich woke up the next morning with a headache, the feeling that he had fuzz all over his tongue and the need to never consumer alcohol ever again. He groaned as he sat up and saw Joe, who was snoring louder than a man that size should, was still sleeping. 

Rich stretched and slowly made his way to the bathroom. As he finished up and walked back out to the living room, he peered into Az's bedroom and saw her bed was empty. He shrugged, Az usually got up early so he figured she was already out on her boat. 

After making coffee and taking it out onto Az's porch, he saw her boat still in the port with no sign of activity. He cocked his head, mentally going through a list of places she could be at. 

His feet were heavy as he meandered down he dock. When he got closer to the large boat, he had arrived on the other day, he saw that the door on the uppermost floor wasn't closed all the way. Grumbling about how Joe would make a terrible captain, he lumbered aboard to take care of it.

After closing the first door, Rich did a quick sweep of the other areas to make sure everything was good to go to take Joe and Ben back out on the boat today. If Joe could stomach being on a boat after drinking so much. As he reached the floor by the uppermost deck he saw the bedroom door open at the end of the floor with light coming through it. 

He crept closer and peered through the crack. He saw Az and Ben, both sound asleep, Az curled up into Ben's chest, Ben's arms wrapped tightly around her waist. 

Rich slapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted back to Az's apartment, pumping his fist the whole way.

He quickly dug his phone out of the recliner cushions and texted Lop a million exclamation points, peach emojis and eggplant emojis.  

Almost immediately Lop texted back, "I fucking knew it." 

Rich laughed as he crept back downstairs, leaving the lovers to wake up in each others arms and to thank their lucky star.  

[fadingcoast]

Death Of The Lie  ||  Chapter 25: History

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism​ & @fadingcoast​

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: Multi RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!

.-

Chapter 25: History

A loud bang sealed all doors leading to the hall. Hela barely had time to register the clamor of dozens of soldiers trying to knock the doors down, as she realized where she was.

The throne room was nothing like she remembered. The golden walls and bright colored paintings depicted the current royal family. Drawings of Thor, and Frigga, of Odin himself sitting on his golden throne, Gungnir in his hand, the image of a benevolent magnanimous god, surrounded her.

It made Hela sick.

“How many more lives did it cost to pretend I was never born, I wonder?” She muttered to herself. She seemed not to be paying attention to Loki, or his blade on her neck.

Loki stared at Hela intently, trying to read her expression. What he found was rage, disappointment, contempt, and pain… so much pain. He lowered the knife and made it disappear, releasing Hela from his hold.

She did nothing, she didn’t even move for a moment, looking around the throne room trying to find some familiarity. There was none. All the walls had been repainted, all the pillars remodeled, all the tapestry replaced. Everything that was there before was erased, covered up. Tossed aside, locked up and forgotten, just as I was.

Hela clenched her jaw, and walked slowly towards the throne, the one thing that remained almost the same. Loki stepped back and gave her some room.

“The truth, my dear Loptr, burned Odin so badly that he had to cover it up with lies,” she spat, running a finger over the arm of the golden chair. “The truth would have destroyed everything he ever knew. And he would have set the Nine Realms ablaze before yielding to that fate.” Hela stopped right in front of the throne and closed her eyes. One solitary tear ran down her cheek. “He burned my entire existence to ash instead.”

.-

The war room was buzzing with the murmurs of the generals, while Odin heard yet another account of Frost Giants being spotted by Midgardians. Hela had been sent by the King himself to find why the Jotuns were so interested in Midgard all of the sudden. What she told him did not please the All-father. After all, Midgard was Asgard’s to protect, and to exploit.

More than that, Hela knew Odin wanted to be persuaded into war. The Frost Giants were a thorn in Odin’s side, one he would use any excuse to get rid of. But he had to be smart about it if he wanted his men to follow him to battle.

Losing her patience and tired of hearing Odin dismiss yet another peaceful approach, Hela stood up. “I would like to speak to my father alone,” she addressed the soldiers.

The Hersir looked at the king, surprised by the Princess’ tone, but obeyed anyway, nodding his head as he left the room, followed by the other divisions’ generals.

“Father, the Jotuns are NOT trying to invade Midgard! Why are you still not telling that to the Hersir?”

Odin scoffed, deflecting the question. “Are you going to let yourself be fooled by their lies? I thought I had taught you better!”

“You know what I am saying is no lie. Jotunheim is dying,” Hela said, with an exasperated sigh. “Soon, they will have no home at all.” She paused and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Midgard is wide and large, it has vast cold regions where they can settle without disturbing or be disturbed by Midgardians. All they want is your blessing-”

“No! I will not allow those monsters to invade Midgard!” 

“Are you not listening to what I am saying? They do not want to invade Midgard.” Hela pressed, repeating what she had told Odin too many times by now. “You are the Allfather, the protector of the Nine Realms!” She emphasized the last words, making Odin flinch. “If you deny them the chance to leave their home, to rebuild their lives somewhere else, you are dooming them to extinction!”

“One less enemy to worry about!” Odin growled.

“They are not our enemies anymore! Will you drop your pride for one second and realize that?”

Odin pounded the table with his fist and stood up. “Do you forget what they have taken from us?! From you?!”

Hela bit her tongue, knowing forgiveness didn’t have room in Odin’s heart. She knew the story, not because she remembered it, but as it had been recited to her a million times, of how her own mother led the fight, how she was imprisoned and executed by the Frost Giants. The story, she had learned much later, wasn’t exactly as Odin told it.

She stood defiant in front of Odin. The King no longer intimidated her, for as powerful as he might have been seen by Asgard and the realms, she knew better. She knew about all the skeletons in his closet and the secrets swept under the carpets.

After all, she was the Goddess of Death. And death spoke to her.

“Laying waste to Jotunheim, murdering the Jotuns and letting their planet die will not bring my mother back,” she stated. “And even if that were possible, you have already found and wedded a replacement,” she added bitterly. “I don’t see what more vengeance you could possibly want.”

.-

Loki had listened in reverent silence to Hela’s recounts. He tried hard to remember all the books he had read - he knew there were some mentions of a previous Queen, but it was never elaborated. His grandmother’s name had been erased from Asgard’s memory, as was her daughter’s.

My very blood has been covered with black ink.

“I left Asgard for good after that day,” Hela continued. “He sent out soldiers to search for me, only for them to find me exactly where he knew they would find me, on Jotunheim. That’s when the rumours and stories started.” She walked to stand in the middle of the foyer, her eyes squinted closed. “They were told I was violent and unstable. They were told I was out for blood, eager to conquer the universe itself. They were told I was consorting with the enemy to bring down Odin’s bloodline, and Asgard with it. They were told I would usurp the throne for our enemies. And they listened.”

As she spoke, Hela summoned several swords and threw them to the ceiling, creating cracks between the paintings of the royal family. The blades wedged deep in the plaster, but remnants of Odin’s magic kept it in place.

“All of it was, of course, a lie. Odin’s new young wife had already given birth to a baby boy.”

“Thor,” Loki said, and Hela nodded.

“The moment the boy was born, my destiny was sealed. He had another heir, his bloodline secured. He had a fresh, new mind to twist to his will. I wasn’t needed anymore.”

Hand raised in the air, she willed her magic to counteract that which was holding the ceiling together. Her swords vibrated and a bright green light emanated from them, spreading through the cracks and loosening the material. Large pieces of plaster fell around them. The old paintings that were revealed were very different.

Hidden behind the saintlike paintings of Odin, Frigga, and the Princes were images of war, of bloodshed and tyranny and death. Odin, on his eight-legged horse beside Hela herself, who was mounted upon a giant wolf, riding into battle together. Hela, at the head of a dark army of Einherjar, fire consuming the background. Soldiers wielding whips while emaciated citizens build a castle of gold. Odin and his Queen, a raven-haired beauty with bright eyes and a wicked smile. 

The painting that made Loki stumble in shock was poised above the throne, the biggest one of all. Hela and Odin stood side by side, arms raised, with soldiers surrounding them and necroswords protruding into the burning sky. Odin had his spear, while Hela proudly held Mjolnir aloft over her head.

Hela broke the silence, watching Loki carefully. “I was raised to be Queen of the Nine Realms. With my mother gone, all I ever knew was what Odin told me. I would come to realize, after it was too late, that I was lied to and manipulated to follow in Odin’s steps. I made my own way, educated myself, found out things for myself. I was banished for refusing to fall in line, for daring to question him.”

This pattern was familiar to Loki, for he had been punished for rebelling against his so-called father too. At least Odin was consistent. Hela walked around the broken plaster, while Loki followed, staring at the images on the ceiling. A tiny glimpse of what was missing from the archives.

Hela came to a halt, right under a very vivid picture of her mother riding into battle in Jotunheim. The image of a fierce and powerful Queen, her long black hair braided in the warrior’s ways. An army of Valkyries rode behind her.

“I too grew up with tales of the savagery of the Frost Giants, fueled mainly by the battles we fought and the people we lost.” Her conflicted stare was fixed on her mother’s face. “The giants surrendered to Asgard after a bloody battle where Odin managed to kill their King, leaving his only son and heir, Laufey, to take the throne. Laufey didn’t want more bloodshed, he wanted peace for his people. But Odin would not budge. He wished to end their race, burn it to the ground, no matter how long it would take him. All he needed was an excuse.” Hela turned to Loki, a deep sadness in her hardened gaze. “You were the excuse.”

Loki gulped, as a shiver ran down his spine with the weight of those words. The betrayal, losing control over Hela, the political implications of joining Jotunheim and Asgard, what it would mean for Odin, Asgard and the Nine Realms to have a Frost Giant halfbreed sitting on the throne.

“The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?”

“No,” Odin admitted quietly. “In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple, and I found a baby. Small for a Giant’s offspring - clearly abandoned and left to die in the cold. Laufey’s son.”

In his mind Loki saw clear as day that conversation with Odin, right after he had discovered the truth. How the All-father didn’t even flinch when telling him the story. His hands began to shake with fury.

“What of my mother? Had she no say in my fate?”

“Laufey had not publicly taken a Queen. I don’t know who your mother is, or if she even lived through your birth. For all anyone knew, it could have been any random female he wanted to take.”

Loki now knew better. Odin knew all along who his mother was, and that she did not have a say in his fate was Odin’s own doing.

“I wanted only to protect you from the truth.”

Lies!

I was the living embodiment of his mistakes.

His hands started to turn blue, just as they had that day when he held the Casket. His chest felt heavy with the weight of the lies he had been poisoned with throughout his life. His own past was being unveiled, his history, his heritage, his family… his real family, and he could barely cope with it. The images on the ceiling started to spin, as if they were trying to communicate, tell him everything. The air felt too hot, too humid, and he could not breathe. Ghosts danced and swirled around him and he had to wonder if he wasn’t speaking the dead into life.

“Rindr,” Hela suddenly said.

Loki had not noticed she was now by his side. The touch of her rough hands on his was almost tender, and brought him back to himself. “What?” he croaked.

“That is your grandmother’s name.” Hela looked at the ceiling again, the image of the former queen seemed to be looking down at them. “Queen Rindr of Asgard, General of the Valkyrie Army, protector of the Nine Realms.”

Loki took a deep breath and looked up. He had heard the legends of the Valkyries since he was a young boy, but he never imagined that one of their generals was his own blood. A hint of pride blossomed within him. My bloodline is more powerful than I thought. No wonder Odin wanted to keep me under wraps.

Hela remained silent, allowing him a moment to take it all in. When she spoke again, disdain had crawled back into her voice.

“I’m guessing the throne room isn’t the only thing he, well, redecorated.”

Loki shook his head. “I can’t speak for any other part of the castle being altered like this, but I’ve seen the damage done in the library. Books were torn, enchanted, vandalized…”

Hela shrugged her shoulders. “Doesn’t surprise me at all. He had to make sure no one ever knew about what happened. Couldn’t tarnish his precious image.”

A loud banging interrupted their conversation. The palace guards we trying to breach the throne room, and Loki knew it was only a matter of time before they broke through his magic defenses. He searched his mind for a solution, but everything he imagined would end in bloodshed. The soldiers would fight to their last, and Hela could obliterate them one by one without breaking a sweat.

What if there didn’t have to be a fight?

“You want your throne, and it is yours to claim, but the Hersir won’t recognize your ruling,” Loki said. “Odin saw that every shred of your life was erased. These soldiers haven’t been around long enough to have known you.”

Another bang, and Loki could feel the magic barrier thinning. Hela nodded her head and raised her hand, holding a temporary second barrier against the door. It wouldn’t last long, but it would buy them a bit more time to think.

“Then we have to find people who will,” Hela said. “Is that wretched traitor Heimdall still around?”

Loki shook his head. “He escaped.”

“The head healer, Eir?”

Loki shook his head again. “She retired after Frigga died, and left the realm. There is a way we could track her down, as she has settled in the mountains of Vanaheim now, but-” Loki stopped mid phrase, as if something had clicked inside his brain. A frantic smile spread across his face. “I know someone… I know where we can get the information you need!”

Hela looked at Loki cautiously, sizing him up.

BOOM!

Instinctively, both summoned weapons to their hands in an automatic move, and Hela was forced to drop her magic.

“And why you are going to help me, when just moments ago you held your own blade to my throat?”

“There are many things I still don’t know,” Loki simply said. “You’re the key to unlocking the truth.”

Hela looked surprised, but she had no time to respond. The wooden doors were beginning to splinter, and in just a few seconds hundreds of Einherjar would be upon them both.

“Norns, she is going to kill me for pretending to be dead and not telling her,” Loki said out loud to himself. He reached out to grab Hela’s arm. “We’re going to Alfheim.”

.-

<< Chapter 24  –  Chapter 26 >>

.-

@nikkalia​ @xalgaliareptx​  @christy-winchester​ @silverhart93​ @honeybournehippy​ @unseelie1963​ @manager-of-mischief​ @angryowlet​ @thelittlestlittlecutiepie​ @moonlightprime​ @velvetzybanshee​ @bengalaas​ @damalseer​

[anonwrite]

The Broken Road to Elysium (working title)

We have our first feedback submission!

There are several ways to give feedback.

Reply here or reblog with your own comments.

Go to this link and comment on the specific part using google drive commenting options. 

Send me a message as anon with tag “feedback on the broken road to elysium”

What type of feedback are you looking for? (your characters, descriptions, vocabulary, etc.)

I am looking for feedback on characters and description and if the writing is coherent/understandable.(not confusing)

I want constructive criticism, and would like to hear the truth in order to improve.

——————————

Ch.1

“Nova! Hey, wake up. Nova!”

Nova bolted up right to a sitting position. She could feel her heart beating thunderously in her chest, and a cold sweat on her skin. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the light in the room. She looked over at the man who had woken her up from a nightmare.

“Hey, Apollo…what’s up?” She smiled weakly, already assuming the screaming in her dream had manifested to the real world.  Apollo smiled at her, but it didn’t completely disguise his concern. His dark eyes watched her for a second, then he walked to the foot of the bed and sat down. His handsome structured face, wore a five o'clock shadow, indicating he hadn’t quite started his morning routine.

“You were kinda yelling in your sleep again. Thinking about Lucian, or the war?”  He asked, curiosity in his voice.

Nova looked around the room, visibly embarrassed. Why can’t I have one peaceful night?

“Nova, you know you can talk to me, stop being so hardheaded, we both saw some horrible—”

“Sorry for waking you up.” She interrupted.

“No worries, I was already up. It’s a beautiful morning out there, we should take advantage. I finally got a day off from work.” Apollo crossed his arms across his bare chest, he rarely wore a shirt, proud to display his muscular athletic build to the world. He sighed, as Nova averted her gaze to the navy-blue bedsheets, sulking like usual. He grabbed a small pillow and tossed it directly at Nova, hitting her square in the face.

            “Apollo! What the hell was that for?!” Nova shouted angrily. 

Apollo had already made a run for the exit, stopping inside the door frame, his back to Nova. “Stop brooding, I have those nightmares and memories too, but instead of feeling sorry for myself, I push forward and have hope. One of us has to, I guess. Can you imagine two brooding twins?”

Nova was now up on her feet but had stopped midway to the door once she heard Apollo’s words. He had a point; she had been pessimistic with their current situation. His words irritated her, mainly because there was truth in them. Apollo had never been the type to be subtle; which started a lot of arguments in his life. One of these days that smart mouth of yours is going to really get you in trouble. She pushed the thought out of her mind, she didn’t want her brother to get hurt, but he constantly tempted fate.

“I’m not brooding! You just woke me up from sleep, you’d be mad too!” Nova exclaimed. Apollo waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder without looking back into the room.

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so, sis.” He continued walking into the hallway.

Nova walked back to her bed, picking up the pillow that was now lying on top of the small black faux fur carpet near her bed. She suddenly heard Apollo’s footsteps returning to her room. “What do you want now?” She said, irritation coating her words. Her back faced the door.

 "What’s with the attitude? Is it that time of the month?“ Apollo said, mockingly.

Nova turned to face him; pillow gripped tightly in her hands. “Apollo, I am in no mood right now.”

Apollo grinned at her. “You see this?” He pointed at his smile, “If you did this more often, you’d finally have a girlfriend, grouch face.”

Nova threw the pillow in his direction, missing, and hitting the wall to his left.

“Nice aim, Marine.” Apollo chuckled out his sarcastic statement. “I just came back to tell you I had made breakfast, but now I don’t think you deserve my glorious cooking.”

Nova pouted and crossed her arms in front of her chest, she loved her brothers cooking and hated when he used it against her. After the war had ended, Apollo had invested his time and money into building a restaurant. He had always been a great cook. He spent time learning family secret recipes, which quickly became popular. He practically became famous overnight in Eureka. Food was one of the things that helped bring their small outskirt colony together.

“Also, I will be heading into Eureka tomorrow, I have been requested to help prepare food for the Mist Castle Summit. I will be out there for about a week.”

Nova’s stomach felt uneasy at the mention of the summit, her face quickly washed over with worry. “What? Why didn’t you mention this earlier? I’m coming!” Nova rushed to her closet, grabbing a duffle bag, which she let drop to the floor. She started selecting clothing she thought were appropriate for the trip.

“Nova, stop. I will be fine, plus, you know it’s not safe for you to come with me.” Apollo walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light reassuring squeeze.

Nova stopped searching through her clothes and turned to face Apollo. He stood a few inches taller than her, at 6'0 foot, she never understood how they could possibly be twins, yet look so different. Nova had a much paler skin complexion, compared to Apollos’s tan skin. His eyes were a dark brown, practically black, while hers shone green hazel. His black hair was a medium length up top and shorter on the sides, always nicely styled. She admired the fact that her brother always had time to look his best; even while shooting an M16-A4 rifle down the battlefield.

She guessed they had a similar face structure, and nose, they were a good-looking pair of twins. They were athletically built due to playing sports in school, military training and their obsession with fitness. But that’s where most of their similarities stopped; other than their stubbornness, they were practically polar opposites in personality.

Nova was always the quieter and observant twin; it wasn’t easy for her to make friends and even harder to open up to people, to include her own family. She struggled with self-care, and self-love. Her father took a larger role in taking care of her and boosted her confidence, which helped her join the military. Apollo on the other hand, was extremely outgoing. He always made friends easily, everyone in the family always talked about his charms and how he never lacked when it came to women. He helped Nova ask out her first crush in high school; which later turned out to be very toxic. Genesis…so many red flags.

The memories of their fun filled; and carefree past played on her mind now. I miss those days…I miss Dad….and Luc—

Apollo woke Nova from her reverie with a tap on the nose. “Earth to Nova, you in there?” He smiled, waiting for her to fully acknowledge him. He knew she had drifted into her head space. His sister found sanctuary within her mind a lot lately. It worried him, but he knew better then to try and pry information out of her. He had noticed some of her childhood quirks return after the war, making her spend a lot of time alone. He tried his best to be there for her, but understood that she was coping with things as best she could.

He could see her attention was back on him and he smiled. “You know you can’t come. It’s too dangerous for you. The people around here don’t know what you are, and wouldn’t accept you living here. I am one hundred percent human, and I run no risks; the route is well guarded. Plus, someone needs to stay behind to keep mom company. You know she has been anxious lately; due to dads lack of communication.” Apollo started walking to the door once more. “Come eat breakfast before it gets cold, mom should be joining us. Please try to be civil.” He disappeared into the hallway. “Oh! and make sure you at least look decent; you know how mom gets!”

Nova watched her brother exit the room. She let her shoulders slack and jaw relax. She knew her brother had a point. It had been 10 years since the end of the war, but most humans still feared her kind and others like her. She had managed to keep her inner demon a secret; luckily for her it had not manifested fully. She had small mutations reveal themselves when she was in danger, but she lacked full control over them. She thought back on the actions that brought an end to the war; and the semblance of peace that had fallen on the earth, once President Joseph Yaeger had been assassinated. The killer was never captured, but their actions brought an end to the civil war in the states; also causing a cease fire around the world. Most world leaders decided peace was now more lucrative, as opposed to their heads on a stake.

Nova looked around her room, it was adorned with a queen-sized bed, two average sized cabinets, and a small desk with her laptop and books. The room was very nice and neat, she had a minor cleaning compulsive disorder. Cleanliness and organization were a big part of her upbringing, since her father was a Master Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. The room was painted a light grey, while its furnishings were mostly a dark brown. A picture of her early years in the military, standing with her platoon, was hanging high on the ceiling with promotions and awards below it.

Nova was proud of serving in the military, even though it had brought some misfortunes and hard times. She stretched her limbs, still feeling stiff from sleep. She then entered the adjoining bathroom and stepped in front of the mirror. She observed her current state with disdain.

She noted her skin was paler than usual and sighed when she noticed dark circles forming under her eyes. Her hair was a frizzy tangled mess, of curls that hung slightly above her mid back. 30 never looked so good. She thought sarcastically to herself. She had been slacking on her self-care, but the long nights on patrol and small missions had given her an excuse. She had just arrived home two days prior, after a supplies recovery task that lasted over one excruciating month.

Nova quickly washed her face and combed her hair. She wasn’t looking forward to her mother’s visit. Mom, you really need to start visiting for dinner not breakfast. It’s too early to play dress up. She walked back into her room and selected a pair of black jeans, a grey Henley shirt and brown boots. She decided to keep her attire simple, knowing her mother would disapprove of anything that wasn’t a dress. She would give into her mother’s demands on special occasions, but this wasn’t one of them. Once satisfied with her appearance she quickly made her way to the kitchen hoping her mother hadn’t yet arrived.

[valasania-the-pale]

The Last Rose - Chapter Six

Here’s chapter six for all of you. Please enjoy and reblog!

X_0_X

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was just like the flowers in the garden, rooted in place for all eternity. The sunflowers she’d known for longer than memory had long since wilted, but the husky remnants remained, despite the spider lilies springing up like weeds in their place.

Move.

The hinges squeaked quietly as she pushed the door open, the key gifted to her slotting with a click into the lock without protestation. Professor Oobleck had been kind, keeping an eye on the old cottage while she was away. She knew that Zwei would be happy with him – they got along better than she could have dreamed.

Dust coated every surface. The living room reeked of old must and decay. Once, it smelled of rose petals and lilac, and sometimes the sour bite of liquor.

Keep moving.

His room was empty. And clean. So was Ruby’s. So was Yang’s. Of course they were. Never did the house sparkle and shine as much as when Taiyang had something to worry about.

She could still see the spots on the wall, ever so slightly off-color where paint and spackle had been used to fill in the holes they’d created as children. There was the dark spot on the rug where she’d spilled grape juice as a little girl, Taiyang never did manage to scrub that away.

And there, the pictures they’d taken together as a family, for the last time. That one of herself, hard at work in the forge creating her beloved weapon. And there…

…

She left the house not long after entering, eyes wet and heart clenching underneath its icy shell. The letters clutched in her hands, unopened. Retrieved from the safe, where she knew they would be. She didn’t have the heart to read them – nor to stay another moment in that place.

Not home – not anymore. Dust, where did it all go so very wrong?

…Where did she go, now?

…

Is home a place? Patch was home, once. I felt safe there. Safe and secure and loved and surrounded by people I could call family. In our little cottage, I could believe that anything was possible, and that the world was just waiting to open up before me the moment I stepped out the door.

It’s not home now. Not anymore. Probably not ever again.

I’ve heard that home can be a person. A bond. That our loved ones are what make a home what it is. Something in that seems right to me. Fitting, I guess. But… where is home for me, then? Is it possible to not have a home at all?

…I’m sorry. I hope I’m not too late. The questioning, the doubting, it never stops. It’s like a disease, and no one has a cure.

So much has changed… and certainty feels like it’s in ever smaller supply.

Ha… Answer me this, if you’re so smart: whether home is a place, or a bond… whatever it is… to where have I returned?

X_0_X

It was like walking through a dreamworld.

Ruby numbly chewed a mouthful of fresh greens, served to her with a flourish by a smiling Ren.

Just like she’d expected, it was delicious. The Mistrallan’s skill in the kitchen was as of yet unrivalled by anyone Ruby knew, and his nutritional acumen was (now) supplemented by a pounded-in knowledge of what actually tasted good, courtesy of Nora.

It didn’t cure her of her daze, but it certainly gave her the excuse she needed to process everything that had happened since she’d left the flight.

At first, she’d been beyond delighted.

How long had it been since she’d last spoken with her friends face to face? How long since she’d last gotten to hear their voices, feel their warmth, bask in their familiar presence?

After prying her redheaded limpet away from her, ribs and weakened arm protesting all the while (“Nora! Air! Need! Please!”), her elation came crashing down around her ears with the abruptness of running headlong into a brick wall

Yes, Ruby; how long has it been since you last came to visit your friends?

‘How long have you been hiding away in Mistral? Running away from your problems? Don’t you think they’ve missed you? After all this time?’

‘Shut up,’ she told that part of her, firmly.

That was beside the point. She’d been dealing with those sorts of doubts for years now; they were secondary to the real revelation.

Nora, Ren, they were here.

She hadn’t seen her friends in… seven years now? It felt like longer.

Ren’s hair was trimmed short, shoulder length and tied back in a stylish ponytail. Nora was as infectiously bubbly as she remembered, sporting a few crow’s feet around the eyes but otherwise untouched by time. Both fit and hale and almost exactly as she remembered of them from before.

More than that, the two were obviously happy.

She could see it in their eyes. Ren’s glowed like lotus blossoms in the morning sun, Nora’s like glistening ice. In every movement, every loving glance, Ruby could read the contentment they held for themselves. Each marker a testament to the life they’d built for themselves here, without her.

She touched Crescent Rose’s folded-up length at her side, where she’d leaned it against her chair. How long had it been? Had they been so happy when she’d left?

Ruby felt like an intruder.

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t. It would have taken the power of the gods to stop the inevitable conclusions from making themselves.

She should have been at their side from the beginning, growing comfortable in this new city that had sprung up from the ashes of the old alongside them. They had all been a team – family, of a sort. Inseparable. Unconquerable. Loved.

She should have been there – shouldn’t have missed all that time, shouldn’t have run away, shouldn’t have let old arguments fester for so long…

But she had, and still they were happy.

Was… she even needed here? Wanted, even?

They’d been family, but her leaving had severed that connection. Ruby felt the tattered ends keenly, deep within her soul.

The entire walk home, listening to the two chatter on – well, Nora mainly chattering, with Ren contributing in his own sedate way – every rationalization she’d made over the last decade, every justification for missing out on another week, another month, another year of her friends’ lives was shoved into the light and she was numbed.

She was uncomfortably reminded that she’d just left other friends behind, and might not see them for just as long. Maybe longer…

Dust, was there nothing she hadn’t fucked up?

And being the wonderful human beings they were, too excited by her return and too kind to try and peer deeper into her troubled soul, husband and wife were both oblivious to her inner discomfort.

Nora slammed her open palm down on the dining table. “We have got to take you out around the city, soooo much has changed since you were last here!”

“Since so much of the population fled during and after the Fall, a lot of room has opened up for immigrants and entrepreneurs to set up shop and fill in the niches left behind,” Ren explained.

“Like that one lady with the huge boobs and six secret boyfriends down on Fifth street! She makes the best pastries – the way she uses cinnamon is just di-vine~!”

“Nora, that’s uncharitable.” Ren frowned disapprovingly. “She’s only cheating with the one other man, not six.”

“And how do you know that, mister? I didn’t take you for a gossip-monger. Do I need to be worried about the neighbors knowing about my delicates?”

“Only the ones you leave out on the floor for too long. We’ve established that not picking up after yourself is grounds for retaliation long ago.”

“Oooh~ Gonna punish me, Renny?”

“Nora! Not in front of Ruby!”

Ruby… stared.

She had no frame of reference anymore; it had been too long.

The banter, the mischief… she didn’t remember it coming so easily. It was bizarre to see Ren of all people firing back without hesitation, to see the lightness in his bearing, the openness of his expressions... And the loving glances… The joy…

Her stomach twisted in on itself; it was a struggle to continue chewing.

She’d expected a deluge of memory upon her arrival. That she would drown in the prickly, painful nostalgia that would surely rise up to envelop her. She’d expected anxiety, nightmares, residual grief, and whatever else she’d shoved to the back of her mind over the last decade to rear its ugly head, and that that would be the worst of her problems.

Part of her even expected arguments. Surely, they would have words for her for leaving… words that wouldn’t have fit into a letter. Surely…

The last thing she’d anticipated was the disconnect.

Since stepping off the platform she’d been beaten over the head with little else but how unfamiliar it was. Everything was different.

This shop that was once a clothing outlet was now renovated into a flower shop. That storefront was converted to a new set of apartments. The docks were now the lifeline of the city, where before they’d been little more than an afterthought compared to the grandeur of Downtown and the airport.

And though she had felt the eyes on her as she followed her friends back to their home, her weapons marking her as a huntress as surely as the predatory grace she walked with, compared to the familiarity she’d experienced in Mistral, they were not kind. They were strangers’ eyes, questioning the outsider and her purpose here.

Who was she, to walk among these people like she’d earned her right to live here?

Ruby was the intruder in their midst. It was an alien, uncomfortable situation, not felt for so many years...

She was used to at least being trusted in her role as a huntress. She was the Reaper. A guardian. Aegis of the people, fighting for them because she thought it was right, and recognized for that.

That was not something she doubted.

…Was it?

Her eyes flickered shut and she took a breath. No. She wasn’t doing this. ‘You will be okay,’ She told herself, shutting down the train of thought. ‘You just got here. You never expected it to be easy.’

She did not doubt her role. She wanted to help people. That had never changed.

The people just didn’t know that yet, just like they hadn’t in Mistral before she’d proven herself. It would be one of the first things she rectified, once she was better recovered.

If she were to stay here – if she was to continue her work here – she had to have a good rapport with the civilians. She’d need to find contacts. Friends. The people had to know their sentinels, their guardians, as she had to know them.

‘Know the people you’re protecting. You’ll fight harder for ‘em that way.’

“Ruby?”

A heavily calloused hand waved in her face, mere inches from her nose. Ruby jerked back, eyes blinking their glaze away rapidly. “Sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Ren said, frowning. “You seemed deep in thought. May we ask what’s on your mind?”

“Ah…”

Tell them how desperately awkward she felt? That she was in the middle of a crisis of faith? That she had no idea what to do with this strange otherworld she’d found herself within? With these new people? Them?

Nora picked up on her hesitation faster than Ren. “Sorry Ruby,” she said, frowning. “This is probably all really overwhelming for you.”

“We don’t want to overload you,” Ren chimed in.

“Right.” Nora nodded emphatically. “Especially since you’re still recovering and all.”

Dust, she didn’t want them blaming themselves. “I’m fine,” Ruby protested, a pink tint entering her cheeks.

“Pssssh.” Nora exchanged an artfully exaggerated glance with Ren. “Bags under your eyes.”

“Movements kept to the bare minimum.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten a shower in a few days,” Nora sniffed.

Ren nodded. “You’re free to use ours before you head up to the school if you’d like, by the way.”

“And by ‘if you’d like’ he really means you really should take us up on it because you look like death warmed over.”

“Nora.”

She shoved Ren’s shoulder playfully. “Oh pish! You might be too polite to say it, but Dust knows a lady could use a shower when she’s not at her best. Warm water and a good scrubbing does wonders for the spirit!”

“You guys,” Ruby interjected, thumb fidgeting with her silverware, rubbing a single spot until it started to gleam. “I’m fine, really. I don’t want to put you out, or to make you worry, or…” she paused. Wait. “Do… I really look that bad?”

Nora held up her hand, three fingers extended. She didn’t do much to hide her pitying expression. “Three out of five, honestly. You don’t look awful.”

“But maybe a good soak would do you good,” Ren finished delicately.

“Oh.” Ruby swallowed. Well then. “I, uh. Might take you up on that then.”

Now slightly ashamed (Dust, was it really that noticeable, or— well, they were huntsmen…), Ruby hid herself in her salad. She was fine.

The dressing was good. She half-decent in the kitchen herself after so long cooking her own meals, but she seldom got to experiment with some of the more ambitious flavors she tasted here.

This was fine. Just fine.

And now the other two seemed much more attuned to her discomfort, sharing glances while Ruby avoided their gazes. Were they afraid? Worried?

Damnit she’d wanted to avoid this.

“Soooo.” Nora broke the silence. “Find anyone special while you were in Mistral?”

Her hand paused midway between bowl and mouth. “Um, no.”

“No pretty thing able to keep your attention?”

…She hated small talk. “No, not really.”

‘Please leave it,’ she implored mentally.

Ren coughed, stepping in for Nora. “If I could ask you something, Ruby?”

“Sure,” Ruby mumbled awkwardly. “Go for it.”

“Well,” he glanced at Nora. “You never said in your letter. We figured, after so long, there had to be a reason for you to change your mind… but, what made you decide to come back to Vale?”

“Was it work?” Nora added, head tilting to the side. “We thought you’d taken time away from hunting after your ordeal.”

“Or that you’d had a falling out with someone back in Mistral.”

“But then we found out that Sun was one of the people taking care of you while you were recovering – and couldn’t think of anyone else you mentioned in your letters that you were close to.”

“So…” Ren trailed off.

“What brings you home, Rubes?” Nora finished.

Ruby ground to a halt whilst they spoke, forced to think by the question; one she didn’t have a clear answer for herself yet. There was so much.

Why?

There were too many emotions tangled up within her for it to be simple.

She hoped to discover a new purpose, for one. Padma’s words had stuck with her that far.

Hopefully she’d manage to find some closure with the city she’d left behind so many years before, if she could manage it.

Maybe, if things went alright, she might also quell some of her doubts – some of her shame, the guilt of leaving behind her family for so many years, if that much was even possible after so long.

But…

But telling them all of that; telling them the reason behind all of that – that she’d been torn down to her lowest point in nearly a decade, and that she still didn’t feel anywhere close to recovered – well…

She didn’t want to intrude.

Some of her feelings crystallized. This was a personal journey for her. Ren and Nora were clearly happy. They had lives. A home. Jobs they enjoyed and a family together with their daughter.

All the things they’d ever wanted since they were left alone together as children.

She would not put that in jeopardy.

So, she lied.

“Nothing like that,” Ruby said, carefully.

‘Be confident, be purposeful.’ Those were the first two secrets to a good lie. Ruby took care not to over-act, while also pushing the emotion she wanted to convey into her words.

They were huntsmen, they would see through all but the best. “I thought that after my accident I should come see you all. My recovery’s been pretty slow, and winter in the city wasn’t doing me any favors, so it seemed like a good time. I’ve missed you all a lot since I left.”

The third rule recommended sprinkling in a little truth. She did miss them all. It was good timing to spend her recovery among people she could catch up with after a long time away.

She’d just…

She’d never had that extra push to come back before. All of that was true, except that she’d never stared mortality in the face so clearly, felt it sink vicious claws into her soul and hold tight. She’d never seen it etched so clearly in her wretched reflection before, so much irrefutable evidence of her failure to stand on her own two feet as an adult.

There was motivation, and there was motivation.

They only needed to know the first kind. The second she would hold close, lest it ruin the fragile hope she nursed deep within.

And it worked. Beautiful, wonderful, trusting people that they were, it worked.

Nora smiled softly, dimples showing themselves as she reached across the table to squeeze her shoulder. “We missed you too, Rubes,” she said.

Ren mirrored her, a silent but firm presence, and their hands on her shoulders filled Ruby with a fuzzy warmth at odds with the chill she felt in her heart.

It would be worth it. She would get better and make it worth all the pain and dishonesty.

Not wanting them to question her further and feeling heavy with another new doubt pressing on her shoulders, Ruby quietly pushed her bowl forward, thanking Ren for the delicious meal.

At a simple request, Nora cheerfully directed her up to the bathroom where she began to strip out of her clothes to wash and at least fix one of her concerns for the day.

She did not notice the perturbed glance that Nora shot at her back before the door closed, wondering where the cloak that usually rested comfortably across her shoulders had gone.

When she stepped under the steaming water, Ruby had no idea that the couple was deep in conversation at the table downstairs, meals entirely forgotten and frowns pinching their faces with concern.

While she was busy pondering her own life’s choices, husband and wife were busy asking themselves an entirely separate question.

What had happened to their friend?

X_0_X

‘It’s a wonder Roman Torchwick wasn’t ruling over the city wholesale with this one as his right hand.’

“Seriously not helping right now,” Oscar Pine muttered to the second presence in his mind, rolling his eyes as a split second of warm amusement leaked over.

He didn’t need the distraction right now, thank you very much!

Older, stronger, and debatably wiser than he had been several years ago, Oscar was well-versed in the art of the chase. There were only three tenets one need follow: Don’t exhaust yourself with an ambitious, unsustainable pace, don’t break line of sight, and remember to breathe.

‘Bonus points for minimizing collateral damage.’

“That was one time!”

His mark dashed off down one of Vale’s many dingy alleyways, breaking his second rule temporarily before he made the sharp turn after her.

‘The Society for the Restoration of Vale’s Parks and Services, evidently. You didn’t really have to detour through those freesias, did you? They were coming along so wonderfully.’

Well it wasn’t his fault his pursuit of that particularly slippery thug led through that park, now was it? He’d had to apologize for weeks before the chairman stopped sending him those passive-aggressive letters.

Even no he still got the occasional dirty look from a ‘concerned citizen.’

But of course, he was only doing his job! Never mind the full breakfast, sometimes you had to break a few eggs to make an omelet! Never mind that Vale was a city where those eggs were already broken, rotten, and smelling like a pub dumpster after a Saturday night! No, protect the damn flowers, Oscar.

‘Well, they were particularly pretty flowers.’

He got a laugh from his other half as he cursed under his breath again.

This particular area of the city – formerly a part of the Residential District, now long since walled off from the recovering city – was grey, crumbling, and still suffering from a Grimm infestation.

There were rocks all over the streets from where some random explosion or flying chunk of lead smashed into some building, or where some overenthusiastic huntsman had ripped open the streets. Oscar was forced to detour around several impassable obstacles – each time losing just a little more ground.

It was enough to drive him to distraction. Rock. Rock. Pit. Oh look, there were a few Boarbatusk – better get out of the way before they bowl you over! He was too fast for nuisances like those to catch him unawares, but he just knew that his running straight into them was anything but an accident.

His target, Bianca Corallo, was a wily, mischievous sadist. Just the sort to get a laugh out of him staggering into the middle of a Grimm ambush.

‘You know she doesn’t like being called that,’ Ozpin chided.

“Don’t… really… care!” Oscar panted, sprinting up a flight of stairs after the last glimpse he’d gotten of her fleeing, colorful form.

Unfortunately for him, Corallo was small, fit, fast, and slippery like an eel.

One of Vale’s many, many criminals aspiring to fill the void left behind after Roman Torchwick’s empire crumbled around the rest of the city. She’d risen to power through an ample and often arbitrary application of brutal force, ambitious heisting, and balls of steel.

Unlike most of the scum and scrabbling thugs he usually had to contend with, she was also unique in that she was actually having some amount of success in taking over from her old boss.

Hence, the chase.

He reached the third floor just in time to see the flash of wild, multicolored hair vanish through one of the many gaping holes in the side of the building. Cursing, he pressed himself further, dipping slightly into his aura to soothe the complaints building up in his thighs.

‘You shouldn’t have skipped leg day.’

“Shut. Up!”

Oscar turned his fall into a tight roll, compacting his body tight against itself to disperse the force. Thankfully, the ground was relatively free of rocks. Less thankfully, Corallo was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck!”

‘Do you kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?’

“What happened to you being a wise, immortal being?” Oscar demanded, not for the first time, his mind working overtime. “Did all that go away when you got shunted into permanent shotgun?”

‘I prefer to think that I’m more like the little light on your shoulder, actually.’

“Hilarious. What do you recommend, then?” He didn’t have time for this. He scanned every direction, hoping to catch some sign of Corallo’s passing. Too little dust on the ground to note any footprints, and she was too savvy to leave a noticeable trail through the rubble.

‘I recommend you duck.’ And suddenly Oscar was in motion, Ozpin smoothly taking control like a hand slipping into a glove.

The bullet that whizzed over their head was nothing more than an afterthought as they whirled and set themselves in a solid fighting stance.

Glass shattered above them and they instantly looked up to meet Corallo’s dichromatic, mocking eyes. In one hand she held her parasol – frilly, white and pink like you’d see on some vapid little girl’s doll. In the other, a long cane lightly smoking at the tip, which she swiftly recombined with her parasol to form a single piece.

She tucked her weapon under her arm, giving her hands the space to gesture at him rapidly. ‘ME LOOKING FOR, GEARHEAD?’

“Corallo,” they growled.

‘FLATTERED,’ she signed, fluttering her eyelids. ‘YOU MY NAME REMEMBER.’

Oscar took control back from Ozpin, the rush of sensation barely even fazing him after so many repetitions.

“It’s my job,” he said. His lips curled downwards into a dark frown. “We’ve been through this before. Surrender and I can guarantee you a trial before you are sent to prison. Fail to stand down and I am permitted to use however much force I deem necessary to eliminate you as a threat to Vale’s security.”

Which was to say he’d probably be forced to kill her, if he couldn’t effectively cripple her in some way.

Vale was a changed place from before the Fall, after all. The law didn’t have time to fuss around with criminals when every day was a struggle to fend off the ever-encroaching Grimm. With every day a new vicious scrap for each and every block, the people – and especially the huntsmen – had quickly lost any and all patience for the unnecessary wrongdoings perpetrated by other humans.

With people like Corallo? Oscar could do essentially whatever he’d like.

He had standards though. Standards he anticipated seeing return to the rest of the force, once he could properly weed out the unscrupulous members.

Standards that, unfortunately, made seem like he had his cane shoved up his ass when said aloud.

‘Oscar,’ Ozpin sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve practiced this. You need not sound so stuffy. What happened to all of those action films you’ve been watching with Amaya? Take a leaf from their book.’

Corallo evidently agreed. ‘CAN YOU BORING LESS? ME THINGS BETTER COULD DOING.’

‘Fuck both of you,’ Oscar sighed.

The things he did for this city…

With a tiny flick he set off the beacon at his waist – specific to huntsmen working outside the secured sectors so that backup could be summoned where it was needed within minutes. He just had to keep Corallo distracted until backup arrived. Or take her down himself, if he could manage it.

She caught the motion and shot him a mischievous grin, dropping down to his level, knees bending slightly to distribute the force with a minimum of effort. ‘YOU FIGHT WANT?’

He reached behind his waist and grabbed the preternaturally familiar hilt of their cane, extending it to its full length with an elegant flick of the wrist. He’d practiced for hours to get that just right.

‘Vain.’

‘Ass.’

Complain about his stuffiness when he read their rights, moan about the time he spent trying to work on improving his cool factor, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine. There was no pleasing millennial disembodied soul-companions.

‘Add an extra splash of caramel to our next cocoa and we’ll talk.’

‘If you shut up about my caffeine shots, then deal.’

‘Acceptable.’

Corallo was oblivious to their internal dialogue, circling opposite of Oscar while his body simply went through the motions of tracking her movements.

The benefit of having two souls in one body was, at its most basic, parallel processing. Even splitting some of his attention between the fight and Ozpin, both of them were carefully analyzing their foe, drawing on past experiences, comparing those to what they knew of the tricky crime boss, drawing up tactics and discarding them just as quickly.

It began suddenly.

Corallo’s body shattered with a surge of flashing light only to reappear behind him. Her parasol swept downwards like a bludgeon. Oscar twisted in place, cane swinging up to deflect it off to the side, pulling his leg up and bending laterally to deliver a powerful kick to her abdomen.

Corallo used the blow to disengage. Her aura flashed faintly, dispersing the force with the same ease Oscar would dispatch a mosquito. Her parasol unfurled to drain her momentum – one of her favorite tricks, he knew. He’d thrown her off of several buildings and tried to slam her into plenty enough walls to learn that gravity and inertia meant very little to her.

The world slowed. Negligible damage, for a first clash. They were just testing the waters. They’d done this enough to know each other well, the others’ fighting style. It was almost a “Hello” between officer and kingpin. Did you get enough sleep? Eat a good breakfast? Did you do you warm ups?

‘I’d certainly be disappointed if we died because you skimped on your calisthenics. Oh, what a thought.’

‘Shut up.’

Corallo was certainly up to her usual standards. Even as the watched each other, mirrored predators eyeing the other, her smirk faded just a little. Her eyes gaining the sharp glint Oscar knew so well. The bloodthirst roiling just below her skin.

This time Oscar took the initiative.

Corallo’s eyes narrowed, so slow. Her fingers tightened. Oscar’s footsteps rang with his heartbeat, the world draining of color as his semblance activated.

Time dilation – fitting for a successor to someone of Ozpin’s reputation. Useful for battle, where it gifted him with a great boon in the extra time to consider his options. Sadly, his body was caught up in it as well.

If only – he’d be unstoppable otherwise.

‘If that were the case, I do believe Ruby would be after your head for absconding with her semblance.’

‘She could use the competition!’ Oscar retorted; eyes locked with Corallo’s. He also – ironically – had to be quick. It would be a shame to drain himself prematurely by abusing his ability.

Twitch. Twitch. Shoulders tensing. Her eyes flashed understanding. She knew him. His abilities. What he was doing. She would play unpredictably, just to throw him off. She would block, block again, most likely duck out of the way and disengage. Force him to exhaust himself, not let him get a single hit in.

They’d see about that.

The world resumed its usual pace.

Regardless of his inability to include his body in his semblance’s effects, Oscar was fast. Blisteringly fast. Only Ruby, Ren, and a few very other select huntsmen were capable of keeping up with him when he had his blood up.

Corallo was one of those few.

He swept his cane around, forcing her to contort herself backwards to avoid the strike. Her legs lashed out, he skipped backwards. With a series of incredible gymnastics, she leapt back on him. From the front, the sides, from above. She was a whirling dervish – where he put forth his strength she melted away. Where he defended, she refused to meet him.

In that was she was a wraith. Untouchable. Devious. And absolutely vicious where she caught an opening.

But he was a wall in his own right. He didn’t take everything she dished out, he caught it, pushed, shoved, and redirected. He and Ozpin combined were capable of vast feats of skill – their strength was their mind and the finesse they brought to the battlefield. Unpredictability was met with precision, and for a time they were matched.

They knew to respect her abilities. She knew enough to be wary of his.

Unfortunately, she knew she was on a timer and broke the stalemate with characteristic bluntness, shattering a few dozen feet away and drawing her gun-cane from her parasol.

‘Ugh.’ Ozpin gave the mental equivalent of a scowl. ‘She’d going to make you use it, isn’t she?’

The first shot shattered the asphalt where Oscar had been standing been mere moments before. The ammunition, Fire Dust – he could feel the heat from a dozen feet away. ‘You know, not everyone is happy smacking things around until they give up or pass out, aura or not!’

The second shot whizzed by his head – Oscar didn’t bother wasting energy getting away and bent his head to the side. The heat of the shot made his aura above his ear flare into visibility – protecting him from the burn he’d have otherwise received. He shoved his long coat to the side, hand wrapping around the lacquered wooden stock of his little baby.

‘It is a perfectly serviceable tactic! Miss Xiao Long just corrupted you!’

Oscar snorted and drew his weapon from its holster, appreciating for a moment the satisfying weight in his hand. ‘It’s an extra tool in my pocket. I would think you’d appreciate that!’

The third shot he swatted aside with their cane – his pine green aura flaring at the very tip to avoid detonating the shot on contact. The abandoned storefront it sailed into was reduced to rubble by the shockwave unleashed – Lightning Dust at its finest. In the same motion, he raised his other arm and took aim.

KA-WHUMP!

Corallo shattered away from her perch, now crumbling into assorted cobblestone, shattered glass, and shrapnel. ‘Perhaps… but did you really have to go with a shotgun? It’s so… blunt.’

‘I told you, I’m not trading Fidelis for a pistol!’

Corallo was on him in moments, taking advantage of his reduced versatility now that both of his hands were full, and refusing to let him re-holster and regain his edge.

Her parasol jabbed into his guard repeatedly, the sharpened tip doing work drawing energy from his aura reserves. Each pinprick threatened to bust through and pierce flesh as he was forced to fortify each miniscule spot.

He had his own advantages as well. Devoid of other options beside tossing it aside and opening himself up for a new salvo of ranged attacks, Oscar worked to get every ounce of use he could out of it. ‘Blunt’ or not, a shotgun at close range was a force you had to respect.

More than once Corallo was forced away just to avoid her aura getting perforated with a spray of raw Dust-shot. But after a minute of fending her off Oscar realized with a pause and tightening of his eyes that he could not yet hear the sounds of approaching airships, nor the telltale beep of his beacon alerting him that backup was fast approaching.

‘Where are they?’

His lips pulled into a scowl, and he shoved Corallo away, gaining himself some breathing room.

She flowed with it, coming to a stop with a flick of her parasol and letting it rest on her shoulder unfurled. The motion was just a little too smooth – a little too smug. ‘COMPANY EXPECTING, GEARHEAD?’

‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Ozpin hummed.

The world greyed. He needed time to think. He was running low on precious aura, but he had the feeling Corallo didn’t intend to freely gift him the moment.

‘Thoughts?’ Oscar asked, mind racing.

He was not long in waiting. ‘She likely predicted this confrontation before she initiated the heist,’ Ozpin mused.

‘Which means she’d also put countermeasures against interference in place.’

‘Most likely. On the one hand it eliminates the probability of her being overwhelmed by superior force. Her favorite kind of fights are personal one on one duels – her records show a dearth of drawn-out, gang-style fights since Roman Torchwick’s demise. Too messy.’

‘And most of her operations involve concentrated, precise heists instead of the kind of multi-level criminal enterprises Torchwick favored.’

The old kingpin’s records pegged him as very comfortable working with his army of grunts and underlings – taking advantage of their numbers and rudimentary skills to supplement his own fairly mediocre abilities. Torchwick’s mind and charisma had been his greatest assets.

Almost the complete opposite of his protégé. She was cunning like a fox and deadly as a striking King Taijitu, but her strength was in her ability to crush her opponents beneath her foot like pathetic insects. She was prodigious among huntsmen – hence why she’d avoided capture for well-on two decades.

‘Indeed,’ Ozpin mulled. ‘She also enjoys fighting you. Much as she enjoyed fighting Commissioner Greyson before he was forced into retirement. Skilled opponents in general appear to be her favored prey.’

Which meant that…

‘And we’ve fallen into the trap.’

The world sped up as Oscar released the spell. Corallo was already sprinting toward him, rapier drawn from the depths of her parasol and glinting polished silver in the bright light of midday.

He was tired. She was fast. He was younger than her, but she had all the powerful vitality of someone half her age. Somehow, despite the multiple hits she’d taken, and all the times he’d drawn the flashes from her aura, she managed to ignore her fatigue and come at him like someone fresh to the fight.

A breath before she reached him Oscar dropped Fidelis and brought their cane up in a defensive posture.

Just in time.

Oscar was forced to draw on every iota of their shared experience as Corallo came at him in a whirling fury.

Unlike before she did not disappear at random, forcing him into constant motion just to keep up with her evasive tactics. Instead she just attacked. Vicious thrusting attacks like before – draining him shockingly quickly of his failing aura reserves – supplemented by powerful cutting slashes that he was better able to parry to the side.

He put in a few of his own hits – the pain of which he could see reflected back at him from her dichromatic eyes – but most of his energy was dedicated to keeping her away, keeping her back, keeping her from turning him into a living shish-kebab.

‘They’re still not coming,’ Ozpin muttered in the back of their mind, trying hard to keep the edge bleeding into his mental voice from distracting Oscar from the melee.

Deflect! Deflect! Oscar lashed out with a lateral kick - ‘Get back, bitch!’ – but his eyes widened as Corallo whirled to the side and seized his leg in a vice grip, ripping him off his feet, and threw him off to the side.

‘Shiii-iit!’

He slammed into a wall. His aura held, just barely, but he had only a moment to process before Corallo was on him and her rapier stabbed forward through his aura and sonofamotherfuckerthatHURTS!

‘Oscar!’

Ozpin took over from Oscar, blunting the sensation of the full foot of cold steel piercing their midsection before it could punch through Oscar’s synapses.

They could even feel the reverberations as the blade struck stone, an ominous hum all the worse for being felt so deep inside. The elder huntsman grabbed the weapon’s hilt – trapping it, out of Corallo’s reach – their other hand dropping their cane and lashing out to seize Corallo’s throat in a chokehold.

They lurched forward – both souls cringing inwardly as the pain in their side flared unbearably – and Oscar blindly joined Ozpin in bringing their weight down on their opponent. Their other hand left the rapier to join the first, and the added strength forced Corallo’s smaller hands to drop her weapon entirely to fight back. They could feel her clawing at their wrists, nails sharp and drawing blood and struggling against the inevitable as they throttled her.

Her lips worked furiously, gasping for air. The nails dug deeper, her unassuming strength showing in the bruises she created on their skin, seeking desperately for a weakness. To exploit. To break their grip. But she found none.

Her eyes flashed – cold, angry, no – raging – a cornered animal fighting for survival.

Some of her strength slackened and they allowed themselves to hope, just for a moment—

‘Almost… there…’

—But all too suddenly the weakness vanished – shifted as instinct gave way to intent. Corallo’s grip changed, her fingers grabbing their wrist like a vice, her abdomen tensing, her legs tucking in against her stomach as she tensed and shoved!

They went sailing over her head to land hard on the ground. Oscar cried out – lancing agony shooting through them as the rapier dragged on the asphalt and ground and cut against their innards.

For a moment, they simply lay there. Their body alive and burning with pain. Their minds a rushing tempest caught along in it. They could hear the sounds of Corallo retching behind them, her heaving, labored gasps. She wouldn’t take long to get back up – unlike them she still had the aura reserves to spare on healing.

Their heart pounded. Their breath was a harsh rasp. Blood soaked hot and thick through their clothes, fast enough for their self-preservation instincts to start flaring.

They had to get up.

Get up.

GET UP DAMNIT.

‘Fuuuuuck that hurts!’ Oscar groaned, rolling to their side and taking a bit of weight off of the blade. He froze again as the burn turned to lightning – gravity pulling the heavier hilt down and momentum shifting the blade along with itfuckfuckfuckSTOPTHAT!

‘Dust, why does this hurt so much!’ Oscar demanded blindly. ‘Is this supposed to be normal?’

‘This is…’ Ozpin grunted. ‘Not… The worst… I’ve gone through… Unfortunately… But quite normal… As far as impalements go…’ He seemed to be recovering much faster from the shock than Oscar. ‘They are… almost universally unpleasant… But at least nothing vital appears to have been hit... This time…’

Fair enough, but that wasn’t much of a mercy right now. He could be grateful for small mercies later when he had time to work through all of this. Time, and the benefit of painkillers. As well as twenty hours of solid rest to regenerate his aura.

And probably a good surgeon.

But right now? He could cheerfully throttle Corallo again in retaliation.

‘Can you take over?’

The older soul did, wordlessly, moving their body inch by labored inch as Oscar retreated into the distant mist of their shared psyche to regain his bearings. He would normally be okay with taking a heavy hit. He’d managed before. Multiple times.

He’d never been impaled before, though. He needed a moment to process that.

Corallo didn’t intend to give them that much, however. Just as Ozpin managed to force them to their knees, they registered the sound of her approaching footsteps and had only a moment to register before she was at their side, her hand wrapping around her rapier’s hilt one last time and yanking it out.

To her credit, it was fast.

Such fine distinctions were – in that moment – lost on the two huntsmen. But it was something. Ever the stoic, Ozpin refused to howl like Oscar wanted, but their trembling increased to a wracking shiver-shuddering.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’ Their beacon chose that moment to start registering approaching reinforcements.

‘Great timing guys…’ Oscar muttered, reaching feebly out to their body to start contributing once more.

Dust almighty it hurt but he was prepared now.

Ozpin surrendered the reigns as soon as Oscar had a sufficient grasp of himself to keep from curling up into a little ball once more. Nevertheless, he wrapped their arms around himself – noting distantly the steady stream of hot, sticky blood spreading from the wound. He pressed down harder, hoping to stem some of the flow.

It worked, to an extent. Assuming Corallo didn’t kill them outright, they had a decent chance of surviving the blood loss. That was somewhat comforting.

He looked up and met her eyes, hoping to see some hint of her intentions. She was as unpredictable in reputation as she was a fighter. They knew there was every chance her whimsy might be a boon to them. That there was every chance she would leave them alive, even if just to guarantee a future rematch.

Her smirk was missing. One hand rubbed her throat sympathetically, massaging the damaged tissues even as her aura shimmered over the dark bruises quickly forming. Oscar knew that the damage would quickly be repaired – but the blood that actually caused the discolored spots would take a little longer to vanish.

Aura was more efficient when it wasn’t attempting to dispose of waste material. It took more energy than someone in the middle of combat was normally willing to waste. The fight might have been over, but Corallo didn’t strike Oscar as the type to care too much about such superficialities.

Her eyes never left them.

Ozpin was far better at reading others than he was – such things were never very high up on his list of priorities. But even Oscar could see the wariness etched on her face.

‘You surprised her,’ he told Ozpin.

‘She thought you were defeated. She didn’t expect such swift retaliation.’

‘Her mistake.’

They didn’t have it in them to repeat that feat. Their remaining strength faded with each beat of their heart – each spurt of blood leaving their body and wracking it with pain.

Oscar let their shoulders slump just a little, chin dipping to Corallo in a gesture all huntsmen knew well: ‘You’ve won. For now.’

There was the smirk again. ‘GEARHEAD DONE NOW?’

“You’ve won,” Oscar repeated, an edge to his voice. “Stay and gloat – and get arrested for your troubles – or get out of here. You’ll slip up eventually.”

‘AND GEARHEAD THERE WILL BE. ME SURE.’

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing. She knew him well.

Corallo sniffed – a movement pantomimed to resemble more of a snicker. Though he could see how delighted she was with her victory – her teeth flashing just a little too much, a bounce in her step despite the fatigue she would be feeling – she still kept a fair distance between herself and him.

Ironically, in victory she was less arrogant than before the fight began. Ozpin fed him his own observations: the genuine cheer in her eyes, the imperceptible sway to her hips as she twirled around, her smirk was gentler – no, softer.

He didn’t think Crema had a gentle bone in her body.

It was a good look on her regardless. She was proud, but it was the delightful pride of a student succeeding where they hadn’t expected to. Ozpin knew that look well enough to recognize it on sight.

‘She would have made an interesting student.’

‘Glynda would hate you for thinking it.’

‘True.’ The thought amused Ozpin so much in spite of himself he didn’t quite care. Or perhaps it was the relief; they would live to see another day.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’

Corallo’s eyes dropped to his waist, noting the quickening flash of the beacon. Her time was up.

She clipped her parasol to her waist – the better to free up her hands and gave Oscar a mock bow. ‘WAS A GOOD FIGHT. ME LOOK FORWARD TO YOU HEAL. REMATCH.’

“This isn’t a game,” Oscar scowled.

‘NO? MAYBE. BUT FUN!’ She smirked and blew him a kiss. ‘BYE BYE!

She shattered away, her false-reflection dispersing into glistening shards.

The moment hung for a while before Oscar sagged and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. His knees ached and his side had begun to settle into a steady, painful throb punctuated with the sensation of superheated needles sinking in every time he moved their hands. ‘Well, that went about as poorly as it could have.’

‘Cheer up, Oscar. You got a few good licks in.’

‘Thanks. I’m comforted. Really comforted right now.’

‘But look on the bright side, you’re not dead!’

‘I will be once Amaya hears about—’

The air above them shattered once more, and Oscar craned his neck to see what Corallo wanted now, mere moments before his backup arrived.

It wasn’t anything much. Her hands flew, and as he realized what she was saying Oscar groaned.

‘Told you.’ Ozpin chuckled despite himself.

‘Shut up.’ He was so done for the day.

‘AND REMEMBER NEXT TIME, GEARHEAD. MY NAME NEO!’

X_0_X

The airspace around Beacon Tower was crowded with a dozen cranes gleaming all manner of rainbow-hues.

It had once been the pinnacle of Valean architectural achievement and host to one of Remnant’s precious CCT nexi, making it the backbone to modern society, the flow of information between the four kingdoms, and lasting peace.

The Fall broke that backbone, and Vale had been reduced to a crippled kingdom in exile.

The last time she’d seen it, only the floor of Headmaster Ozpin’s office and all below remained – the entirety of the clock and bell mechanisms above it lay scattered across the campus’ grounds like discarded toys. It remained the emblem of Vale city, only then, instead of a symbol of strength, knowledge, and cooperation, it had represented failure. Decay. Ruin.

But now? Rebirth, it seemed, had come to Beacon.

Whining machinery broke the tranquility of the grounds. The gruff calls of shouting foremen echoed off the buttresses and towers and walls that made Beacon a fortress in its ancient heyday. Power tools roared, fastening rivets, tightening screws, welding, splicing, repairing, building.

Construction equipment marred the vast, green lawns of the campus grounds, either filling up corners with assorted dusty bricks and raw material or laying on the grass unused for the time. Discolored patches revealed where some of the pallets had once rested; the earth was misshapen with tracks and ugly holes, and in many places besides the grass was dried out and rotten.

The gardens, which had once been world famous among botanists for the skill and care that went into their upkeep, had been left to seed, and were now overgrown with tough, thorny weeds.

Ruby could even spot a few of the places where marks of the Fall remained visible: there was the spot that a Paladin had crumbled to the ground and crushed a façade. There was the pit where one of the transports disabled by the Griffon horde had crashed. There was the spot she’d carved Crescent Rose into the stone tile path to halt her momentum after an Ursa Major slugged her in the gut, and the scorch mark a few feet further down; where she’d sent herself flying back at the beast.

Beacon tower itself, surrounded by colossal, smudgy, colorful steel cranes – each hard at work lifting up the vital machinery, electronics, and raw material necessary to restore functions to the CCT components left in ruins – seemed to wear a cast of iron, propped up but never quite giving the impression it was fully defeated.

The tower stood tall. Like the rest of Vale, it too was healing.

She ignored Ren’s hand on her shoulder, her hand clenched at her side missing the familiar weight of her scythe – she’d left it behind with her other things – because, despite it all, she could only feel the deep ache within her chest.

Despite it all, it was still beautiful. It was still Beacon Academy.

And all too suddenly, she was elsewhere. Elsewhen. A faded tapestry spreading out before her, the colors muted, the sounds dimmed.

She was running after streamers of long silver-white hair, the splash of scarlet something she was distinctly not used to seeing flare out behind silver-shod feet. “Weiss! Get back here with my cloak! I didn’t say you could—”

“HEY! LOOK EVERYONE! I’M RUBY ROSE! I CAN’T STOP RUNNING AROUND LIKE A CHILD BECAUSE I’M HYPERACTIVE AND LOVE BEING A PAIN IN THE BUTT TO MY TEAMMATES EVEN THOUGH I SHOULD BE ACTING LIKE A RESPONSIBLE HUMAN BEING!”

“I told you!” she shouted back. She hadn’t meant to forget! “I’m sorry for forgetting to tell you about the due date getting changed for our project! Weiss!”

Her prey – the heiress-turned-dirty-thief – turned back to shout over her shoulder. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU BECAUSE I’M TOO BUSY BEING RUBY RO— ACK!”

Ruby winced as her partner went skidding along the grass. That had to have hurt…

She eyed the damage with apprehension. No doubt she’d have to spend a good hour working the stains out of her gorgeous signature cloak…

Oh, and Weiss too.

“Oh Dust, Weiss! Are you okay?!”

The heiress groaned pitifully and spat out a mouthful of turf. “…Ugh… Heels… Were a bad decision…”

Ren gave her a little shake. She’d been rooted in place far longer than the expected ‘dewy-eyed nostalgic glance’ really called for.

“Ruby? Are you okay?”

‘No,’ she thought as the ache in her chest deepened. ‘I’m not okay.’

She’d been seeing ghosts since she walked out of the door, the sights and sounds and smells a threshold into a past that existed only in her memories.

“I’m fine, Ren,” she answered aloud. “Just… remembering.”

The skin between his eyebrows scrunched up subtly. “Do you need a minute?”

She needed a lifetime. “No, let’s go.”

Ruby pulled up her leaden feet and there were no more questions.

Ren led her along, though Ruby could remember very well where she was going. The teacher’s lounge had not moved since the Fall – it was still up the central staircase, a left and then a right, and in the room with the glass panes to the left of the door.

She would never forget it, what with how many times she’d chosen (been forced) to appeal to her professors for help when the workload became too much to handle. For the same reasons, she knew each individual route to the staff’s personal offices as well.

It wasn’t anything a normal student would struggle with. Part of her still felt a touch of shame for that. Beacon was a rigorous institution – far more so than the smaller schools scattered throughout the kingdoms – and mediocrity was weeded out from the beginning.

For someone skipping two entire years of content, though? For someone as young as she’d been, and as disinclined to the mountainous class work?

It had been overwhelming, hence the need to ask for assistance when her team couldn’t buoy her up anymore with study sessions and crash courses in all the material she’d missed out on.

But she was distracting herself.

Ruby was going to meet her professors again.

Her old professors, who were now strangely enough her colleagues.

And what had changed with the older men and women (woman – she’d heard that Professor Peach returned to her native Vacuo after the Fall) she’d looked up to as her mentors? Would Professor Port still be boastful? Was Glynda turning grey? Had anyone thought to give Oobleck decaf?  Would they have advice for her?

Everything else was already so different. How could she hope to keep up with it all?

“Ruby!”

Silver eyes widened and she flinched. A new-old doubt flared.

She’d almost forgotten about Jaune. Or, she’d almost convinced herself to not think about him, but now it was too late for that.

There was only one question she had for him: would he still be angry with her?

Before she turned, the memory of their last argument flared.

…He cut her off mid-sentence, torrential blue eyes cutting through her fury like a blade. ‘STOP!’

He turned away from her, leaving her with fists by her side, fury and shock ringing like the burst remains of pounding artillery in her ears. So much she could say – so much she wanted to say; to scream at him until he understood, or until she could make him understand!

He struggled for words, however, clearly disinterested in what those things were, before finally, through clenched teeth, his voice ground something substantial. ‘I can’t—’

His fists clenched, his metal gauntlets creaking.

‘No,’ the last of the control slipped from his voice; a hidden fuse finding hidden fuel. Ruby’s blood chilled as he turned to look her in the eye. ‘Get out… Now.’ His voice rose to a peak, until he was shouting. ‘Get out. GET OUT!’

And eyes wide, her hurt and fury drowned out by fear and shock…

—He’d looked at her like they’d never be friends again—

…and the remainder quickly chilling to the bone, Ruby turned and fled.

It was a physical effort to fight the nostalgia of the moment and turn toward him. Her feet were fastened to the ground. Her blood was cold. Her heart raced; for a moment Ruby feared it might drag her down into a raging sea of primal fear and panic again, and that this time she might not be able to haul herself out.

It echoed: was he still angry with her? Why wouldn’t he be? What possible difference could time make? Distance? It was Ren and Nora, but worse, she couldn’t lie herself out of it she couldn’t this would go so badly she—

She was afraid to have an answer so soon.

It was far too soon – there was far too much, could she even hope to—

She found herself crushed in an embrace.

Strong arms, muscles corded like steel wire, the faintest hint of sweat and apples; the remnants of a day training in the yard, or demonstrating in a classroom.

Ruby looked up to meet the sapphires twisted upwards in a giddy smile.

“Jaune!” she coughed, struggling for breath. “It’s good… to…” Okay, not working. She couldn’t breathe! “You’re squeezing a little too hard, Jaune – too much armor!”

She punched his breastplate ineffectually – it was heavy, polished white steel trimmed with bronze – and he got the message. Her ribs breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry! I got excited,” Jaune laughed. He reached out to grab her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “It’s just been so long!”

“Yeah, it has,” she rasped, eyes wide and fingers clenched as roiling emotions frothed within her. Her eyes were trying to bend the world into the shape of a fish-eyed lens; no doubt in league with her raging pulse.

She fought them back. Now was not the time to break down because her body decided she could have an anxiety attack.

Not now.

‘Dust…’ she growled to herself. ‘Compartmentalize. You’re going to drown if you keep this up…’

Stop. In. Out. Breathe.  

Again.

They were staring.

She breathed anyways.

In… Out…

Ruby recovered enough to look back up at Jaune. And immediately her head tilted to the side as she properly looked at him, underneath the gleaming shell he’d encased himself in.

He’d… grown. Not in height – he was a tall man already, towering nearly a foot over her head even with the benefit of heels back in their Beacon days – but rather in bulk. The arms that had been her prison mere moments before were thicker – and covered as they were in polished white plate had all the appearance of a knight snatched straight from the old tales. The same went for his chest and upper waist.

No scars she’d never seen, hair still the same, short, choppy length, and his chin covered in a fine layer of stubble… Her brow furrowed, finding his waist. Crocea Mors seemed to be in fine condition, all of it gleaming white steel contrasted against the softer, decorative bronze crossguard.

Too clean. Too solid.

Everything told her that Jaune was in fine form. Probably hitting his stride as a huntsman and equipped with the best arms and armor Remnant had to offer. Now that he had a daily serving of students to keep up with, and skilled colleagues to hone himself against, he would be more formidable than ever as well.

She saw before her a huntsman ready to meet all the trials and challenges thrown his way, standing leagues above where he’d begun so long ago… But…

Wait. Her eyes narrowed.

Where was the sash?

Her eyes flicked upwards, lips parting slightly to demand an answer, and met his eyes at last.

Cold-cut sapphires.

‘GET OUT!’

The question died in her throat.

He stared back, giving her the same examination. His brow was tight, the joy draining, making way for concern. His lip curling downwards. His eyes on her shoulders, on her waist. The beginnings of a scowl pulled down her own lips. She felt a chill she hadn’t with Ren and Nora.

Something flickered deep inside those sapphires; something dark and wary, yet it was tempered by something else. Something hard, yet strangely hesitant. Like she was staring into the eyes of an animal not yet sure it was ready to approach. To trust.

Cold-cut sapphires, boring into her feeling them on her back as she fled on aching feet. Down that endless stairwell through those crumbling halls – away. Far away. Far enough not to feel those eyes on her any more, never feel those eyes again, the judgement, always staring blue green gold grey brown red go away she could still feel them on her go away go away GO AWAY!

‘Dust!’ Ruby stuffed the rising tide back down. She was suffocating again, her pulse beginning to race, to undo the work of the oxygen she’d taken in.

The questions finally started to pile up, more than just the one.

What could she say? After so many years? She could feel his silence like a physical wall, or a chasm between them. His judgement, the hidden predator in the shadows, his anger. How could she break this… this barrier between them? Had she let the old wound fester too long?

What could she do?

…Fearfearfear go away go away GO AWAY!

…They’d been best friends. Leaders together in their school years and sharing the role in Mistral. They’d seen some of their highest highs, and some of their lowest lows together.

Sometimes she’d felt like she’d known him like she’d known her own team. She’d known what to say to wind him up, make him laugh, frown, sag or smile. And she’d known he could do much the same with her.

What did he see in her now?

“So!”

They both jerked.

Ren stepped between them, putting an early death to their not-a-standoff. “I have no desire to intrude on you two catching up,” he said (too) lightly, shooting Ruby an apologetic look. “I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about! But I don’t believe we should keep the faculty waiting?”

He phrased it as a question, but Ruby and Jaune stared at him in silence until the Mistrallan started to fidget. Given it was Ren they were talking about, that was quite the accomplishment on their part.

Another moment passed and Ren’s smile grew more brittle. He spread his hands, his expression turning just the tiniest bit pleading. “Guys?”

Ruby shook herself. “Right.” Now wasn’t the time to question whether or not her friend was still her friend. Poking that Ursa could come later. “You’re right. Faculty. Gotta meet my new colleagues, right Jaune?”

She hid her hesitation behind a smile, lightly jabbing her elbow into his arm. She pretended not to notice the slight flare of aura as she hit armor and pins and needles shot up her arm.

His aura. A white veil that whorled and danced like light through water. A manifestation of the inner self – the soul – that only flared as a defensive measure.

His smile was just as plastered as her own. “Right.”

Her stomach twisted.

Later.

Ruby pulled her lips wider and twirled her finger. “Lead on, Ren.”

As they fell into line behind Ren, they listened to him comment – at first warily, but with growing confidence – on the current state of affairs at Beacon and how far the repairs were coming along and oh there’s the thing An was going on about! Ruby steeled herself while only listening with half an ear and ignored the confused, intense stare burning into the back of her head.

This was home now. She would make sure of that. Everyone felt uncomfortable and nervous moving into a new home, right? Everyone dealt with these messy, painful emotions when they met up with old friends, right?

The traitorous part of her mind wasn’t so sure.

‘Welcome to Beacon…’

X_0_X

Neo’s throat still twinged with the echoes of faded pain as she stepped out of the shadows behind a few of her subordinates, the faint illumination given off by her semblance hidden away behind a few strategically placed shipping containers nearby.

Those, she’d decided, would always stay far enough to avoid giving any eavesdroppers an easy chance to listen in, but close enough to make her quiet entrances possible. After all, how could she possibly be expected to get rid of one of her favorite pranks?

She stepped between them on silent feet without preamble.

Her lieutenant – a short, meek looking doe-faunus with her lower face hidden away behind a grey scarf – yelped and drew her weapon before she realized just who it was that appeared out of nowhere. “Boss!”

Neo hid her smirk and pretended not to notice the pistol just a few inches from her gut. Appearances and all that. ‘STATUS REPORT?’

“I, ah, sorry Boss! I, we—”

Neo rolled her eyes and whacked the girl over the back of the head.

She’d picked her right hand well enough – she’d never be cut out for combat or intimidation, but when Neo wasn’t fucking with her, she had a sharp mind. Her innocent looks distracted from her cunning, and the ruthless intelligence she had sequestered away for Neo to exploit.

The girl had a terrible stutter though, when she was caught off guard. Woe to be her, it amused Neo to no end.

The girl coughed awkwardly. “Um. Status report. Right.” She straightened. “While you were out chasing down Pine, we completed the heist. During the crossfire with some of the PD we lost one of the containers of Dust, but the rest is already on its way out of Vale to our warehouses down the coast.”

‘TRACKED?’

She nodded. “We’re sure. It was too public an operation to avoid. Do you want us to remove the tracker and reroute the cargo, or let it sit?”

‘KEEP. WE GIVE RIFT NICE SURPRISE. THEY LOOK FOR DUST, THEY FIND DUST. THEY FIND CHARGES, FIND OUT WE TRICK THEM. THEN THEY WONDER WHERE REST IS. FUNNY, NO?’

Rift was one of the many smaller cities scattered along Sanus’ northern coast, nominally under the jurisdiction of the kingdom of Vale. In the aftermath of the Fall they’d enjoyed a long decade of functional independence. The coastal city, situated as it was at the mouth of an inlet and partially dug into a tall, stony mountainside, was an excellent hub for black market activities, being near enough to Vale for the survivors to take advantage of (or flee to), and near enough to Vacuo’s primary shipping lanes to receive a steady influx of materiel and restricted ‘merchandise.’ With the labyrinthine tunnels running deep into the hills, it was also a smugglers paradise.

Neo’s operation had several warehouses in the city that the Vale Council was keenly interested in. Riftan officials, on the other hand, were more than happy to leave them untouched as long as no exceptional cause for raids was given – the underlings she’d set to manage the branch were generous in their donations to the city council, after all.

With the tracker on the cargo, the Vale PD would have their excuse to conduct their raids. They would find it chock-full of smuggled Dust. They would find several IEDs scattered through the warehouse. And Neo would laugh at the collective coronary they would suffer, knowing that they would only discover how much of it was counterfeit days after the fact, while the legit score was far away.

All according to plan.

She profited, Rift would receive a messy reminder that her operations were not to be touched under any circumstances, the Vale PD would be further frustrated and – if fortune was kind, down a few officers – and she could rest satisfied, knowing she’d managed to infuriate Gearhead Pine even further. Four birds, one stone.

Roman would have called it an efficient use of resources. Neo just preferred using explosive stones. It worked either way.

That left one more thing. ‘DAMAGES?’

“We’ve reports of three civilian casualties. One is already slated for release from the hospital, the other two died on-scene. We’re in a bit of trouble with the locals in Slate District; couple of our contacts are saying they’re cutting ties on account of it.”

Neo touched her chin in thought.

Only three? She’d been expected upwards of a dozen when she planned the operation out. The death toll being so low was either good luck or spoke to her underlings’ restraint.

…

Probably the former, now that she thought about it.

Right then. The second tidbit was more important though. Contacts didn’t grow on trees. ‘WHY?’

“One of the women killed was pretty well-liked. Fancied herself a humanitarian. Had some cash from an inheritance she liked to spread around. Doesn’t seem to be more than that.”

Neo cocked her head to the side, running it all through her head and ignoring the wary glances her lieutenant exchanged with the other grunt beside her. Worried she would be frustrated by the setback? That she would take it out on them?

Hmph. ‘FINE. FIND NEW CONTACTS OR GET OLD ONES BACK. WHATEVER MEANS. ME NO CARE.’ Her subordinates had so little faith!

While annoying, those were acceptable losses, and inevitable when her operation slipped up.

Killing important people always created complications. Resentments, grudges, even vendettas if she were especially unlucky – those were the kinds of things she would be displeased to hear about. A few lost contacts was fine. She would lose some maneuverability in the short term, a bit of lost profit, but that would be made up once the Dust sold.

Simplicity itself. A good day’s work – and she got a good fight out of it.

Her hand rose to rub at the tender skin where Pine had throttled her.

A good fight indeed. She’d never in her wildest dreams thought to drag such an immediate, violent response from the polite, by-the-books huntsman. Never.

Honestly, she’d been astounded for just a few seconds before she regained her bearings at the buried rage – the ancient fire glaring down at her – and the iron-hard fingers cutting off her oxygen supply.

The reason was simple enough: Neo lived for moments like that.

She would have never thought to prepare for such an eventuality. It was never in the cards. For just a few moments her blood had thrummed, and she’d felt that ecstatic tingle of joyful life as she threw him off of her and regained the dominance she pursued in a fight.

‘Ah, Pine,’ Neo thought with a soft smirk as she gazed down at the map of Vale spread out before her. ‘You’ll be worth seeking out again. I can’t let you get away from me that easily.’

She refused to let such talent escape her. Nor would she let him cool his heels forever – she’d made that mistake once with the last Commissioner and didn’t plan on repeating it. Allowing Pine to go soft would be like letting an exquisite wine go to waste on a trashy frat party.

In fewer words (and without the hangover); a disappointing waste of potential.

“Boss?”

‘WHAT?’

Weren’t they done yet? She was well aware her lieutenant was still speaking, going over the numbers, the stratagems that would further her growing criminal empire’s prospects in the ripe little gem of Vale, and the double-dealing and underhanded tactics. All the things Neo didn’t give a damn about.

They were all well and good, as far as she was concerned, and they had their place, but she delegated for a reason. Neo was no Roman.  

She was happy to leave all of that to her lieutenant and be the unfailingly deadly, terrifying kingpin. After all, who was a bigger target than the lynchpin holding it all together?

That was exactly how Neo liked things to be. Bigger target, better enemies, better fights.

“There’s one more thing, rather unrelated. You asked to be kept abreast of all huntsman traffic in and out of the city?”

‘YES.’ She motioned impatiently for the girl to continue.

“We received reports from our contact in Mistral United Airlines that three have crossed the border into Vale. One is already departed to Vacuo, the second is visiting relatives in the Port District, but the third…”

Neo snatched the memo from the girl’s hands, breaking the seal and scanning over the contents.

Interesting…

‘WE HAVE SOMEONE IN BEACON?’

“Not at the moment. They’re notoriously strict about their security. We’ve been making inroads with some of the construction crews, but Atlas screens everyone working there on account of the CCT.” Her lieutenant seemed more than a little put out by that fact.

That was a shame, but it certainly made the game more interesting.

Ruby Rose – Little Red the Reaper – was here in Vale? After almost ten years sequestered away in Anima? That was news Neo hadn’t expected to see when she’d woken up that morning.

Oh, she’d heard about Ruby. Her reputation as a huntress was as terrifying as it was enticing.

A child prodigy in her field, entered into Beacon by age fifteen against all of her peers. By all means an exceptional student in everything save her academia, and a scythe-wielder at that? Taking up that weapon, one of Remnant’s most difficult to master, took moxie that Neo could appreciate, and further, hope she’d one day encounter again.

After all, their last duel on the Vindicator, for all the tension of the situation had added to the encounter, had left something to be desired for Neo. Ruby had been young, then. Untried. Neo had been able to sense the potential there, but it had been of-yet unrealized. The girl had been easy pickings for someone of Neo’s caliber…

Well, she should have been.

And yet Neo lost, and Roman’s death had been the result.

…Fingers closing around her throat like a vice – she couldn’t breathe she stared up into the green-hazel-gold-flecked eyes of her opponent her enemy and glared she struggled against his hands pulling scratching clawing but she couldn’t breathe and—NO. THINK. She paused. Her eyes narrowed. She seized his wrists and squeezed, bunched her legs up to her chest and SHOVED…

Her lips quirked.

…The girl clung to her weapon over open air, Gryphons swarming below her. She would die once Neo cut her. Maybe she could do it slowly. One finger at a time, relish in the fear growing in the girl’s eyes as she lost her grip and vanished into the abyss of Grimm. Maybe she would survive their vicious swarm and hit the ground – it would be a quick death, at least. Quicker than the alternative.

Roman monologued behind her but Neo didn’t care. The whole world dropped away as she held the needle-tip of her blade at the girl’s throat. It would bloom sweet red when sh— WHAT THE, NO!

The smirk turned to a nostalgic smile.

…Neo clung tightly to her parasol, fending off the occasional Gryphon too stupid to realize she was a huntress with a weapon in hand, falling or not. The Vindicator died above her, and she watched as Little Red rode her scythe like a pogo stick through the air to the ground.

Roman would be dead, then.

She didn’t like the way her heart panged in her chest at the realization. His charming smile, his charisma, the kindness hidden behind the mercenary exterior…

She knew it was there; nothing else could have brought the kingpin around to taking in Vale’s lowest rat. To teaching that rat how to live, to love, to breathe combat. She’d become his hand, but he’d become her reason to live. All of that would now be gone with him…

Alani, her lieutenant, droned on beside her as Neo reminisced.

She owed quite a lot to Roman. Odds were that she would have perished from malnutrition had he not stepped in for the pathetic little mute shivering in the gutter. In retrospect it was quite the unusual gamble for the kingpin to make. She’d been stunted already. She didn’t know how to communicate. Young, and a vacuum for precious lien – at least before she started making her own money. She’d hardly been prime underling material.

But he had. And she grew. And he died. And Neo had Ruby Rose to thank for that.

…It was a tiny grave, unfit for someone as ostentatious as Roman. A simple headstone. “HERE LIES ROMAN TORCHWICK. LEADER OF MEN, FEARED BY HIS ENEMIES, MAY HE REST IN PEACE.” She didn’t know what dates to append to the stone, so she’d left it blank. Let those who found the tiny copse of trees think he’d lived a long and happy life. That he’d been buried in the middle of nowhere because it was actually a special spot for him. That maybe he’d met his first lover here. Or emerged from humble beginnings from a life in the woods.

Something more impressive than the truth. The truth kind of sucked…

Neo sighed.

She still sometimes visited that grave, but not often. She’d long since moved on. The faint grudge she’d considered nursing so long ago faded away with the knowledge that Ruby Rose was far away and suffering her own tragedies.

That was just karma, as far as Neo was concerned.

She had an empire to build and enemies to fight. Life went on.

But now an opportunity had fallen right into her lap, just as she forced her most recent rival off the playing board. That changed things.

Neo lifted her hand and slashed it across her torso. ‘STOP.’

Her lieutenant fell deadly silent.

‘BRING MY GOOD PAPER. AND PEN,’ she ordered.

“Right on it, boss.” The second underling disappeared into the warehouse.

Alani cocked her head nervously. “Do you have a letter to send, Boss?”

Neo had no intention of involving the girl in this, however. ‘INVITATION. NEED TO KNOW BASIS.’

This fight would be hers and hers alone. Oscar Pine? He was a formidable opponent with fewer scruples than Neo had been willing to give him credit for before that day. He was fast and wielded a weapon not dissimilar to her own, and he was still someone she would certainly relish fighting again when the time came.

But the Reaper?

Neo rubbed her hands together. ‘I’m going to have fun with you, Red.’

[fistsoflightning]

unending character meme // zaya qestir

RULES: repost, don’t reblog! tag, and good luck!

TAGGED BY: tagged in spirit by @to-the-voiceless

TAGGING: any and all who want to do it but haven’t actually been tagged by anyone!

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Zaya Qestir

NICKNAME: none, really.

AGE: 29 by the end of Stormblood. 30-ish by the end of SHB? Haven’t figured out the time distortion thing.

BIRTHDAY: 17th of the 4th Umbral Moon (8/17)

ETHNIC GROUP: Au’ra; Xaelan

NATIONALITY: Nomad? From the Azim Steppe’s Reunion, if that helps.

LANGUAGE / S: Eorzean Sign Language, Xaelan (crude/unpracticed); understands most languages through use of the Echo

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: dating Thancred Waters??? unsure of status during post-SHB but getting there.

HOME  TOWN /AREA: Reunion, Azim Steppe

CURRENT HOME: A shared room in the Rising Stones or a shared house in the Mist; depends on where they are at the time of night.

PROFESSION: jeweler, weaver, gladiator of the coliseum, bard teacher (appointed reluctantly by Sanson after many a problem with Guydelot’s schedule), adventurer and warrior of light

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Straight and somewhat below shoulder length. Most of their hair is black, but slowly changes to blue and white at the tips.

EYES: Dark blue; navy color? Light blue limbal rings that glow in the dark, too.

FACE: Sharp jawline accented by their scales, often covered with some royal blue facepaint similar to Arenvald’s own.

LIPS: Often chapped, but otherwise normal.

COMPLEXION: Ashen brown? Hard to describe bc of weird lighting everywhere they go.

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: There’s a lot, and I might make a scar map at some point??? Major ones happen to be their legs and their left arm; the legs from Ifrit and the arm from Elidibus in Zenos’s body in 4.5

TATTOOS: None, no matter how much people think the facepaint is one.

HEIGHT: Taller than the average Au’ra, about 5’4

WEIGHT: about 135 pounds

BUILD: Muscular, especially due to their main fighting style requiring muscle literally everywhere. Fistfighting for money is no small feat.

FEATURES: Their scales are an odd color (think black and blue borealis dice, but as scales), and their horns definitely look a bit… ragged. Watching them fight will give the odd realization that lightning sparks in cobalt blue come off of them sometimes.

ALLERGIES: Some undetermined fish allergy. Higiri fed them some assorted sushi once and never did again, so the Scions (and themselves) have no clue what fish they need to avoid.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Tied into a loose ponytail at the back. Sanson often comments how they share a hairstyle, but it’s simply from need of clear vision when moving around for monk skills and attacks.

USUAL  FACE  LOOK: Stoic as all hell. Not used to making full-on facial expressions outside of conversation, so normally looks bored.

USUAL  CLOTHING: Tabards, cyclas, or generally something with flowy fabric that doesn’t restrain movement all that much. Metal boots and gauntlets/knuckles are also common, but not always.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S: being the last one standing, change, losing their younger siblings/younger friends, spiders, breaking a promise with their mother.

ASPIRATION / S:  To have a proper adventure, and to inspire others to live their fullest lives.

POSITIVE  TRAITS: Devoted, comforting, slightly protective, carefree

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Easily angered, impulsive, emotional, stubborn

MBTI: ISFP-T (Adventurer)

ZODIAC: Leo, apparently? Sort of fits, if you look at it closely.

TEMPERAMENT: Some crazy blend between phlegmatic and choleric? Generally carefree and easygoing with friends and willing to spend a lot of patience on them, but unrelenting and downright frightening in serious situations, especially when involving Garlemald.

SOUL  TYPE / S: Server/Caregiver

ANIMALS: Birds and dogs.

VICE HABIT / S: Drinking, although the Echo does prevent it from having any effect whatsoever, so its more of a taste thing? Tends to sleep a lot when stressed, and often spends their leftover money on gemstones for their shared collection.

FAITH: Polytheistic; the Twelve and Nhaama are gods they generally believe in.

GHOSTS?: Yes, mainly because they’ve seen one.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: Probably, with how they’re sure they’ve seen someone who was supposed to be dead before

ALIENS?: before becoming Warrior of Light, it would be no, but with the revelation of Elidibus on the moon and Midgardsormr and OMEGA‌‌ (ALIEN‌ ROBOT????) they aren’t so sure anymore.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Does not care enough even though they are staunch friends with Nanamo. Didn’t care enough to try and challenge Oktai for the seat of Qestiri Khatun, certainly doesn’t care enough to take a political stance in Eorzea.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Barely any; just enough to read letters written in Eorzean and faintly Ishgardian (courtesy of Alphinaud and Haurchefant).

FAMILY.

FATHER: there was one, once, but he’d rather he be forgotten in pursuit of a happier future. Zaya remembers him as Baatar, but they don’t remember if that was actually his name.

MOTHERS: Erhi, Odgerel.

SIBLINGS: Oktai (older brother), Taban (older sister), Sarnai (sister), Delger and Tuya (fraternal twins)

EXTENDED FAMILY: any of the Scions (former or current) or their fellow Warriors of Light, if we’re talking found family. House Fortemps, Aymeric, Estinien, Sanson, Guydelot, Sidurgu, Rielle, and all of the Qestiri tribe are up there too, but you know, that’s kind of a lot of gifts to be sending around during Starlight. (zaya totally sends them all gifts anyways.)

NAME MEANING /S: Zaya means fate in Mongolian, which all of the other Xaelan names seem to be based on. Their previous name, Dzoldzaya, meant light of fate.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Recorded history on the Azim Steppe is easily lost, but if asking around the different tribes, one could learn about a rather prominent Qestiri warrior whose image is painted in some of the caverns nearby where much of important, unforgettable Xaelan history is recorded by the Gharl, swathed in blue cloth. In the days of Amaurot, there was one standout Amaurotine who shared a love for lightning and birds…

FAVORITES.

BOOK: They don’t know enough Eorzean to read a full book, not even a children’s book. The Echo doesn’t help with reading. Urianger has read a book of myths and legends that turned out to be true to them, however, and that has been their favorite for a while. They’ve been considering asking him to read more for them, but that’s been placed on hold after the events of the First and following Mt. Gulg.

DEITY: Nhaama, or Rhalgr, if talking to someone who thinks ‘what’s a Nhaama’ when they mention her.

HOLIDAY: Starlight Celebration. Something about the festive mood always makes them happy.

MONTH: August (4th Umbral Moon)

SEASON: Summer

PLACE: On the Source, Reunion in the Azim Steppe just because interacting with other tribes is rather fun. On the First, Il Mheg all the way!

WEATHER: Clear nights where they can trace the constellations, but it isn’t too cold to need a blanket.

SOUND / S: Excited chatter, harp, singing, small hammers clinking against metal.

SCENT /S: Rain, fresh wood, the air in Gridania, light perfume, Syhrwyda’s food.

TASTE /S: Snurbleberry, honey, most Doman seafood, buuz.

FEEL /S: Soft and smooth fabrics, cold metal, the grip of someone’s hand around theirs, wind blowing through their hair on a warm day.

ANIMAL /S: Yol, chocobo (birds!).

NUMBER: 17, for their nameday and the first year they spent in Eorzea

COLORS: Cobalt blue and indigo, pale gold, soot black.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Extremely good when working with cloth or metal; even more so when tinkering little trinkets. Interestingly enough, very good at playing flute and harp without much practice. Expert at pulling a person’s true emotions out with simply body language.

BAD AT: Sneaking around/stealth. Do not, under any circumstance, give them a job involving secrecy or stealth unless you want it to fail. Speaking/reading is also pretty horrible, due to how they were raised. Also bad at taking change or lies well.

TURN-ONS: Loyalty, bravery despite all odds, kindness and love even when it would be easier to be otherwise, being able to understand other beliefs, and a love of freedom or new experiences

TURN OFFS: Lying to their face knowingly, extreme greed, lack of self-worth, anger for no good reason

HOBBIES: making music with Guydelot and Sanson, attempting to keep a journal, idle tinkering, dancing, gardening

TROPES: Good is Not Soft, Hope Bringer, Magnetic Hero, Omniglot, The Power of Friendship, The Quiet One, Silent Snarker, Dark is Not Evil, Five Stages of Grief, Horrifying Hero, Magic Music, Warrior Poet, Dance Battler, Warrior Monk, Determinator, Pintsized Powerhouse, Pragmatic Hero (don’t let me stay on TV‌tropes pls)

QUOTES: have a snippet of some writing?

Scrawled onto a piece of paper underneath his arm in Thancred’s handwriting and marked with Zaya’s name reads, “Your words, no matter how I react, do not change how I love you all.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1: Honestly, I think there would be two movies that could include Zaya; some comedy musical revolving around Zaya’s bard lifestyle while placing their active lifestyle in the background (called “A Bard Knock Life” bc i think puns are cool) or an action drama framed around Zaya and the Scions living some sort of high fantasy/DND type adventure bc I love that stuff called “The Unbroken Thread”. (THAT‌ QUEST‌ NAME STILL GETS‌ ME)

Q2: What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2: Something featuring a flute, probably. I got attached to Zaya playing the flute being a former flute player myself. (I only wish the oboe performance sound bank clicked with me a little more…)

Q3: Why did you start writing this character?          

A3: Originally, Zaya wasn’t meant to exist. I was literally planning on just creating A’dewah, Syhrwyda, and maybe Lumelle and Elwin in different roles. Then the Au’ra came out; I‌ used my free Fantasia from the sub rewards just to be an Au’ra (I was a miqo’te before; shh, i was still babu who liked cats) and suddenly Zaya started being formed as Menphina Jewel. Before I knew it, that Menphina Jewel grew a whole backstory and a new name and new friends (Azim Steppe arc of Stormblood MSQ? Final nail in the coffin.) that slowly took over the previous two Warriors as the focus of my attention. I wasn’t even supposed to keep playing FFXIV‌ past HW, dude. I had like a million other things to be doing at the time, but here I am, lying in my grave 3 years later still attached.

Q4: What first attracted you to this character?          

A4: They’re (mostly) mute. I really wanted to explore what it’s like to not be able to talk and only converse in body language, but then I discovered that might be a problem, so my interest in sign language collided with Zaya’s backstory. It also helps me work out a personality without them sounding/looking too much like what I think is Basic Story ProtagTM like I tend to do on accident (see A’dewah and Valdis’s dialogue sometimes.)

Q5: Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5: They can’t really speak. Funny how the thing I like most is also the thing I hate most. It’s very frustrating when I want them to convey something and then they can’t without using actual words and a voice because I haven’t got a clue on how to convey that through body language. How in the world do you convey ‘I feel like I’m doing arcanist calculations when you speak’ in nonverbal language??? I have no damn idea and every attempt looks like I meant something else.

Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6: The snark, man. I have friends constantly commenting on how I’ve made a burn without me realizing I’ve done so, and it’s hilarious. The love for music also carried over big time, especially after discovering how fun the bard NPCs were to write and how they’d fit into Zaya’s relationship web. (they’re totally the more comedic side, but I love Guydelot and Sanson anyways.)

Q7: How does your muse feel about you?          

A7: No clue, dude. Maybe thinks I’m boring? I don’t tend to want to drastically change things or look for new adventures; the biggest leap I’ve taken in two years is probably changing to a reed instrument from flute, and even then I don’t have to change key when‌ I read music, so it’s not that big a deal.

Q8: What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?        

A8: Urianger and Lyse, maybe? I like the exploration of repairing relationships after something that might have ended another, weaker bond. It’s also kinda fun trying to see how Zaya would react; they’re a lot more rash than I am in real life, and that’s honestly saying something. Alisaie and Alphinaud, however, are the most fun just because I know what I’m doing when I write them, and it’s funny to see how Zaya reacts (or has a lack of reaction) to their dynamic. Guydelot and Sanson fall into another category of ‘dear god I simultaneously love and hate these two’, while Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger, Syhrwyda, Duscha, and Ryne fall into some sort of strong found family vibes that just get me everytime I think about it

Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?        

A9:…Doing job quests or side story quests or even MSQ I haven’t caught up on yet. Watch as I slowly rewrite as many MSQ‌ and job quest scenes as I can in any of my Warrior of Light’s viewpoints. (currently chiseling away at some backstory/before they were Warriors stories after reading too deep into the race/subrace text and lore keep an eye out LOL-)

Q10: How long did this take you to complete?          

A10: A day or two; don’t remember when I began. It was probably when I was procrastinating on homework, though. I didn’t post it until a week later whoops.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {9}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 

The change within you was instantaneous, and your body fought it like a foreign virus. You’d barely slept a wink the night before. You tossed. You rolled. You took up your phone and hovered over Henry’s contact only to put it back down and toss and turn some more. Half of you wanted to talk to him so badly, but the other half wanted you to practice some restraint. There was no happy middle ground, and because there wasn’t, you struggled to find any peace in your mind. By the time you managed to fall asleep, it was one hour before you had to get up to prep for your day. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a message from the culprit to your sleeplessness himself.

 MSG Henry: Good morning, beautiful. I didn’t sleep a wink. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I must have picked up my phone ten times to text or call you. It’s torture not being able to hear the one voice you want to hear more than anything.

 As soon as you read the words, your heart literally melted, and butterflies filled your belly.

 “Christ almighty,” you whispered as your fingers itched to rapid-fire. Before you could catch yourself, you’d already typed out a reply and sent it.

 MSG: Good Morning to you too, handsome. I know what you mean. I didn’t sleep either. I almost called you so many times. I think you’re addicting.

 You reread the message then groaned at the last sentence.

 “Really, Aliya, addicting?” You rolled your eyes hard and pushed to get yourself ready for the day.

 By the time you’d left the hotel, he still hadn’t replied, and you regretted responding altogether.  So, here you were sitting in one of your four meetings for the day trying to keep your head in the game and your mind off of Henry’s lips, or his eyes, or the feel of his muscular arms around you. It was proving more complicated than it sounded. When you weren’t thinking of his lips, or his eyes, or his arms and kisses, you were overthinking your message and his lack of response.

 A little more than halfway in your first meeting, your phone went off, and you had to make yourself slow down and not leap for it. Nonchalantly, you glanced at the screen and saw Henry’s name.

 MSG Henry: Addicting, huh? I like that, but you should not be talking. I have been addicted to you since the day you bumped into me.

 Any worries you’d had the last few hours melted away, and a smile spread across your face.

 MSG: Do tell me more, Mr. Cavill.

 Barely a minute passed before another message came in.

 MSG Henry: I would rather tell you while looking in your eyes so you can see the depth of which I mean them in my eyes.

 You bit your bottom lip and closed your eyes. He was different alright, you thought.

 MSG Henry: I’m sorry it took me this long to reply. I’m trying to finish up all business between today and tomorrow. I had to hide my phone from myself, or else I would have been messaging you this entire time.

 You couldn’t lie. That felt good to know that he was having as much of a struggle going about his typical day to day tasks as you were. The knowledge of that comforted you, but it also worried you. This thing was still so new. For the duration of your meeting, you texted on and off. It continued as you moved to your second and third meetings, and by then, your focus was shot. The only thing you cared about was what he was saying.

 You loved how open he was. He always found a way to describe to you just what he was thinking or feeling while still remaining mysterious enough to have you wondering what he felt and thought. It was interesting. You’d always been able to predict every man that tried to enter your life. You could predict their motives, what tactics they’d use to try to weasel themselves in, and you often could predict how things would end. With Henry, you’d been having a difficult time with those predictions. It bothered you.

 By the time you got back to your hotel room, it was nearing seven o’clock. You wasted no time putting your phone on silent to concentrate on a little self-care beginning with a soak in the jetted tub. You did your best to keep your mind open to allow the meditation track you played to really work at loosening the knots in your shoulders and tension in your neck. The stress of your life, mainly from work, was really beginning to show. It had always shown, you just never listened to your body whenever it told you to slow down or take it easy.

 Many of your friends and family teased you that you lived to work instead of working to live. There were times you were inclined to agree with them because you didn’t need to work so much to maintain the lifestyle you were accustomed to. You had more money than you knew what to do with. You could afford to take time off to recharge but, you’d lived with the belief that the less time you had to be idle, the better it was for your mental and emotional health. Idle hands, after all, were the devil’s playground. You’d grown so accustomed to working nonstop that you didn’t know how to just do nothing.  

After almost two hours in the bath, as you walked into the bedroom, you saw your phone light up. It was an incoming call from Henry. Sighing, you plopped onto the bed, trying to fight back the smile that wanted freedom. The smile won the battle.

 “Hello?”

 “Did I wake you? I called earlier but--.”

 “No, I’m awake. I put my phone on silent and took a long bath,” you clarified.

 “Ah, that sounds relaxing. Maybe I should try that. I’m feeling this burnout more and more.”

 “Those who are serious about their craft work too much.”

 Henry sighed softly, and you wondered if there was a hint of mint and Guinness on his lips.

 “I don’t want to work tonight,” Henry declared. “Tonight, I want to be with you.”

 You dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Oh, do you now?”

 “Yes,” Henry confirmed, his voice dropping in baritone. Your belly fluttered, making you press your palm against it.

 “Have you eaten?”

 “I haven’t,” you breathlessly replied.

 “Good. I’ll be around for you in forty-five minutes.”

 You sprang upward. “That’s not enough time.”

 “Oh no? High maintenance are you?”

 You snorted and shook your head, hearing the tease and challenge in his voice.

 “Forty-five minutes then, just don’t get mad when I don’t look like pictures in magazines,” you quipped.

 “Come as you are.”

 Your reflection caught your eye. Because you’d gotten your hair slightly wet in the tub, it was now in a half natural half blown out state, making you look crazy. You doubted forty-five would be enough to tame it.

 “See you soon,” you said before hanging up to focus on getting yourself together.

 Forty-nine minutes later, you were dressed and on your way down in the elevator. As it made its way down, you assessed your appearance, thankful you were able to straighten your hair again to add a few loose curls. Part of you hadn’t wanted to bother, but you knew the dress you were going to wear would be better complemented with a sleek look. Your eyes skimmed the half sheer and half bodycon black dress you wore, loving that it was the right mix between sexy and classic. You added another layer of your mauve tinted lip gloss and just in time for the doors to open.

 It didn’t take long for you to spot him sitting in the lobby where one of the big-screen TVs were placed. He was watching a rugby match. You crossed the black and white designed tiled floors and approached behind him. When you dipped to his ear, his scent almost had a moan escaping you—almost.

 “Either, no matter where you are, you gravitate to rugby, or I took too long,” you whispered.

Henry turned, and the moment his eyes landed on you, a dumbfounded look washed across his face. You tried not to bashfully look away as you watched his jaw drop when his eyes took in the full view.

 “Wow.”

 A giggle that would have been nauseating from someone else slipped from you, making you press your fingertips to your lips.

 “You’re breathtaking.”

 You smiled, then gently tapped his chest.

 “Stop.”

 “I’m being completely truthful.”

 Those damn butterflies made their presence known once again.

 “Thank you,” you whispered.

 Henry held out a single peony to you. “For you.”

 As you took it, your smile widened. “Wow, one of my favorite flowers.”

 “Is that so?”

 You nodded.

 “Hmm, happy coincidence,” Henry replied as he stood and buttoned his suit jacket. Once done, he held out his arm for you. “Shall we?”

 You nodded and looped yours with his, ready for whatever the night brought on.

  -Henry-

As you sat across from him under the hanging flowers and dim lighting of the restaurant perusing the menu, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It could have been the way the golden light bathed your skin, giving it an almost glowing aura. Or it could have been the soft smile pasted to your subtle painted lips. It could have even been the spell of the restaurant, the classical music playing, and the sweet scent of flowers that surrounded the two of you. Whatever it was, he itched to touch you, itched to get closer, and itched to do nothing but find a way to keep a smile on your face.

 “What?”

 Realizing you were now looking at him, he smiled back at you.

 “Nothing.”

 “No, no. That’s a something look,” you said, still not able to not smile.

 “It’s nothing,” he repeated.

 “Henry, seriously. What is it?”

 You reached out and gently slapped his hand, then rested it on top of the table.

 “Nothing, really. It’s just—I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you,” he admitted.

 Your smile slipped, revealing a serious expression for a few seconds before you smiled again and dipped your head in a bashful way. Unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, he closed the gap between your hands and took yours.

 “Your parents must be proud to have raised such a charming son.”

 He smiled, then shrugged. “She has five of them.”

 “Bless her heart,” you added, making him chuckle.

 A comfortable silence drifted between you as he enjoyed the softness of your hand in his and the way your warmth mingled with his. He could get used to this, he thought to himself. When the waiter returned to the table to pour the chosen wine into your glasses, you pulled your hand away, but he didn’t take offense.

 “So, by this time next week, I will be off the grid,” he said after the waiter walked off again.

 A quizzical look swept across your face.

 “Off the grid? Are you a spy?”

 He smiled. “I promise I’m not.”

 Another waiter approached the table, this time carrying your selected third and final courses. He thanked the waiter as he laid the plates before you before he retreated.

 “You were saying,” you prompted, lifting your dinner fork from the selection of three different ones to your right.

 “I’ve earned some much needed R&R.”

 With your fork paused at your lips, you smiled. “Oh, that’s great. Congratulations. When was the last time you took a holiday?”

 He watched you chew and quickly got lost watching your mouth. It took him several seconds to regain his train of thought.

 “Eh-em, uh—perhaps a year and a half, if we are talking about a true holiday.”

 “Wow, that’s a long time.”

 “What about you?”

 You smirked, then scoffed. “Define holiday.”

 He returned your smirk then rested his knife and fork atop the braised beef on his plate before he replied. “Time off, no work, nothing that you have to worry about that can cause stress,  anxiety, or tension. Oh, and of course, sleeping late, drinking until three or four in the morning, fun every day, and feeling refreshed upon return.”

 You smiled as you finished chewing. He watched you take another sip from your glass and knew the wine was only making your lips even sweeter than they already were.

 “Ha! Jeez, when you define it like that, it’s been years upon years,” you replied.

 “Not good at all.”

 You nodded. “Tell me about it.” A soft smile was still on your lips as you placed another forkful of the pan-seared sea bass you were eating.

 With those words, a thought formulated in his mind, and it was a thought he wondered if he put words to would you be receptive. The remainder of dinner passed comfortably. Another reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about you and enjoyed being around you was because your conversation was always excellent. There was never any form of discomfort or awkwardness between you. You easily talked about so many things, and the things you said were always thought-provoking and intelligent. While everyone thought you were just a pretty face, you’d repeatedly allowed him to see that the world knew nothing.

 His hand was rarely without yours in it, and when he held your hand, you softly raked your fingernails against the palm and fingers. Every time you did it, the goosebumps that raced across his skin sparked a reaction that was visible much, much lower than his hand. Everyone else in the restaurant could have disappeared for all he knew because you’d captivated him and every single one of his senses.

 By the time you left the restaurant, it was close to midnight, but you didn’t seem to care what time it was. You held onto his hand as you walked along The River Thames. He often did this late at night when he couldn’t sleep. It was really the only time he could come and not be bothered or recognized because he was more than likely the only one there. Tonight your laughter danced through the air, and the gentle ebb and flow of the water only helped the glistening light from the bridge and neighboring buildings shimmer that much more. It was quite romantic.

You stopped and pressed your back to the iron gating that kept pedestrians out of the river. You stretched your arms out, leaning back as if to really enjoy the gentle breeze.

 “It’s a beautiful night,” you sighed out.

 Just like that, he drifted closer to you until there were only a few inches between your bodies. When you came upright again, your smile was still bright, even realizing he was so close.

 “Are you trying to push me in?”

 He smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

 “Oh no?”

 “No,” he repeated, taking another step to you.

 You bit your bottom lip then sucked it into your mouth, and he became even more painfully aware that he hadn’t sampled them since the night before.

 “Unacceptable,” he whispered.

 “What?”

 Reaching out, he cupped your jaw and slid his thumb across your cheekbone while he slowly traced every inch of your face to his memory. When his eyes met yours, he fell another foot or two deep into the quicksand-like pit of his growing feelings for you. He was so close to going under it was alarming.

 “It’s unacceptable that I haven’t tasted your lips in over twelve hours.”

 He heard a soft gasp escape your lips, and it was the only sound you made before his lips pressed to yours. The only move you made was to entangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. The feel of your fingers against his skin brought those familiar goosebumps. He moaned, then pulled you flush against him. The feel of your body against his made his heart thump rapidly, and when you moaned against his lips, the need to consume you took precedence.

 When he delved his tongue into your mouth, he was shocked when you swirled yours around his, and the sensual move had him pressing you firmly against the iron behind you. It was out of character for him to do this so wide in the open, but he felt himself doing things that no one would ever guess he would do when he was with you. Your soft nibbled on his bottom lip brought his mind back to the rising dilemma, rising being the operative word.

 Pulling his lips from yours, he rested his forehead to yours. Both of you didn’t speak; instead, you were both lost in trying to catch your breath. Long moments passed, and in those moments, he fought to regain his composure. He’d never reacted to anyone the way he reacted to you.

 “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice shakier than he’d expected.

 Your eyes fluttered open, and he didn’t know if it was wishful thinking, but he swore he saw actual stars in them that put the night sky to shame.

 “Where?”

 “Away on holiday.”

 You pulled back a few centimeters and gazed into his eyes more intently. He watched them dart from his left eye, then to the right and back again. Slowly the stars vanished, and humor replaced them.

 “Good one,” you said before you laughed out loud, pulling your body from his.

 “Oh my god, you really had me going for a second,” you said through laughter.

 You took two steps as if to continue walking, but he laced his fingers with yours and pulled you back before him. You gasped, and the sound of it made him close the space between you again, pressing you onto the iron bars. With his body pressed to yours leaving no evidence of there being two bodies, you moaned, and the sound almost had him capturing your lips again. If he did though, he didn’t know if his hands would remain respectful.

 “I wasn’t kidding.”

 Your eyes were on his lips, and the desire for you to take control, almost overrode his desire to be in control—almost.

 “What?”

 “Come on holiday with me, just the two of us, a beach wine somewhere—anywhere.”

 He saw the moment you realized he was as serious as a heart attack.

 “You’re serious,” you reiterated.

 “More serious than I’ve been about anything.”

 You didn’t speak for the next minute, but you also didn’t move away. He decided he’d give you the time to consider it.

 You scoffed before you spoke. “What? Henry—we can’t.”

 “Why?”

 You gaped at him as if he were insane.

 “Why?” That was when you pulled away from him and took a few steps sideways while still leaning against the gate. “We—we don’t--.”

 You looked as if you were wracking your brain for a response, but you also looked like you were trying to catch your breath.

 “We don’t know anything about each other.”

 He took a step to you. You didn’t move.

 “Which is why a private holiday would aid in us getting to know each other—uninterrupted without the pretexts,” he replied.

 Your eyes widened before you shook your head then turned to face the water. You peered out silently, baffled. “Henry—we can’t.”

 He approached you, and as he leaned against the gate, you looked at him. “Tell me why,” he requested.

 “Why—because—I—I don’t do—that,” you stuttered.

 “What holidays?”

 He saw the exasperation wash across your face before it went blank. You stepped away again, then cleared your throat.

 “I have an early flight out tomorrow.”

 It was hard not to feel the rejection, but he hid it the best he could. Nodding, he held out his arm for you to take.

 “Then let’s get you back to your hotel.”

 The entire ten-minute walk, his mind went from one thing to the next. He worried he’d come on too strong, or that he’d said the wrong thing, or somehow offended you. Then he went back and forth with his decision to even ask you. Part of him felt like maybe he was jumping a little too far ahead, but the other part of him felt there was nothing wrong with inviting you especially based on how things had gone the entire night and the vibes he picked up. That made him wonder if he’d read the evening entirely wrong.

 When he stopped with you in your hotel's lobby, he was in no hurry to ask you again. He’d begun to feel quite stupid. His hurt feelings needed the night to recover. He took your arm from the crook of his elbow and held your hand. Again, you didn’t pull away. Deciding he couldn't afford to give you the time to, he lowered your hand and stepped away from you.

 “Thank you for dinner.”

 “T—thank you,” you said barely above a whisper.

 He nodded and debated his next move. He took a timid step forward and kissed your cheek.

 “Have a safe flight.”

 “Thank you.”

 This one was a whisper.

 “Good night, Aliya,” he breathed out before he quickly kissed your forehead then walked away out the door and down the street without looking back.

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

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