#seems like a waste to just leave it as sketches

[that-sweet-jester]

they consume my every waking thought

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[cleo-fox]

Close Quarters

Part 2 of 2

(Part 1)

Summary: The thrilling conclusion to Part 1.

Pairing: Loki x Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ (Minors DNI), dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, elevator sex, a hint of dom/sub, Dom Loki, Reader gets a little bratty, little bit of a sir kink, cunnilingus, blow jobs, filth.

A/N: I know I usually choose a Loki GIF but Thomas Sharpe seemed…more appropriate. I’ve got a couple more one shots with these idiots, so if you want to see more, lemme know.

Mercifully, the hallway is empty.

You imagine that your exit from the elevator looks as scandalous as what happened inside it. You are draped in Loki’s arms, still out of breath and a little glassy eyed from the two earth shattering orgasms that he’d given you only minutes prior. In contrast, Loki looks relatively put together and intently focused, like there’s nothing more important on this earth than getting you both back to your suite as quickly as possible. That thought gives you a bit of a thrill—the idea of you wanting him is not necessarily new or unusual, but the idea that he might want you just as much is utterly thrilling.

It occurs to you that you’re in rather close proximity to his neck and it seems like a shame to let that opportunity go to waste. You press your lips against the pulse point in his throat and lazily make your way along his jaw. His breath hitches when you catch his earlobe between your teeth.

“Are you trying to ensure that I take you in the hallway, Mrs. Pine?” he says, his voice dropping deep.

“I won’t be able to scream for you in the hallway,” you breathe into his ear, “and I kinda think you want that.”

“Minx,” he growls, picking up his pace just slightly as you resume kissing his neck.

“I take it that means I’m right,” you say. “Or that I’m in for it when we get back to the room.”

He chuckles. “Oh, it’s both, darling.”

You shiver and nip at his earlobe once more.

Loki drops the glamor as soon as the door to your room shuts behind you and while you like the cropped blond hair of Jonathan Pine, there is something about his natural long, dark locks that drives you wild.

“Let’s me make two things clear, Agent,” he says as he carries you into the bedroom. “First: there are no covers in here; I want you screaming my name when you come. Second—” he sets you down at the foot of the bed. “—I want to taste your pretty cunt.”

Heat and tension coil in your hips. “I can agree to both of those things.”

“Good. Undress.”

He watches as you slowly strip off your swimsuit, his eyes greedy and hungry. Once you’re completely naked, he gives himself a moment to look you over in full, unconsciously licking his lips when his gaze falls on your breasts and hips, his eyes devouring every inch of you. Finally, he nods at the foot of the bed. “Sit.”

You sit down on the bed and he begins unbuttoning his shirt. He takes his time and you watch, enraptured by the slow reveal of his well-muscled chest and taut, flat stomach. The shirt is discarded on the floor with your swimsuit. He undoes his belt, then the button and zip on his shorts.

He’s wearing black boxer briefs, which surprises you—you had assumed that his preference was likely to go commando. But honestly, the boxer briefs are so fitted that the effect is essentially the same: they cling to every dip and swell and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. The material is taut across his thighs and his cock strains hard at the fabric. If pressed, you could probably create a reasonably accurate sketch based on this view alone.

You don’t have terribly long to contemplate this, though—he kneels in front of you, pulling you in for a slow kiss, his large hands cupping your breasts. His kiss is thorough and sensual, but the addition of his hands kneading your breasts and gently teasing and pinching the sensitive skin of your nipples may actually send you into the stratosphere.

And then he lowers his mouth to your breast and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts. He strokes his tongue lazily on your nipple in slow circles, lightly teasing the hardened bud with his teeth and bringing another flood of slick arousal to your cunt. Your hips rock fruitlessly against nothing, seeking friction to ease the throbbing pulse of your clit.

You sigh, letting your eyes close and your head tip back, your fingers tangling in his hair. After a moment, you reach for his free hand and guide it between your legs. His fingers dip between your legs, collecting your slickness and gently rolling against your clit.

You moan and he draws back, eyes dark. “Lie back,” he says softly.

You recline on the bed and his focus shifts to you spread out before him. “Lovely,” he says. He is being sincere—and there’s a power in that that thrills you, that sends even more heat and slick to your aching cunt.

When he’s looked his fill, he brings both of your legs over his broad shoulders. He lowers his head to your cunt slowly, first dipping down to inhale your scent and then with one wicked grin, slipping the warm blade of his tongue between your folds.

Your exhale is shaky and turns into a soft whine in the back of your throat as he licks a long, broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Loki.” His name falls from your lips unbidden. You prop yourself up on your elbows and drink in the sight of him between your legs, head bowed like he is worshiping at the most sacred and solemn altar.

In the elevator, he was determined to make you come as quickly as possible; now, though, in the privacy of your room, he seems intent on taking his time and building you up achingly slowly. His tongue laves over your clit at a leisurely pace, teasing and tasting and sucking until he finds the rhythm and movement that makes you try to press your quaking thighs together because it feels so incredible. He gently presses your legs back open, keeping you spread and fully at the mercy of the rolling waves of pleasure that his mouth is creating. One of his long and elegant fingers slides inside of you and curls, pressing against that sweet, soft spot that makes your hips buck and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

When a second finger joins the first a few minutes later, you know that it won’t be much longer. Loki looks up at you, lust-glazed eyes glittering like he knows that too.

You approach the edge slowly, your breath coming in rolling gasps, your hands gripping his hair. He watches you, his gaze both hungry and mischievous. You bite your lip, breath stuttering as you furrow your brow against that final ascent.

And then the tension finally snaps and your head tips back as you tumble off the edge and into your climax, your free fall as decadent and shiver-inducing as the beautifully slow buildup.

You don’t manage to gasp his name because the concept of words has fled you entirely and the only sound that escapes your lips is a sharp cry. From the glint in his eye and the low groan of approval offered against your clit, Loki doesn’t seem to mind at all.

The aftershocks roll through you in rippling waves that make your toes curl and it takes you a moment to catch your breath.

“I confess, I’m quite tempted to stay here all night,” says Loki, placing a gentle kiss on your clit. “You have the sweetest cunt.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you say, your words slurred with pleasure.

“Hardly.” He licks you very slowly from your entrance to your clit and you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. He repeats the same circuit twice more.

“In fact,” he murmurs, placing another kiss on your clit, “I think I may need another taste.” Another lingering kiss, his tongue teasing your entrance. You suck in a shuddering breath.

“One more.” Another long stroke of his tongue and you shiver again.

“Darling, I’m so sorry—” a quick kiss to your clit, “—but I think I’m going to have to make you come again. I'm simply famished.”

Your back arches and you moan as his mouth once again envelopes your clit and his fingers slide back inside you, curling into that soft, sweet spot. You’re a little sensitive, but he’s moving with such achingly perfect precision that you can already feel another orgasm starting to build in your hips.

The ascent is much quicker this time, and you soon find yourself whimpering and panting, your hands tangling again in his hair. He groans against you and you swear you feel the vibrations shimmer all along your aching core.

“Please,” you moan. “Please. I’m so close. Please.”

He lets you ride the edge for a little bit longer, despite your pleas and your iron grip on his hair. But after a minute or so, he seems to take pity on you and he increases his pace just slightly. Your orgasm blossoms in your hips, your cunt clamping down on his fingers as you moan his name to the ceiling.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs a moment later, as his fingers coax you through the aftershocks. He looks you over, licking his lips. “You’re gorgeous like this, you know,” he says, eyes dragging greedily over your body. “Naked and utterly fucked out. Perfection.”

You shiver and slowly convince your loose muscles to allow you to sit up. “I don’t think you can say I’m fucked out if you haven’t actually fucked me.”

His eyebrow arches, “Is that so?”

You scoot to the edge of the bed so that you can run your hands over his firm chest. You press a kiss just above his belly button, tongue flicking out briefly against his skin. “Seems reasonable to me.”

“Do you want me to fuck you, Agent?” he says, his voice dropping low.

“I mean, that’s what I was hinting at, yes,” you say.

His eyes are hooded as he gives you a sly, calculating smile. “But do you deserve to be fucked, Agent?”

Feeling a little bold, you place your palm flat against the substantial bulge in his boxer briefs, running your hand along the hard, thick length of him. Fuck, he’s big. “Yes,” you say.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he says, his expression and voice deliciously stern despite your hand on his cock. “You’ve been quite pert. Disobedient. Mouthy.”

You think you have an idea where this is going. “So am I getting punished or begging for you to forgive me?” you ask with a coy smile.

The hunger and delight in his gaze makes you ache. “Let’s see what your smart mouth can do to my cock and maybe then I’ll consider fucking you.”

You lick your lips and trace your fingertips along the sharp lines of his Adonis belt, pausing at the waistband of his boxer briefs. You hook your fingertips under the elastic and pull them down.

His cock springs free as the fabric falls to the floor. Between sitting on his lap and the unsubtle nature of the boxer briefs, you knew he was long and thick, but you’re still not fully prepared to experience the full effect of seeing his cock be hard and ready for you.

“Fuck,” you breathe. You take a moment to admire him, despite the fact that you know it’s likely only inflating his ego. 

“Do you want me, Agent?” he drawls with a lazy smile. “Do you want my cock?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you say. “In fact, I’m certain you do.”

“Perhaps I like hearing you say it,” he says, bringing one hand up to stroke your cheek. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Impulsively, you get to your feet and pull him into a kiss. You can still taste yourself on him—salty and a little sweet.

“You like hearing me talk about how I want you?” you say, pressing your hips against his.

“Very much.” His voice is a low purr and you shiver in his arms.

“I’m aching for you to fill me,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him. “I’m dripping just thinking about it.” You nip at his lower lip and he groans against your mouth. “But first, I want to get on my knees and worship your perfect cock with my mouth.”

There's a low, pleased rumble deep in his chest and you shiver as you draw away. “Sit down.”

He sits down on the foot of the bed and you position yourself in front of him, standing between his spread thighs and lowering yourself to your knees. You run your hands up his thighs, lightly dragging your fingernails along his skin, enjoying the slight hitch in his breath. You kiss the inside of his left knee and slowly make your way up the inside of his left thigh, dragging your tongue along his skin every so often. You continue this all the way up to the crease where his thigh meets his hip, close enough that he can feel the heat of your breath on his beautiful cock.

And then you lean back and begin the same process again on his right leg.

“What,” he says, his voice going deep and dark, “did I say about playing games, Agent?”

You tilt your head to look up at him. He’s staring down at you with a stern look that makes your cunt clench.

“You know, I came so hard earlier, I can’t quite recall,” you say, making your eyes as wide and innocent as you can.

“And if you want to come again tonight, you’ll find a way to remember,” he says. He’s stern and authoritative, and it’s ridiculously hot. “Now put that smart mouth to work on my cock,” he growls.

“Yes, sir.” The phrase just sort of slips out, but the way it makes your cunt ache and his eyes glitter is absolutely delicious.

“Oh, I like those manners, pet,” he purrs. “I want to hear more of that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, pausing to lick your lips, “sir.”

“Good girl.”

His cock is flushed and so hard it presses up against his stomach. You wrap one hand around his shaft and you suck in a breath when your fingers don’t quite meet. He’s huge and the thought of having him inside of you makes you shiver and ache in anticipation.

You stroke him once and lower your mouth to the tip of his cock, placing gentle, closed mouth kisses on it.

He tolerates this for about thirty seconds.

“Agent.” His voice is laced with warning. “I won’t warn you again.”

Your lips curl into a slight smile and you flick your tongue against the tip of his cock, savoring the sharp tang of his pre-come. His eyes glitter down at you, still watching, waiting for you to disobey him.

“Am I not allowed to savor this experience?” you ask, intentionally licking your lips.

“I would urge you to consider that only good girls get to come on my cock, darling,” he says, his voice going dark and deliciously stern. “Choose your next moves wisely.”

The reality is that you desperately want to come on his cock and you wouldn’t put it past him to deny you. So, you offer him a sly smirk before you slowly begin to lick the tip of his cock, gradually opening your lips and bringing him into your mouth.

He groans softly. “You just need a firm hand, don’t you?” he says as you begin to move your head, stroking his shaft in a slow rhythm. His fingers card through your hair as he leans back on one hand, allowing himself to relax a little. “Or perhaps it’s that you want my cock more than you want to be a brat.”

You look up at him and raise an eyebrow. He’s not wrong.

He laughs low in his throat. “Oh, I think I’m going to  have you taking my orders by the time the week is up.” He reaches out to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You have such a needy little cunt and I rather think that will prove to be an advantage for me.”

Your instinct is to let out a low whine, but you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You can’t fully stop yourself from reacting, though, and a soft whimper makes its way out of your lips.

He catches this and smirks. “You like being mouthy and talking back, but I think you also crave a little discipline. Being told what to do gets you off, doesn’t it?”

This time, you do whine and he smiles down at you, eyes hooded. “That works out rather nicely,” he says, his voice dropping deep, “because I quite enjoy giving orders.”

You shiver and he notices, running his fingers through your hair.

“Filthy girl,” he purrs. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” He watches you for a minute, eyes hooded, lips slightly parted. “You’re gorgeous like this, too, you know,” he says. “On your knees with my cock in your mouth like a good girl. I could watch this for hours.” You glance up at him and catch his lazy smile. “Though,” he continues, “I suspect you’ll also look gorgeous riding my cock. Or perhaps spread out and tied to the bed.”

This image is too much for you: a high pitched whine makes its way out of your throat before you can think better of it.

“Oh, you like that idea?” he says, not sounding very surprised at all. “You like the thought of being bound and completely at my mercy?”

Another embarrassing whine escapes you before you can stop it.

“We’ll have to explore that some time this week,” he says. “Though I am starting to develop a rather lengthy list of things I want to do to you.”

Fuck. You are caught between wanting him to keep talking and wanting him to shut up so you stop making such embarrassing noises.

Admittedly, the idea of making him feel so good that you render him speechless is also incredibly appealing.

You suck just a little harder, cheeks hollowing as you start running your tongue along the underside of his shaft, swirling it on the tip as you come up.

His eyebrows draw together, his lips parting slightly. “Fuck. That’s it.”

You pick up your pace just a little and he groans, his hand going to grip your hair.

“Yes—just like that.” His grip tightens on your hair. “If your cunt is even half as good as your mouth—fuck, yes, right there—I’m going to have a hard time leaving this room this week.”

You hum against his cock and he groans, his hips starting to rock toward your mouth. “Do you like this?” he asks, his voice husky. “Do you like being on your knees for me?”

You moan against his cock, sucking harder.

“You do, don’t you?” he says, his voice a little unsteady. “Barely an hour and you’re already such a slut for my cock.”

You moan again, bobbing your head up and down his length.

“Such a good girl,” he purrs. “A bit of a brat to start, but I think I’m going to have to reward you for this. Your mouth is too fucking good.”

Another moan slips past your lips. He groans and is quiet for a minute or two, his hips rocking toward you.

His breath is coming in shaky gasps now. “I’m close, love,” he says, his fingers flexing in your hair. “I’m going to spill myself in your pretty mouth and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress.”

You can’t help but moan, which seems to spur him on. His lips part and you can almost feel how close he is.

He makes the most beautiful noise as he comes, a low groan that seems to reverberate in your cunt as he empties himself into your mouth. You swallow his release greedily as you continue stroking him, your head moving up and down his length.

You pull off of him slowly, licking your lips and you look up at him, your mouth curling into a smirk. “So, was that a proper enough apology for you?” you ask.

He growls low in his chest, eyes opening to look down at you. “You are still far too pert for your own good,” he says. “I suspect I’m going to have to put you over my knee at some point this week. You need discipline.”

You suck in a deep breath as your cunt clenches at the possibility.

“But right now, I need to fuck you.” He gestures to the bed. “Get up here. Now.”

You don’t need any encouragement to follow this command, but the way that he delivers the order and the way his green eyes get all steely is enough for more slickness to collect between your legs. You clamber to your feet, but before you can even try getting on the bed, he’s pulling you to him and flipping you onto your back. He rolls on top of you, caging you in with his body, his impossibly hard cock throbbing against your stomach.

He kisses you, tongue pressing into your mouth, hungry and claiming. “Do you want me inside you?” he purrs against your lips. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, spreading your legs and tilting your pelvis up toward him. “I want you to claim me.”

His smile is sharp and he drags the tip of his cock along your cunt, coating himself in your slickness. “Still so fucking wet,” he growls.

“I told you I need you,” you murmur.

He lines himself up at your entrance and ever so slowly begins easing into you. He presses forward, inch by glorious inch, until his hips are flush against yours.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe. “You feel so good.”

He smiles and withdraws just an inch or two before pressing back in. You arch underneath him and let out a soft moan.

“How about that? Is that good?” he asks.

You moan and nod.

He repeats the action. “And this?”

You offer up another moan and he grins. He repeats the action again, clearly teasing you. “What about this one?”

“Loki, please—”

“What is it darling?”

You’re not quite sure if you want to kiss or slap that smirk right off his face.

“Please don’t stop, please—”

“Oh, you want me to keep doing this?” he says, his brow furrowing in mock confusion. “You should have said something.”

“Loki, please—”

He chuckles quietly and begins rocking his hips against yours in slow, shallow thrusts. You sigh and wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his mouth as he kisses you. You can tell he’s holding back, though.

“I’m not going to break,” you finally say, tilting your hips to rock with his. “I want more. I want you to fuck me.”

He kisses you hard and his thrusts lengthen and deepen, his pace increasing just a hair, and you cry out because he’s now hitting that soft, sweet spot and he feels even better.

“You’re taking me so well, darling,” he says. “This snug little cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” you breathe, arching your back. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

He wraps those long fingers around your ankles and brings your legs up so that they are draped over his shoulders, your body folded in half. He thrusts again and his cock presses even deeper, rubbing against that tender spot inside you. His thumb finds your clit and you whimper. Pressure is starting to build in your hips again.

“You’re getting close already, aren’t you?” he rasps, grinning at you like a devil. “I can feel you starting to tremble.”

You keen, your cunt clenching around his steadily thrusting cock.

“Are you going to be a good girl and come on my cock?” he growls.

You nod, words somewhere beyond you.

“I want you to soak my cock,” he purrs. “Let it all out. Scream for me.”

You feel yourself poised on the edge. So close.

“Come for me, darling, that’s it, let go, come for me, let me feel that sweet cunt milk me dry…”

You arch your back as your orgasm blossoms and unfurls. The sound that falls from your lips is a high pitched keening that would be Loki’s name, except there’s no space for anything besides this incredible feeling, his cock inside you, and the weight of him on top of you.

“Oh there you go, that’s it,” he murmurs. “You have the tightest, most exquisite cunt. I could fuck you for days.”

You moan, shuddering in the final throes, your cunt spasming around his thick cock. He withdraws for a moment and you moan at the loss, but he quickly flips you onto your stomach and slides right back inside you.

From this angle, his cock thrusts even deeper, pressing more directly against your G-spot. A few strokes in and it becomes glaringly apparent to you that you’re going to come again.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he pants, thrusting hard into you. “I can feel you starting to tremble already.”

You moan into the comforter, arching your back so he hits that spot again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up so your back is flush against his chest. “I want to hear every filthy little sound that you make. Every. Last. One.” He thrusts in time with those last three words and you moan.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growls, his hips thrusting hard. “You love me taking you from behind like a fucking animal.”

Your legs are shaking and you can feel your orgasm building. “Loki, I’m gonna come again,” you whimper.

“I know you are, sweet girl,” he growls. “I can feel your tight cunt trembling.” His free hand slides between your legs, fingers rolling over your clit in the same rhythm as his thrusting cock.

Your breath stutters and a low whine escapes your lips. You are deliciously close.

“Please.” Your voice is barely a gasp. You’re riding the very edge of that wave and it feels so good that you’re almost certain the oncoming climax couldn’t possibly feel better. Almost.

“Oh, you’re almost there, love, you can do it,” says Loki, his hand still moving with his hips. “You just need to let go.”

You whimper. You are almost there.

“Be my good girl and let go for me,” he rasps. “Come for me.”

It breaks quite suddenly, your whole body shuddering and your cunt clamping down hard on his cock as you come. The noise you make is animalistic, torn from somewhere deep in your chest.

“Fuck!” Loki is fucking you hard, hips pistoning against your ass. “So fucking tight, you’re like a vise when you come, fuck—” His speech gives way into either Asgardian or Old Norse—you’re not quite sure which, but the idea that you’ve made him feel good enough to abandon English is incredibly appealing.

You’re dreamily floating back down from your high when you hear him make that beautiful noise again, that low, deep groan that falls from his lips only when he comes. You feel his release flood your cunt, hot and thick, as his hips finally start to slow.

It’s another minute or two before he rolls off you, flopping down next to you on the bed. Before you even have a moment to miss him or the comforting weight of his body on yours, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

You both lie there for a long moment, catching your breath.

You think back to your initial meeting with Fury, when you complained about being sent in with Loki. You’ve never been more pleased to be wrong in your entire life.

“So,” you say once you feel capable of speech, “you said you had some ideas for the rest of the week?”

If you thought his grin was devilish before, it’s nothing compared to what he looks like now as he pulls you on top of him.

“Darling,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies. 

The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half rolls into the curve of your sketchbook and stains the work in progress it encounters indiscriminately. 

You sigh without thinking, rubbing your tired eyes and spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing in an unfounded rush. A young woman with deep, dark skin under the shade of the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling against her cheek in sparse triangles of white paper left uncoloured. 

It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do —a dynamic, revealing portrait— and ruins it, just like that.

You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kicking out your feet toward the rug with a pained, indulgent whine. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them fruitlessly as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, exposing your soft middle.

You swear to yourself, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. 

A sharp trilling sound chimes from somewhere behind you. You come up for air. On the nightstand, your phone is vibrating hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides in teeny tiny shockwaves. 

You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.

You consider turning it off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell in your being begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side. You hate phone calls out of the blue.

You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone. 

"Hello," you greet hesitantly.

The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.

"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."

More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.

"My father?" you ask.

You are told two impossible truths. 

"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right." 

—

"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.

James hums, noncommittal. 

"You know, my good looks are completely wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. I don’t fancy drowning.”

"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is internally. "It's an arm." 

"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?" 

Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?" he asks.

James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon. 

"He's agitated," Remus says. 

"That’s helpful, Moony. Super helpful,” Sirius says.

"Fuck yourself, then." Remus pulls his sleep mask over his eyes and plugs in his earbuds.

The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes. 

A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."  

"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks. 

"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking." 

A dark shock of curls brush against his shoulder as Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James’ lap. Genovian through and through, Sirius makes a plight for affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and warm citrus tickles the inside of James' nose. 

"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk. 

"I didn't get demoted," James argues, looking down at his friend with a frown.

James had, in fact, been demoted. 

"No, of course not. You've fallen from Third Guard of the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. That sounds the same to me." 

"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes. “The flight attendant is coming our way.”

Sirius sits up again and quickly clips into his seatbelt.

James would pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it, but growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met. 

Sirius isn't perceptive for perception’s sake, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. While James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety. 

"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid. 

"It won't be as bad as you're thinking." 

"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm." 

Sirius edges away from him. "You're annoying." 

James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are. 

"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?" 

Lily, James' friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and a full-time Genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news. 

Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly, if things keep going the way they’re going). 

"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple. 

"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t think to mention the jewellery." 

He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment. 

You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genovia or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a potential future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private. 

You'd said yes. 

As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?

How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery. 

He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job. 

Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down. 

Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?" 

"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude. 

"Slovenly or love-nly?" 

"I'm sure she's fine." 

"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while." 

James rolls his eyes. 

"I'll manage, pretty or not." 

His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes. 

"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?" 

Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs." 

"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me." 

"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls. 

When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.

"Far are we?" he asks. 

Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued today that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out over his thighs. 

"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?" 

He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him." 

Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke. 

"You should be, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-" 

"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to,” Sirius interrupts. “You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King." 

"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully." 

Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose. "Unnecessary." 

"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says. 

"We have to be quick," James says. 

Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moony wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?" 

He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another. Still, Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.

"I'm a slow chewer." 

"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion." 

“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.

James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead. 

Sirius squeaks. 

—

What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official. 

"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." 

"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, who’s priorities don’t seem to align with Lily’s much, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral." 

"The funeral," you repeat. 

"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested,” Lily says.

Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it." 

The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her last remaining son, who’d given up his right to be king in order to marry a divorced woman (a scandal at the time). His daughter, Princess Julianna. The tabloids had had more than enough to say about her.

All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind. 

A stylist and a tutor. 

"And a bodyguard," Lily says now, "your safety is the most important thing." 

You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly.

"We actually want you to meet them today," Emmeline says. 

"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before. 

There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap, a ball of nerves, happier to hide behind it. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop. 

You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger. 

"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance." 

"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test." 

"A paternity test?" you ask. 

You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in. 

Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks. 

"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, her eyebrows raised in pity. 

You don't know what it means. 

First to enter the room is a modestly dressed and exceedingly tall man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls gently. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow. 

"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room." 

Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment. 

"And the building," adds the second. 

Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face. 

He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes. 

You smile carefully. He smiles back. 

Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence." 

The third. 

"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be sticking closely with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness." 

“May he rest in peace,” Emmeline adds.

You look between all these new strangers apprehensively. "Hello," you manage. 

Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello." 

"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.

"No," you say, head tilting toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you." 

"Thank you, but don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."

You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him. 

She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?" 

—

James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat on the bus like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor. He wonders if you have a thing about germs.

"I'll rent a car," he says, tightening his hand where he holds the pole beside you.

You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?" 

"It's much safer." 

"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffeur." 

"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you." 

You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?

"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one." 

"Me?" 

"No, me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my prerogative." 

"Oh, good." 

James recalls what Lily had said, rightfully: you and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness.

He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair. 

"What do you do?" he asks.

You don’t have children, or any family at all. He’s read your file three times over. He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?

"I'm a waitress." 

He nods. "Local?" 

"Yeah, at a pub. The Morgan." 

"You have a shift today?" 

"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop." 

James lets you pass and then trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street. 

"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks. 

"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"

James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine." 

You squeeze through the pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. The school rush, it must be. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that he’s following. He has some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes —he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head.

The day is cool, the last dregs of an end-of-summer heat lingering in the air. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip. 

He grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady. To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet. 

"Sorry, Princess," he says. 

"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over." 

"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it begins a heavy descent downward. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?" 

You tell it to him. "Why?" 

"For the rest of your security detail." 

He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip. 

"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?" 

"Do you always do that?" 

"It gets stuck," you explain. 

He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been encouraged, or paid handsomely, to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story." 

"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room. 

He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall. 

"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above. 

You climb the stairs to the first floor. Your flat is the first door. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unnecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance it’s been infiltrated. 

He snorts at his own train of thought, returning to you as you slide a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock. 

"Did you get that recently?" 

You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep." 

"Smart girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window. 

He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things. 

"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway. 

You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really." 

The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks all stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric. 

He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you. 

"At eight, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the sofa.”

"You sleep at eight?" 

"I sleep at ten." 

"You don't mind sleeping on the sofa?"

"Not at all." 

You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you take them out neatly. 

"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince. 

"Sorry?" 

"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess." 

"You don't think so?" 

You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands. 

"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?" 

You move past him in a wave of nice smells.

"It's my job." 

Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners. 

You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands. 

"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this." 

"My settee isn't comfortable." 

"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere." 

You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the sofa and tuck a sheet around it and under the cushions. 

"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think–”

James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you." 

You blink at him. "For me?" 

He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest. 

The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby. 

"This is a panic button." 

You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box. 

"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover." 

"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask. 

He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had. 

"There are spare links hidden under the velvet." 

James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched. 

"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."

"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?" 

"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?" 

"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet." 

"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers, but you could still be in danger either way." 

You press your lips together and hold out your wrist. 

James steps closer to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your quiet kindness. You’re like Remus.

Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you. The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks. 

"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands. 

"Thank you." 

He disregards it completely. "No worries." 

His informality gets you, and you smile your first proper smile since you'd been introduced. 

By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits. 

He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters. 

He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort. 

James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.

"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you." 

You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry." 

"Can you do me a favour?" 

"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin. 

"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."

Princess or not, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody. 

"Do you think someone's going to… kill me?" you ask. “Just, that’s the danger, right?”

James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, eyelashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a frankly fantastic bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright." 

You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills." 

"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess." 

You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off. 

"Can I get you anything?" you ask. 

He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your nice heart. He's seen exactly what royal status and money can do to young women. The last thing anyone needs is another Julianna.

"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."

"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything." 

He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight." 

"Goodnight."

You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper. 

He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses. 

A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels. 

He throws open the door, braced for impact, but you aren't anywhere to be seen. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3

the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz

[twstowo]

Hello! I absolutely love your work it's always such a joy to read them! So, when I saw your asks were open, I had to ask fast! Can I request for a fluffy work where Jade, Rook, and Vil are painting their S/O? You can add on more if you need to.

I hope you have a nice day! ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: They paint/sketch you.

♡︎I almost exploded on Vil’s part.

♡︎Includes: Jade, Rook and Vil

♡︎Warning: Jade smirking

⋆⋅☆Jade

I can't picture him painting you, but I see him having some sketches of you in a notebook, probably filled with information about mushrooms.

After classes ended, you had a habit of lingering at Monstro Lounge. You'd order a drink, often covered by Jade's generosity. There, you would study, awaiting Jade's arrival whenever he was free. On one particular day, he observed you from a distance, engrossed in reading potionology books for an upcoming test. Although you were engaged in a mundane activity, he felt an unusual urge to capture you in his notebook, akin to documenting a rare mushroom.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

"Jade, is that me?" you questioned as you spotted a peculiar doodle of yourself in his mushroom-filled notebook. The two of you had gone on a hike, and to assist him in identifying mushrooms, he handed you his notebook. To your surprise, amidst the detailed fungi descriptions, you discovered a drawing of your face stuffed inside a book. Much to your dismay, Jade responded with a smirk rather than a straightforward answer.

⋆⋅☆Rook

Now Rook would be the type to paint you and have those paintings of you on the walls of his room, no shame at all. If someone entered his room, he would spend hours talking about the artworks, explaining how divine you looked to the point that he had to capture it for eternity.

He would find you in the botanical garden, staring at some flowers, and out of nowhere, you'd see him with a canvas and an easel running towards you. You have no idea how he managed to get those so fast, as you were just talking seconds ago.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“Is this really necessary?” You were already embarrassed by the fact that he wanted to paint you, but the constant remarks about your beauty made you almost pass out.

“Oh, mon Trickster, I only wish to capture forever what I deem worthy of being seen by millions, as your beauty is undoubtedly impossible to-” And he kept on talking about how much he loved you, how amazing you were, how breathtaking you looked, and how his actions were undoubtedly more than worth it. With each word, you felt your legs growing weaker.

⋆⋅☆Vil

This might start with Rook wanting to paint the two of you together as a cute couple since he was your ultimate shipper. However, Vil never seemed pleased with the paintings, stating that something was missing. You thought he was talking about him not looking as good as he wanted, but after some days, he asks you to come over, and to your surprise, he tells you that he wants to paint you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“Potato, stay still!” By the Seven, you only wanted to scratch your nose. It had been almost an hour, and you were starting to feel really hungry. You'd have to curse Grim for wasting money on his cans of tuna, leaving you with only sandwiches until the smell made you feel sick. You stared around his room, waiting for the work to be done. After all, it surely couldn’t take that much more. “Come see it.” You saw him lower the brush as he looked at you with a smile, and as you approached, you had to grab your jaw or it would drop to the floor. The way he had drawn you had nothing on Rook’s style. You looked so beautiful, it almost didn’t feel like that was you. So, that was how Vil saw you? And he was just mad that Rook couldn’t see the same thing he did.

“Oh, Vil!” You sounded so lovesick as you gave him a hug and a kiss.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired. 

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these. 

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession. 

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip. 

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping. 

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail. 

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse. 

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?” 

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void. 

He sighs. 

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock. 

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought. 

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place. 

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail. 

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away. 

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose. 

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked. 

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless. 

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head. 

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.” 

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.” 

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[genericpuff]

oh boy it's that time again

when rachel posts 'video progress' of her work and we proceed to dissect it like a frog in 9th grade science class

like ok first the caption of "is persephone the chicken and hades the egg" makes no fucking sense except to anyone who overthinks it and goes "wait is that a reference to the popularly-perpetuated version of the myth where persephone went down to the underworld willingly and hades didn't actually exist???" because if it is ima scream lmao

but MORE IMPORTANTLY-

Here's the transcript of what she's saying in the video:

"I think I've always wanted to write Hades' and Persephone's story because obviously I really like them. It's like very much a chicken and egg situation because I think in the beginning I thought that I was going to use a very abstract black and white style, and I realized it wasn't very enticing or fun for me, um... and I started drawing these very like vibrant characters and as I drew them I understood more about the story the more that I explored the art style, um and I guess an example of that is, y'know, Persephone is like a very bright color um, and the Underworld, is a very dark dark blue, and so when she says she really sticks out so it's just environmental uh processes like that that really helped inspire the direction of the story."

(despite her expanding on the "chicken and the egg" bit it still doesn't make sense imo lmao)

But what we're seeing isn't S1 LO, it's actually from S3 of LO:

But um... you notice anything interesting about the screenshot I just showed you?

That literally looks NOTHING like what we see in the final panel. At the VERY least I think this goes to show how overcooked it becomes in post-production, when they add the canvas layer and hypersaturate the shit out of the colors, but even the blending technique just isn't matching up?

A lot of what she's doing in this video also feels very... non-existent, like she's brushing her pen around but very little is happening so it feels more like her just putting down random brush strokes to try and make it seem put-together but really she's just kind of pushing colors around and/or doing nothing. Especially when, again, what she's painting here looks nothing like the final picture (so at best it's a lot of wasted work??)

And knowing what we know about the assistants drawing the characters separately so that Rachel can rearrange them in the final episode layout... I don't wanna call foul play here, but this feels like yet another attempt on Rachel's behalf to make her process seem more involved than it is by simply redrawing a scene for the performative aspect of it all. It's like the "sketches" in the books looking way too 'clean' for the final product and giving the impression that she just sketched over the final panels to make them look pretty enough for print.

I also wanna mention that for some reason she's drawing this on her iPad when she owns a Cintiq. It could be because she was drawing this while abroad in the US for her conventions last fall, but despite clearly being ahead of schedule, she still wound up drawing the final episode the night of-

Oh yeah and btw there are like a million clipping layers for what looks like just a simple drawing of Demeter. And this lines up with our previous theories about her using like 128549021809 layers for literally one character.

And aside from all that her commentary, as always, is very nothingburger, just a bunch of word salad. Like she's literally trying to explain LO's color theory as "well Persephone is bright pink and the Underworld is dark blue so she sticks out! That's all you need to know!"

IDK, I'm not coming to any sort of ironclad conclusion based off this one video, but it does feel like yet another desperate attempt to prove that she does work on LO and doesn't just leave it all to her assistants to do at the last minute. But like... she's kind of screwed in that argument either way, because even if she draws the majority of panels in LO, that just further proves the argument that she's stopped trying.

[storytowrite]

|The FINE Art ~ Hwang Hyunjin|

Theme: Art Student! Hyunjin x Y/N

Warnings: mention of nudity, smut, 18+, unprotected sex, the age gap Y/N is 15 years older than Hyunjin.

Word Count: 5257

Summary: Life wasn’t easy for you. You lost your job, lost your husband who remarried and took everything away leaving you only with an old, sick cat. You desperately needed money. Thankfully, your friend is an art teacher and your body is quite tempting. Especially for the young, talented student.

------------------

“I’m sorry ma’am, but the cat needs surgery if you want it to live longer. We cannot wait long.” The vet said his verdict. Your old cat, Lemon, was ill, and you knew that. The thing was that you didn’t have enough money and you were in a really bad situation. 

“How much is for the surgery?” You asked. 

“It will cost about $3000 in total with all the care.” The vet answered your question and you sighed heavily. Why on Earth does it cost so much?! And more importantly - how will you gather all the money needed? 

“All right… If that’ll help him, please do everything you can. I can’t lose him too.” You said tiredly. 

“We’ll do everything we can to save this little boy.” The vet smiled at you honestly. 

You nodded and left your cat at the vet’s clinic. It wasn’t a good timing for such expenses, but you had to do everything you could to just save your animal. You sighed heavily once again. The previous week was hard and now this. Your life was a mess. You lost the job, since your boss decided to hire “some younger girls” and you were simply too old in his eyes. 

The divorce process was finally over. But unfortunately your ex-husband took everything he could, including your apartment. Because of this, you had to move in with your friend, at least until you get back on your feet again. Fortunately, Lina was happy to help you. 

You returned home wasted and without your cat, which you left at the veterinary clinic. You wanted to cry. Earning $3,000 in a short time seemed unrealistic. Well, because how to do it? 

"Oh Y/N are you back already?" Asked Lina peering at you from above another artwork she was working on. "Everything ok baby?" 

"No, nothing is ok. Lemon needs surgery and I don't have that much money to pay for it. And I still can't find a job. Everything is falling apart for me." You sat down heavily on the couch. "And I also need to find an apartment and..." 

"Woah, slow down honey. I don't mind your company. You and Lemon can stay with me as long as you need, after all, you know that.... And as for work, I think I have an idea." She smiled slightly at you. You knew that kind of smile from Lina's genre of brilliant ideas. 

"Oh no, why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" You asked, looking at your friend. 

"Don't exaggerate, it's nothing like that.... Besides, we'll both benefit from it." 

"Fine, what's the idea?" You asked, slightly curious. 

"Great... you'll love it!" She clapped her hands. 

After an hour of talking to your friend and her persuading you, you finally agreed to help her with her little project. Lina was a drawing teacher in the art department, and her students were just starting to learn how to sketch real people. They needed a model for this, since the topic was THE FEMALE BODY. 

At first you had a lot of concerns. Lina wanted you to pose nude in front of a group of some of her top students. You had huge objections to this. You didn't feel like showing your body to strangers in their twenties. But you had no choice. The deal was simple, 10 sessions at $300 each, for a maximum of five hours per class. That is, two weeks of work. You were able to do it, right? 

"I don't know Lina, I have to think about it..." You said, glancing at her. 

"Just don't make me wait too long for your answer.... Besides, you have a beautiful body for our age, so what's the problem?" She asked lightly. 

"What do you mean what's the problem? I'm supposed to show off to a group of 20-year-olds? After all, they are children!" 

"Honey, these are young adults. Besides, they are just a few people. I'd rather pay you than some strangers. Think of Lemon. He needs this operation.... And if you prove yourself, who knows? Maybe I'll hire you permanently?" She persuaded you further. 

" Oh, hell no... I'll find a job, eventually." You replied quickly. "But fine. I'll take part in it..." You agreed, sighing heavily. "Just so I don't regret it..." 

"Believe me, you won't and you'll even like it!" She replied excitedly. "We'll start first thing tomorrow morning! Prepare yourself properly, you know, shave and.... " 

"Okay, I'll prepare properly.... Anything else?" You asked in a tired voice, interrupting her sentence. 

"Hm... take some clothes to change into.... And well, put on some nice underwear. Tomorrow we start with the upper body. The students will sketch your torso and breasts above all. Well, and tie your hair in a ponytail, it will be easier to see your collarbones.... But that's at ease, I'll tell you everything exactly tomorrow." She grinned. "Go rest, I still have to finish here." 

You sighed heavily and went straight to the bathroom, following your friend's directions. You still weren't convinced about the idea, but the situation forced you to do so. You felt stress above all. You may have had a nice, fit body, but you certainly weren't used to showing it to strangers. 

After a long and warm shower, you headed to your bedroom, where you fell asleep rather quickly. The next day would be a very long one... 

The next day you got up early, got dressed and did light makeup. You left your hair loose, for now at least. Later you'll tie it up in a ponytail. Your friend had already been bustling around in the kitchen since morning. 

"Good morning! Ready for today's challenges?" Asked a delighted Lina. 

"Mhm, I won't be any more than I am." You muttered uneasily. 

"Oh grumpy... Come on, or we'll be late." Lina didn't seem to mind your dissatisfaction. 

"And breakfast?" You asked. 

"We don't have time... you'll get something on the spot." Your friend waved her hand and pulled you with her to the exit. You left her apartment and headed for the car. The trip to the university didn't take long, but you were getting more and more stressed with each passing moment. No wonder, after all, you will be posing naked.... 

You entered the university and headed straight to the room where the classes would be held. Lina showed you everything inside and once again reminded you what to do and how to do it. Your task was quite simple. All you had to do was show some breasts and sit still on a stool for a good couple of hours. 

The students began to fill the room, and you heard Lina greeting them cheerfully. You sighed quietly. It's going to be a long couple of hours. 

"Dear students, I have a little surprise for you today." You heard your friend's words. "A good friend of mine has agreed to get herself acquainted with us. As I said, you will learn sketching on a living organism.... Y/N come join us and show yourself to our students." 

You took a deeper breath and stepped out from behind the screen. You stressed all over. You stood in the middle, right next to your friend, trying not to catch eye contact with any of the students in the room. 

You quickly swept your eyes around the room. There were eight students in the classroom, three girls and five boys. They looked rather uninterested. You glanced out of the corner of your eye at Lina, who continued her argument. 

"Y/N will be our model today. Please be nice to her, she has never done this before. Today we'll take care of the upper body. Your task is to reproduce Y/N's torso and breasts. We sketch from the neck until we reach this point." Lina showed them exactly how much to sketch. "Y/N honey, take off your top and bra and sit on the stool. Do any of you have any questions?" 

The students did not answer Lina's question. You, on the other hand, with slightly trembling hands, undressed from the waist up and sat on the stool. Your friend even gave you a pillow to make you more comfortable. 

"Great, push your breasts out a little more and..." Lina began to correct your positioning. "Perfect! Okay darlings, you can begin." 

The group of students got down to sketching. You swept your eyes around the room. Everyone was focused to make the best possible representation of your body. Lina walked among the students and glanced at their progress. 

Time passed quickly. The students worked in silence. None of them had spoken a word since they entered the room. They were focused on the task at hand. 

One of the men present in the room caught your attention. You had never seen such a handsome man before. He had noble features, his hair was slightly longer and black. He had an earring under his eyebrow, and a black leather jacket perfectly framed his body. 

You swallowed your saliva. The man looked like a prince, and there was plenty of finesse and elegance in his movements. You honestly couldn't take your eyes off him. There was something about him that attracted you to him, something magnetic that you could not describe in words. 

The man in question noticed your gaze. It was as if he sensed that you were looking at him. He raised his gaze slightly, looking deeply into your eyes, and gently raised his eyebrow. You felt a blush appear on your face and your throat suddenly became dry. A strange feeling welled up in your lower abdomen as he smiled slightly and winked at you. 

"All right my dears. Let's take a break for a while." Lina suddenly announced, breaking the silence that had prevailed. "Let's let Y/N stretch her legs.... Come back here in 15 minutes and we'll continue." 

The students put down their sketches and began to leave the room for the break, and Lina handed you a sweatshirt to cover yourself. She smiled warmly at you in the process. 

"Well? Not so bad, huh?" She asked. 

"It's fine... Although I was stressed." You replied and took a sip of water. "Your students aren't very talkative, are they?" 

"As artists are." 

"I thought there would be more students in the room." You said, sipping water again. 

"Nah, I have a small group. But they are the best of the best.... You could say it's such a VIP class." Lina laughed. "You know, it's an extra class for the more ambitious ones." 

"Oh, now I understand..." You nodded, and your thoughts fled to the mysterious boy with an earring under his eyebrow. 

"Would you like to take a peek at the sketches? The students really sketched your body very well..." Lina took one sketchbook in her hand, belonging to the boy you were looking at. "Oh look, Hyunjin did it the best. That boy can perfectly render every detail.... He's my top-of-the-class student." She smiled proudly. So the boy's name was Hyunjin. 

"Wow... This is amazing." You said, sincerely impressed by the way Hyunjin rendered all the details. He even sketched the delicate birthmark you had under your breast. 

"Right?" Lina asked. "If you ask Hyunjin nicely, he might give you his sketch..." She winked. "He has a real talent, and by the way he looks like Aphrodite herself conceived him. He could be a model, but there's a rule at the university that students can't pose, which is a shame..." She sighed quietly. "I myself sometimes wish I could see..." 

"Lina! This is your student..." reprimanded your friend. 

"I know, that's why I leave some things only in dreams." She laughed quietly. "Hungry? I'll get you something to eat." As she said, so she did, quickly leaving the room.

You sighed softly and your stomach growled. Not eating breakfast before leaving was a mistake. You glanced at your watch. The break was slowly coming to an end and your friend had not yet returned with the promised food. In turn, students slowly began to return to the room.

"Hungry?" You suddenly heard a voice behind you. You turned to look at the owner. In front of you stood Hyunjin, who was a head taller than you. He smiled slightly and handed you a banana. "Eat... you've got another 2.5 hours of sitting ahead of you."

“T-Thank you…” You said, taking the banana from him and peeling it right away.

"You welcome... I wanted to say that you have really beautiful breasts." He said, looking you straight in the eye. "I can't wait for the next few days to see the rest."

"Oh thank you?" You replied slightly confused and blushed slightly.

"Nothing." Hyunjin winked at you. 

"Okay, guys! We can get back to work!" Lina called as she entered the room. "Y/N, please sit down the same way you sat before. Perfect! Remember, there are 2.5 hours left until the end of time. At the end of the day, you should have at least five sketches."

Everyone went back to work. The banana Hyunjin gave you, calmed your stomach for a while. You sighed quietly, sitting half-naked on the stool. Honestly, you were counting down the minutes until the end. 

Every now and then you found yourself staring at Hyunjin, who was working intently on the sketches of your body. You couldn't take your eyes off him. He was too handsome to resist. You didn't even feel that time had passed quickly. 

Lina announced the end of class and let you get dressed. Students slowly began to file out of the room. You watched them leave, saying a quiet 'goodbye'. Your friend approached you after everyone else had left the room."You were great today." She grinned. 

"I'm taking you to dinner, come on! And mentally prepare for tomorrow. We'll show them a little more... Can you handle it?"

"Yes, I think I can... Although I don't know if I want to show them everything." You started.

"Well, tomorrow's plan is legs... you can have a thong, we'll move on to the private parts at the end of the week, and next week we'll have poses... Well, I think you should be able to handle everything easily." Lina continued.

“Mhm, if you say so…” You muttered. The prospect of showing your private parts to students didn't make you feel optimistic, but when you thought about Hyunjin, it didn't sound so bad either...

—-------------------

The week flew by very quickly. The students tried to accurately portray all the details of your body on paper. On Friday, the last day of the first week, there was a class on sketching 'private body parts', as Lina called it. And that meant you had to show your vagina. 

The thought of this did not fill you with any optimism at all. You didn't want to expose yourself so much in front of the students, but Lina forced it on you. To be fair, she did suggest that she would pay you more for the day, so with a slight hesitation you agreed. 

You sat in the room wrapped only in a silk dressing gown and waited for the class to start. Your friend went to talk to the dean, leaving you alone. You sighed quietly and stuck your gaze into your phone, trying to calm your thoughts. 

Hyunjin entered the room, but you were so busy with your social media that you didn't notice his presence. The boy walked over to his stand and unpacked all the necessary items before turning towards you. 

"Hi pretty." He said in a velvety voice, snapping you out of your activity. "What are you going to show us today?" He asked and winked slightly. 

"Ekhm... Private parts." You replied feeling a little intimidated, looking up at him. 

"And you're convinced about that?" He asked. "You look confused and scared." 

"Well, it's certainly quite a step out of my comfort zone.... But I can't back down now." You answered honestly. 

"I understand... If it's any comfort to you, I'll try to replicate everything very accurately." He smiled.

"Thanks I guess..." She grunted. "I've seen your work before. You have great talent," he said. 

"Thank you, beautiful." He smiled warmly at you. "But the credit goes to the model I sketch." He winked, and a blush appeared on your cheeks. "It suits you this colour, you know? I wish I could paint a picture of you. In a red see-through nightgown.... What do you think?" 

"A painting?" You blinked, not expecting such a proposal. "I don't know..." 

"I have to create a portfolio for the final exam.... I've already painted three paintings of my friends, but I still have one left. And you are beautiful. I'll pay." He replied, watching your reaction. 

"I have to think about it..." You replied, but didn't finish the sentence because he walked in on you in mid-word. 

"I understand." He replied and wrote something down on a piece of paper. " Here, this is my phone number, if you make a decision, just text me..." He handed you a small piece of paper with the number on it. "Just don't make me wait too long for an answer, lovely." 

"R-right." You replied and hid his number in a safe place. 

The rest of the students entered the room, along with your friend, who smiled broadly at you. She welcomed the students and gave them the guidelines for the assignment. 

"Well Y/N. Sit with your hands behind your back and push your chest forward a little too. And spread your legs..." She said to you and helped you adjust your position. "My dears, you may begin. "

Sitting apart in front of a group of people has not been one of the most comfortable activities in your life. However, you didn't pay much attention to it yourself. Your thoughts were consumed with Hyunjin's proposal. Should you accept it? He said he would pay, and so far there was no indication that you would find a job.... 

You decided to give it a chance and agree to his proposal. After all, it's just another day's work as a "model." You survived a whole week in front of students, you'll survive being alone with Hyunjin too. 

Before you knew it, the class was over and the students had left the room, and you were free to get dressed. Lina was still talking to individuals while you typed Hyunjin's number into your phone. You made up your mind and as soon as he left the room, you texted him. 

[Y/N]

Ok. I agree.... When do you want to do it? ~ Y/N

[Hyunjin] 

Wonderful news sweetheart! Let's meet tomorrow evening at my place. Remember, red nightgown 😘

 He wrote back almost immediately. You swallowed your saliva. What are you actually doing? 

—-------------------

The next day you went to the address Hyunjin sent you in a text message. You were stressed. You didn't know what it should look like or how long it would take. Your body trembled and your mind wandered into dangerous territory. You felt both apprehension and excitement about the whole situation. 

You stood in front of the door of his apartment. You took a few deep breaths and knocked gently. You waited, listening for the sound of footsteps. After a while, the young man opened the door for you and let you in with a smile. 

"I'm glad you agreed." He said, taking over your coat from you. "Make yourself comfortable... Would you like something to drink before we start? Coffee? Tea? Water? Maybe wine?" 

"Water is enough... Although I won't actually despise wine either." You replied and timidly entered his living room. 

The room was large, definitely bigger than your friend's entire apartment. Not surprising, after all, Hyunjin lived in one of the more expensive neighbourhoods in your city. The white leather furniture, laced with gold accessories, perfectly matched the aura that this man was producing. Everything seemed truly royal. 

"Wow." You gasped in awe. 

"Do you like it? My parents made sure I was comfortable in the city.... Would you like a tour of the apartment?" He asked, handing you a glass of red wine. 

"I'd love to... If I can, of course." You accepted the drink from him and took a sip. 

The boy showed you his entire apartment. He had three bedrooms, but he had transformed one into a studio, and the other was used as a dressing room. 

"Okay, ready for us to start?" He asked as you walked through the apartment.

"I think so." You replied hesitantly.

"Great!" He smiled broadly. "Come on, I'll paint you in the studio... I'll get everything ready and you can go and change in the bathroom. Leave when you're ready. It'll take me a while to paint though... It'll take all weekend, actually. But like I said, I'll pay. $1000 is enough?"

"H-how much?" You were stunned when you heard the amount he gave.

“If it's not enough, just tell me…” He replied, watching you.

"Not enough? I didn't expect it to be so much..." You started. "It's too much…"

"Hmm... I don't think so." He shrugged. "We'll talk about it later... You can go change in the bathroom now and I'll set everything ready here." He said, unimpressed.

“Sure…” You replied and headed to the bathroom.  $1000 to pose? You were shocked. How much money does this young man actually have? 

After a few minutes you were ready. You looked at your reflection in the mirror. You were wearing a slightly see-through red nightgown that hugged your body perfectly and highlighted all your curves. You decided to leave your hair down, but you put a small decoration in it. You fixed your delicate makeup and went out to Hyunjin.

"Wow, you look amazing." He said as soon as he noticed you. "Like I said, this colour suits you very well."

"Thank you." You replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Okay, you can lie down." He pointed to a small sofa in the center of the room. "I would like you to lie down comfortably, and if you want to sleep, just close your eyes. The only thing that matters is that you stay in the position I put you in."

“Sure, I can do it…” You replied and followed his directions. You settled into a comfortable position on the sofa and Hyunjin stood over you. He leaned down gently and positioned your body. His touch was pleasant. You felt the nice warmth radiating from his body.

"Perfect." He said and smiled contentedly. "Okay, let's get started. If you want a break then say so." 

Hyunjin began to paint. You lay there without moving, watching his every move. You began to wonder how it was that your life had brought you to the point where you were. 

Hyunjin painted in concentration, and there was silence between the two of you. You didn't seem to mind. You felt your eyelids become heavy and you didn't even know when you fell asleep. 

You woke up after some time and stretched slightly. It was already twilight outside. You looked around the room you were in. Hyunjin was nowhere to be found. You stood up and stretched your stagnant body again. You were curious to see how Hyunjin's progress was going, but before you could get closer to the painting, the door of the room opened. 

"Oh, you're awake already." Hyunjin smiled slightly. "Hungry? Come, I've prepared dinner." 

Only when the boy mentioned food did you feel that you were actually hungry. You followed him into the kitchen, where delicious smells were coming from. 

"You are handsome, you paint and you cook. Is there anything you can't do?" You asked, sitting down at the table. Hyunjin glanced at you laughing. 

"Thank you for the compliment, beautiful." He winked, at which you blushed. He served you dinner and you began to eat. 

"Enough with the painting for today, it's late." Hyunjin said. "If you want, you can stay the night.... We'll start again first thing tomorrow morning anyway." 

"I don't want to get..." You started. 

"But that's not up for discussion." He interrupted you in mid-sentence. "It's late, I don't want you to go home when it's dark outside.... I'll prepare a bed for you." 

"Hyunjin, but really..." You started again but his one look left you unsure what to say next. "Okay. I'll stay the night." 

"Great." He smiled at you. "Come on, I'll give you something to sleep on..." 

" You know, after all, I can sleep in what I'm wearing." You replied while watching him. 

"Believe me, if you stay in this red nightgown, I won't hold back."  He replied with full seriousness. 

"Oh..." You made a sound. " All right..." 

You followed him to his dressing room, which occupied the other room. Hyunjin walked over to a cabinet and pulled out an oversized hoodie and handed it to you. "It should fit." He smiled slightly. 

"Thank you." You replied with a slight smile. "I'll take a shower." 

Hyunjin nodded and you parted the rooms. You went to the bathroom to take a quick shower, and a pleasant feeling once again settled in your lower abdomen. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was in the bedroom preparing a place for you to sleep. 

After some time, you came out of the bathroom in his hoodie. You could smell his perfume lingering on his clothes. You smiled slightly, to yourself. His scent was so soothing. 

"Do you like the smell?" You suddenly heard his voice behind you, at which you jumped slightly. 

"Y-yes." You stuttered, at which the boy smiled. 

"I have to say, no matter what you're wearing, you're every bit as beautiful." He said, walking closer to you. "I like you Y/N." 

"Thank you, I guess..." You took a gentle step back unsure of where this conversation was leading. 

"When I say I like you, I really mean it." Hyunjin leaned slightly over you and brushed lightly against your waist. You swallowed your saliva as you looked straight into his eyes, your back resting against the wall. Hyunjin was leaning with his hand right next to your head and his body was leaning against yours. You bit your lip slightly and gently moved your legs, feeling yourself slowly getting wet. The situation you found yourself in was definitely not on your bingo card. 

"Hyunjin, we don't..." You began, trying to keep up any semblance of a smile yet. However, his closeness and magnetic scent were too tempting to resist. 

"Shhhsh." The boy moved his thumb over your swollen lips. "You don't even realise how sexy you look right now." He whispered in your ear while biting your earlobe, which was met with a quiet sigh that left your lips. You felt his gentle smile as he moved closer to your neck and gently moved his velvety lips across it. "You like it." He stated, observing your reaction to his touch. "I wonder if you'll like this too." He added and moved his hands a little lower, slipping them under the hoodie. 

"Hyunjin, it's not..." You started, but feeling his long fingers glide across your skin, leaving goosebumps on it, you were unable to control your senses. Hyunjin's lips attacked your neck more boldly, and you tilted your head further back so he could have better access. 

Hyunjin glided his lips along your neck looking for weak spots, and once he found them, he immediately started leaving red hickeys in those spots, which was met with your moans of approval. 

You rested your hands on his torso, and the young man delicately lifted you up, grabbing your buttocks. You put your legs around his waist as his lips found their way right to yours. 

"I want you." He whispered, brushing his lips lightly against yours. "And I know you want me too. Say it." 

"Please." You said quietly. 

"You're asking? For what?" He asked backing away slightly which was met with your disapproval. 

"Kiss me, please." You moaned pleadingly. Hyunjin smiled at you and pressed his lips into yours. His kiss was firm and forceful, but that's what you liked best. You moaned blissfully into his mouth as he grabbed your buttocks tighter. Hyunjin took this as a sign of approval and carried you to his bedroom. 

Hyunjin put you on the bed immediately, finding himself above you. His knee came between your legs pressing lightly on your spot. He leaned over a little more and cupped your hoodie with his hands. 

"You are phenomenal." He said, watching you. His hands moved over every bare patch of your body, exploring every inch of it. Following his hands, Hyunjin placed you on the bed immediately finding himself over you. His knee came between your legs pressing lightly on your spot. He leaned over a little more and cupped your hoodie with his hands. His hands moved over every bare patch of your body, exploring every inch of it. His hands were followed by his lips, which also explored your body. He left wet footprints in his path, interspersed with huge hickeys. 

You moaned blissfully when his lips found their way to your lower abdomen. You felt his smile against your skin. Hyunjin gently spread your legs and moved his hand over your core. Your reaction encouraged him to continue. 

He bit lightly on the inside of your thighs, which was met with your slight jump. His strong hands, however, held your body as his mouth took up your pussy, embracing it completely. 

You moaned loudly and slid your hand into his hair. You pulled his hair gently as his tongue penetrated your insides, melting with pleasure. 

Hyunjin drove you to pleasure, and your body arched in an accompaniment of moans. The young man licked and returned his lips to your mouth, kissing you. You immediately responded to his kiss, hungry for his velvety lips. 

Your hands moved over his body. You wanted to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. Hyunjin laughed quietly. 

"So eager, huh? Patience darling, be good and you'll get what you deserve." He said amused and helped you undress himself. Once he was standing naked, you moved your hands over his penis, which was already ready for use. "I don't have condoms..." The boy began. 

" Doesn't matter, I want to feel you, now, right now, please!" You moaned needily. 

"I like the way you are asking." He snarled quietly and slid his full length into you. 

"Oh yes!" You whined loudly and moved your hands down his back as he began to move. 

His movements became faster and less precise. He went deep, perfectly attacking your g-spot. Your and his moans filled the entire room.

"Hyunjin! I…" You started digging your nails into his soft skin.

"Come on baby, cum for me." He groaned loudly. "Fuck!"

"I'm cumming!" You moaned loudly, clenching around him. 

A few seconds later, you felt warmth spreading through your insides. Hyunjin collapsed on top of you after a moment, his head resting between your full breasts. You were both breathing heavily.

“You are my muse." He murmured after a while. "Be my muse forever?"

"With pure pleasure." You replied quietly, gently stroking his back, making him smile.

"You know what? You are the FINE art." He said. "My muse."

And After an eventful night, you both fell asleep cuddling together.

-> Masterlist

[ivy-elle]

Carry The Moon / Part 3

Xiangli Yao x Reader

Summary: From first meetings to searching your voice in every room, how very intriguing you’ve become to him.

As a spirited adventurer, you’re used to a life of action and impulse, having little interest left for the world of data and deduction. But when you stumble upon a rare mineral, you find yourself drawn to the unexpected warm soul that resides within the logic-stricken researcher Xiangli Yao. And as your practical instincts clash with his world of science, sparks fly in more ways than one.

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2 ~~~ Part 3

When Xiangli Yao enters the Academy this morning, his eyes instinctively search for your presence. Perhaps he’ll catch a glimpse of you in the archives or hear the trace of your voice echoing somewhere in the hallways.

He has noticed your reluctance towards the art of science, and perhaps even the Academy as such. And yet, he finds it – you - amusing, in a way it’s impossible for him to deny. Your presence, along with your effortless humour has brought a refreshing change to his usual structured days and the rigid atmosphere of the Academy.

With one last subtle glance around the Academy’s halls – gathered with people who aren’t you – a certain strange sense of disappointment settles over him, and thus his day goes on in its usual rhythm.

---

Your sole reason for returning to the Academy is to ask Xiangli Yao about the data logs he sent you yesterday morning.

But the moment you reach the archives in the late afternoon, you stop dead in your tracks as you notice the stuffed crowd of people. And up there on the pedestal? None other than Xiangli Yao himself.

Wait, he’s a teacher? Or professor. Or whatever else his fancy title is.

You haven’t been aware. Then again, with his rank and brainpower, it’d be a waste not to have him teach other smarties.

And it’s quiet. Like seriously dead quiet for a class. You can hear the sound of your shoes scuffing the polished floor, that’s how hard everyone is clinging to his every word.

Great.

With no way out that wouldn’t cause a fuss, you’re stuck here for the rest of the lecture. At least you’ve found refuge in the farthest corner of the room, where you can at least breathe normally.

Then your eyes settle on Yao. And as much as you’ve made fun of the zombie-like scholars around you, your words come back to bite your ass the second you start listening to him. It isn’t… it’s not quite what he’s teaching – something about auto-mechanics, or whatever. But it is more the way he is drawing you in. Drawing every one in. An older guy next to you is fervently writing along in his little notebook, not daring to miss a word that leaves Yao’s mouth.

Damn it, he’s good. For a science guy.

He manages to pull the crowd into his world, making it seem like he genuinely cares about the publicum. Which, knowing what you’ve learned about him so far, he most likely does.

Xiangli Yao is standing next to the blackboard, gesturing to a few sketches to emphasize his explanations. “Many times, in your careers, you will find yourself at a dead-end, caught between what seems possible and what feels just beyond reach.”

He circles a particular sketch and crosses out another one. “It is inevitable to face the limits of your knowledge, and research won’t always bring you forward.”

His gaze sweeps across the room, ensuring he makes eye contact with as many students as possible. Then his eyes find a familiar face among the crowd of listeners.

Your eyes meet and you could’ve sworn his expression softens for a second.

“But sometimes,” he continues still holding your gaze, “you will only bypass that blockage with enough dedication, courage and of course a little bit of madness.”

An amused smirk tugs at your lips, knowing full well the subtle nod in his words was directed at you.

Once the lesson has ended, quite the crowd of students immediately gathers around him and starts swarming him with questions and requests for further explanations.

You remain standing a little stand-off-fish-like in your little corner, waiting for him to handle his affairs. Heavens, you hate that feeling of being crammed into a room, even if ‘s a whole-ass lecture hall.

“Unauthorised personnel are not permitted to attend or observe lessons.”

Too caught up in your thoughts, it takes you a minute to realize the man is addressing you. You blink, turning to him. “Hm?”

“These lessons could contain sensitive information or discussions, not yet approved for public dissemination. Please remain outside.”

You take a step back, eyes falling to the name card pinned on his chest that reads Shiyan. But it’s the monocle and his air superiority that outs him as a clearly pompous ass.

There you go. A true member of the Academy. You’ve already started to get worried that Xiangli Yao is messing up your statistics with his unforeseen kindness and all.

You drag your gaze back up to Shiyan’s eyes, which are fixed on you with thinly veiled contempt.

You lift your chin slightly, meeting his stare. “I’m here on commission. Do you want my pass?” You don’t exactly have a pass – just that commission from Mortefi a few days ago. But that should do its job if you use the right words.

But Shiyan, too, is persistent. “I’m sorry, but I must still ask you to wait outside until authorized personnel will retrieve you. This room is not for the common folk.”

Common folk, my ass. What is this? You huff at his arrogance. “This is basically a library. I’m not here to steal your precious knowledge.”

“Mortefi will not be pleased to have a-“

But whatever subtle insult he is about to throw at you next, the words get stuck in his throat.

“Shiyan,” Xiangli Yao’s voice is gentle, but firm. “Thank you for your concern, but y/n is authorized to be here. They are my partner in a project we’re conducting.”

You look towards Yao, grateful for his interference, otherwise this might have ended up slightly awkward. His eyes find their way to you for a moment, before focusing back on his colleague.

Shiyanhesitates, clearly reluctant to have you stroll around his holy Academy halls, but in the end, he complies with a stiff incline of his head. “Please, next time, ensure your guests wait outside the lecture hall, Mr. Xiangli.”

Yao nods in return, and Shiyan finally leaves.

Tipping your head back against the wall, you regard Yao with a blissful expression “Alright, partner. Are you free of duty now?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, making some dimples appear as he turns to you. “Yes. I’m all yours now.”

“Oh, I’m afraid, you shouldn’t say those things, pretty boy.”

---

“Speaking of,” you exclaim a little while later, turning around and leaning back against the counter in his workshop. “I noticed some discrepancies in your notes to what I saw at the Sea of Flames.”

Xiangli Yao leans forward in his seat. “Discrepancies? Of what sort?”

“In your reports, you’ve mentioned the blue kind of Ardores Lapis. But when I went back yesterday morning, I found crystals in different colours. Similar structure, but definitely not the same. I could be wrong of course, and it might be a different species altogether. But… does that ring any bells?”

“A new species?” Yao’s brows furrow in thought. “Huh, I haven’t come across that specific aspect in any of my research. If that's true and there are variations of the crystal…”

His expression shifts into one you’ve become familiar with over these past days. Zoning out, mentally connecting dots, running through the endless data the man has stored in that brain of his. Clearly, the revelation of anomalies has left him quite intrigued.

You let him pounder for a bit, your gaze idly wandering across his workshop. The high ceilings, with lamps hanging low, cast the room with a bluish glow. It should feel stifling, but somehow, you’re rather hit with an unexpected wave of calmness instead.

“Could I ask you for yet another favour?”

You turn to meet his eyes. “Damn, you’re about to be the main contributor to this week’s salary,” you joke. Sort of… “Shoot, prof.”

“Would you allow me to join you on yet another trip to the Sea of Flames?”

You can’t help but raise a sceptical eyebrow. “Um… sure. But as you’ve noted, it’s not exactly an all-sunshine and rainbow place. There are a lot of TDs gathering there.”

“Are you questioning my combat abilities?” He tilts his head and smiles, and the way his eyes look at you makes your heart skip a beat. “I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you, my skills as a resonator and fighter won’t weigh you down. I promise. Besides, I'd like to test out the new update I added to my mecha arm in the field.”

Your gaze flickers to his prosthetic arm, noticing the resonator insignia there for the first time. A true wonder of the stars.

“Very well. But if I have to save your ass, I’m doubling my fee.”

“Deal.”

Being more of a lone wolf, you’re not exactly used to having someone join you on missions - let alone in a fight. And a part of you dreads to be responsible not just for your own life, but also for the life of the damn protégée science guy with eyes deeper than the universe.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2 ~~~ Part 3 ~~~ (Next Part coming soon)

[ggomos-maribat]

5 | in which Marinette Dupain-Cheng is behind schedule

Part 5 of No Mr. Wayne You Can't Adopt Me! | Masterlist

Marinette's schedule had become a mess.

She went to the grocery store to do some late night shopping, but when she got to the fresh produce section, the place had fallen victim to a robbery. So there she was, cart positioned in front of her, leaning against the crates after the customers were all told to get down. She tapped on her knees restlessly—Gotham's vigilantes hadn't arrived yet.

If the robber is intercepted in forty minutes, I'll have fifteen minutes to finish shopping and fifteen more to fall in line and pay. Her face twisted into a frown. That's too much time off from work and sleep.

Marinette yawned and peeked through the aisles where the goons were yelling at the poor cashiers. Does it count as work time if I help the vigilante side of my boss? She wondered tiredly. She'd promised not to get too involved when such things happened (she had a cover to keep after all), but the interruption had become an annoyance.

Fine, if they're not here yet after ten minutes, I'm kicking those asses myself, she decided. She opted to scan her surroundings instead to save some time looking for items.

Finally, the sound of grappling guns whizzed in the air, followed by capes swishing. The Bats wasted no time introducing their fists to the criminals. Marinette rolled her eyes. Seriously, how'd they get the idea to rob a grocery store? It's too big of a space for a small group of robbers—anyone can run out and get some help—ooh, wait, is that half-priced lettuce?

Unfortunately for her, the vigilantes seemed to be taking a longer time rounding up all the robbers. She really really wanted to get the lettuce and go back to her apartment. A few more minutes passed and she made up her mind to transfer her items to a basket and crawl through the floor to continue shopping. If I can get to the self-checkout line, maybe I can still follow my schedule, thought Marinette.

She made her way between shelves, grabbing what she needed while laying low without a care in the world about the grunts and punches and kicks she was hearing. She got her precious lettuce, moved on to the frozen section for a while, and then back to the main aisles to fetch the seasonings she needed. Whenever she got a glimpse of Batman, she ducked out of he way, knowing that he'll fuss over her the next day if he found out that she was in the middle of the robbery.

Alas, she forgot to also pay attention to the other Bats. While she was on her knees, ground pepper in one hand, she looked up to see Robin who was staring at her in shock.

She stared back with a straight face.

"What are you doing? " Robin finally spoke.

"Shopping," she said, putting the pepper shaker in her basket.

"What—how—why now? "

Marinette settled for no more than one word. "Capitalism."

The boy cleared his throat, seemingly still puzzled by her actions. "Have you seen other robbers holding customers hostage around here?"

She distractedly pointed to the next aisle over and he took off.

***

Marinette thought she got the stabby Robin off her back, but he came up to her while she was in self-checkout after the robbers were all rounded and tied up.

"What are you doing?" The vigilante asked. "We need your statement first before you leave, miss."

When Marinette looked up, she saw a number of other patrons continuing their business . . . plus Batman speaking with the commissioner. Seriously, he couldn't have asked anyone else?

"What you did was dangerous. You could've been seen by them," Robin scolded.

"I was in a hurry. There was half priced lettuce." Marinette began to shove all the goods into multiple bags as fast as she could.

"You could've waited—"

"No, I couldn't." With a nod, Marinette took all the heavy bags into her arms and ran out of the store as fast as she could.

***

The company didn't require her to work late at night, obviously, but it became a habit for Marinette just like when she sketched before bed. It helped her set things in order for the next day and go over the details she needed to prepare. WE was by no means the perfect corporation and Bruce wasn't the perfect boss, but Marinette was content with her job, especially since it paid well.

She tucked her legs up her chair, reading the files under the yellow light. Yes, WE had its own faults—there were still supervisors from the Marketing Department who'd send interns on coffee runs instead of giving them actual work, and a few execs seemed keen on pocketing money for themselves. Though if she could pick out those issues one by one and bring them up to Bruce, it would be a good change in the workplace.

Meanwhile, as the girl focused on her work, a few vigilantes hung out outside of her window.

"Tt. Father, are you overworking Marinette?"

"What?"

"I found her in the store shopping while the robbers were still active." Robin crossed his arms. "When I asked she only said 'capitalism'."

". . . What?"

***

One office day, Tim decided to stretch and take a walk outside his office for a break. He wandered into the copy room, where he saw Marinette waiting by the printer. He was a little sleepy by that time, but managed to greet her with a quick 'hello' which she reciprocated, followed by: "Do you need anything, Mr. Drake?"

He yawned. "No thanks."

He'd say he needed coffee but he knew Bruce banned him from consuming any more for the week.

After the copy room, he then went to the break room where he found Marinette again. This time, she handed him a cup of what looked like decaf, freshly prepared. "Uh." He squinted at her. "Weren't you just . . ."

"Hmm?"

"You were just . . ." He pointed towards the direction he came from. "Nevermind."

Maybe he was starting to hallucinate.

Not wanting to decline the drink, he took a seat and began taking small sips. He idly watched Marinette heat up pastries for snacks, probably for Bruce. A few minutes ticked by and he excused himself to go to the toilet.

. . . Where he saw Marinette coming out of the ladies' room.

"Weren't—" he sputtered. "You—you were just in the break room! I left you there!"

Marinette's smile appeared forced, but concerned. "No, I wasn't . . .?"

"You were!"

". . . Perhaps you should get some sleep, Mr. Drake," Marinette advised.

"No, I swear! You were there!"

She gave yet another worried smile and went off towards the elevator. Tim shook his head as he went to the bathroom. Had he lost his mind after all? He finished his business quickly and hurried back to his office to gather his thoughts.

But as he passed by Bruce's office he caught someone going out the door.

Someone by the name of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

"Didn't you go downstairs?!" He exclaimed, wide-eyed. This particular Marinette seemed surprised by his outburst.

"Sorry?"

"You went to the elevator!"

"No, I was here." She raised an eyebrow. "In Mr. Wayne's office."

He grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her. " What are you?!"

He was sure he saw her disappear through the sliding doors. He was certain it was her who was in the break room, and outside the bathroom, and inside the copy room. He didn't stop mumbling nonsense until a curse-spouting, stressed Tamara Fox dragged him away from the confused Marinette.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

What the poor Tim Drake didn't know unfortunately, was that Marinette strived to meet deadlines every day. And when schedules were tight, she simply couldn't do all her tasks by herself.

So, occasionally, the assistant would pull off a little Hermione Granger and employ the help of a certain time-traveling Miraculous to be in several places at once.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"DID YOU DID IT TO PROVOKE ME?"

(This is another short story about Logan that came to my mind out of the blue, I hope you like it)

Gaelia was in her class for the youngest mutants, when she felt a powerful presence outside the classroom that made her lose concentration for a few moments. She looked over there to meet Logan's clear eyes, who was watching her intently.

Since they both saved the world when Kitty sent them back in time from the future (it's a bit complicated to explain), Professor Xavier's school for talented young people was going smoothly, as was their relationship. They had both fallen in love on the trip, even though they couldn't stand each other at first.

Now Logan (after much insistence from Charles) was a teacher. He taught metallurgy, specifically explaining the properties and chemical composition of adamantium, which he knew by heart because his skeleton and claws were made of it. He stared at her for a few moments, until she spoke to him inside his mind.

Her mutation allowed her to control plants, as well as having a low level of mental control, enough to communicate with other mutants who also had that ability. In Logan's case, he didn't have it, so he just listened to her.

"You're late for your next class, professor," she stressed.

He raised an eyebrow suggestively, accompanied by a half-smile, as if to say "I know, please continue with your explanation." The young teacher rolled her eyes, laughing lightly, before looking at her students.

Most of the students considered her class boring, but since it was one more subject they had to pass, everyone tried to pay as much attention as possible. She herself had never been interested in botany until she discovered her powers.

-Okay, guys, let's continue, she continued while noticing the weight of Howlett's gaze on her. We were talking about how plants work, she continued. Plants don't have a heart, and they pump chlorophyll, with all the finished compounds for their total nutrition, to the entire plant. They also have a closed circulatory system for their perfect metabolism. They transport food substances, regulating substances and waste materials, and they also have to transport large quantities of water to great heights from the roots to the leaves - he paused - Can anyone tell me another characteristic of plants?

A girl raised her hand timidly. She nodded.

-Diana - he called her to answer -

-They don't have hearts - he answered, she nodded letting him know that the answer was correct, and although she wasn't looking at him, she felt a warm smile spread on Logan's lips -

-Very well, Diana! -she celebrated- plants do not have a heart or mechanical pumps, they have a variety of chemical and physicochemical devices to move fluids and a perfected system of pipes in the form of specialized tissues that allows them to direct the transport of nutrients -she looked at the clock placed above the door- class is over -she announced, the students began to gather their things- Don't forget about next week's presentation!

-No, Miss Floor -they answered in unison, she nodded pleased-

-I like it that way -she murmured-

She approached her table to gather her things and tidy up the classroom before leaving. Logan entered and approached the teacher's table behind which she was.

-You don't need to say anything - she said before he could speak - I know it's been a boring class, I could see it on their faces - she said referring to her students -

-It didn't seem that way to me - she smiled as she walked around the table until she was in front of her - nothing that has to do with you bores me, really

Suddenly he lifted her by the hips and sat her on the table, causing a surprised squeal to come from her lips. He slipped between her legs, at the same time sketching an amused smile at the blush that came to her cheeks.

He loved that despite all the times he showed affection to her, she still reacted as if it were the first day.

-Logan - she whispered alarmed looking through the glass windows - What are you doing? They could see us!

-Shit - he growled - Where's Storm when you need her? -he complained making him swallow hard, he looked away at her eyes, and then at her lips- I couldn't help but react like that, princess -he whispered looking at her lips- you looked so sexy giving class with this dress -he said wrinkling the green fabric with his fingers- Did you think I wouldn't say anything to you?

-You know I don't like dresses -he said- but today the temperatures are going to exceed forty degrees, so I decided to wear it

-Are you sure it's just because of that? -he murmured pushing the fabric up, making his fingers sink into the skin of her thighs- Or did you also do it to provoke me?

-It could be -he ventured making her smile, he leaned down to give her a short kiss on the lips, shorter than he would have liked-

-I don't know if it's silk or It's velvet -he murmured, looking at the garment, while running his finger under one of her straps, making her let out a sigh- What I do know is that tonight is going to end up on the floor of our room- He pulled away with a mocking smile on his face. Good luck with the rest of your classes, Lia.

Gaelia took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. She watched him disappear down the hall without looking back, leaving her unsatisfied. When she saw him enter the classroom, she thought he was going to break all the rules and do something improper, but instead he had put her nerves on edge and left her there, hypersensitive with her legs shaking and her heart racing.

Of course, Logan was no stranger to what he had done. An evil smile appeared on his lips when he smelled the sweet scent of her excitement. He walked into the classroom and put his hands on his hips, looking at his students.

-Well, let's do this quickly -he said- I have a score to settle and I'm afraid it can't wait

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Writer on Writing: Italo Calvino

Italo Calvino:

A fine thing it is to have a distant friend who writes long letters full of drivel and to be able to reply to him with equally lengthy letters full of drivel.

The poet turns in on himself, tries to pin down what he has seen and felt, then pulls it out so that others can understand it. But I can’t understand these things: these discourses about the ego and the non-ego I leave to you. Yes, I understand, there’s the struggle to express the inexpressible, typical of modern art, and these are all fine things, but I …

I’m a regular guy, I like well-defined outlines, I’m old-fashioned, bourgeois. My stories are full of facts, they have a beginning and an end. For that reason they will never be able to find success with the critics, nor occupy a place in contemporary literature. I write poetry when I have a thought that I absolutely have to bring out, I write to give vent to my feelings and I write using rhyme because I like it, tum-tetum tumtetum tum te-tum, because I’ve got no ear, and poetry without rhyme or meter seems like soup without salt, and I write (mock me, you crowds! Make me a figure of public scorn!) I write … sonnets … and writing sonnets is boring, you have to find rhymes, you have to write hendecasyllables so after a while I get bored and my drawer is overflowing with unfinished short poems.

I’m still too ignorant to write articles and as for my output of short stories, a famous summer of overproduction has been followed by years of crisis. … All the ideas currently in my head are subject to a strange phenomenon: while I work on them and perfect them continuously from the philosophical point of view, they stay rudimentary and barely sketched on the dramatic and artistic side. In my creativity thought has the upper hand over imagination.

When you’re working you get buried, drowned under things. You’ve no more friends nor art. Only when you’ve an evening or afternoon free can you roam the streets or court a girl. That’s all. In short, working is pointless. I mean, from the point of view of education. But it’s essential. I cannot — and I don’t want to — live the writer’s life, that is to say write for a living. The novel I was writing, which for months and months had sucked all my blood (because, stubborn as I am, I was determined to finish it even though I no longer felt it was going anywhere), is dead, awful, full of wonderful clever things but desperately bad, forced, it’ll never work and I must not finish it. And I must not write for some time now otherwise I’d make more mistakes. I hope that Einaudi will publish my short stories eventually, they’re the only thing I believe in and which I believe are useful.

For seven or eight months now I’ve been mucking about with a novel that I began in a moment of weakness and it’s turning out to be very bad, causing me to waste lots of my time. But at least it’ll get rid of my desire to write novels for four or five years, which is what I dream of doing, and will allow me to study kind of seriously and learn to write decently.

To write well about the elegant world you have to know it and experience it to the depths of your being just as Proust, Radiguet and Fitzgerald did: what matters is not whether you love it or hate it, but only to be quite clear about your position regarding it.

My problem today is how to escape from the limits of these books, from this definition of me as a writer of adventures, fairy-tales, and fun, in which I can’t express myself or realize myself to the full.

The fact is that I already feel I am a prisoner of a kind of style and it is essential that I escape from it at all costs: I’m now trying to write a totally different book, but it’s damned difficult; I’m trying to break up the rhythms, the echoes which I feel the sentences I write eventually slide into, as into pre-existing molds, I try to see facts and things and people in the round instead of being drawn in colors that have no shading. For that reason the book I’m going to write interests me infinitely more than the other one.

One should never have taboos about the tools we use, that as long as the thought or images or style one wants to put forward do not become deformed by the medium, one must on the contrary try to make use of the most powerful and most efficient of those tools.

You can imagine how slowly my fictional output has been going this summer, you who know how much labor, dissatisfaction, irritability, uncertainty this work costs … However — and this is the point — it is worth it. Or rather: one does not ask if it’s worth it.

We are people, there is no doubt, who exist solely insofar as we write, otherwise we don’t exist at all. Even if we did not have a single reader any more, we would have to write; and this not because ours can be a solitary job, on the contrary it is a dialog we take part in when we write, a common discourse, but this dialog can still always be supposed to be taking place with authors of the past, with authors we love and whose discourse we are forcing ourselves to develop, or else with those still to come, those we want through our writing to configure in one particular way rather than another. I am exaggerating: heaven help those who write without being read; for that reason there are too many people writing today and one cannot ask for indulgence for someone who has little to say, and one cannot allow trade-union or corporate sympathies.

Even more annoying are those who theorize that the novel has to be like this or like that, that one must write the novel, etc. Let them go to hell! How much energy is wasted in Italy in trying to write the novel that obeys all the rules. The energy might have been useful to provide us with more modest, more genuine things, that had less pretensions: short stories, memoirs, notes, testimonials, or at any rate books that are open, without a preconceived plan.

Personally, I believe in fiction because the stories I like are those with a beginning and an end. I try to write them as they best come to me, depending on what I have to say. We are in a period when in literature and especially in fiction one can do anything, absolutely anything, and all styles and methods coexist. What the public (and also the critics) require are books (“open” novels) that are rich in substance, density, tension.

As a young man my aspiration was to become a “minor writer.” (Because it was always those that are called “minor” that I liked most and to whom I felt closest.) But this was already a flawed criterion because it presupposes that “major” writers exist. Basically, I am convinced that not only are there no “major” or “minor” writers, but writers themselves do not exist — or at least they do not count for much.

I found this letter that I had started to write yesterday evening and I reread it with interest. Dammit, what a lot of drivel I managed to write! In the end it’s impossible to understand anything in it. But better that way: the less one understands the more posterity will appreciate my profundity of thought. In fact, let me say: POSTERITY IS STUPID Think how annoyed they’ll be when they read that!

[espinosaurusrexex]

The Trap - Introduction

Worlds Collide Collection

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader apocalypse au

summary: Welcome to the apocalypse. This is the introduction to the new world you're about to enter. Let's see what your life is like. Do me a favor and be open, and maybe there'll even be a handsome stranger to meet...

a/n: so this is heavily influenced by The 100 and Love and Monsters and I guess also Maze Runner, if it seems chaotic at times, that’s because it is. With that being said: have fun reading i’d love to hear what you think 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: grumpy/sunshine, mentions of death and misery, loneliness, dystopia, nuclear weapon and monster stuff, obnoxiously optimistic reader (give her a chance okay)

collection playlist | main masterlist | collection masterlist

May 10th 2039

Hey Book,

Here are the things that happened today:

found a new pen (that’s great because this one is running out)

watched the acid fog from the building with the tall glass roof (pretty dope if you ask me!)

went to the west border and saw new tracks

finally got the nose right on that Gordon Ramsey sketch (it’s finished, yay!)

gave Berty a makeover

The day has been pretty sweet. I’m thinking of going out tonight to watch the meteor shower. Hope I don’t die.

Anyway, see ya tomorrow!

   ~You know who :)

The notebook closed with a loud thud that made even you twitch. Your eyes went to the basketball on the shelf above the makeshift bed.

“Sorry, Berty.” The ball didn’t respond, obviously. Its plastic wig shifted slightly further over the marker eyes, making it seem all crooked and funny looking. You weren’t crazy. You just preferred not to talk to yourself. 

A look at the window told you that it had gone dark by now. The weather conditions weren’t too great for another acid fog so your plan was good to go. You grabbed your backpack and headed out to the cliffs where you had the best view. Ever since the apocalypse started, there were a lot more stars visible at night. Half the population had been wiped out with the Hydra nukes and the rest played survivor with the mutated animals roaming the earth due to the atomic bombs that had been fired on that day. 

You remembered it vividly actually: Bright beams shooting through the sky and then it rained down like hellfire. Green glowing stripes covered the horizon from where you looked down onto the city.

The world hadn’t been that great to begin with to be honest. People were suffering, water and food supplies had shifted into the negative, and don’t even get started on climate. Humans had collectively decided that their planet was going to waste anyway. So, where was the harm in a little more destruction, right?

It’s not like you or any other normal citizen had had a chance to decide on another outcome anyway. The united governments of the world had been infiltrated by an organization with fucked up values and no sense for common human decency. They didn't care that their bombs would wipe out half of the world’s population. Hell, you’d be surprised if they even considered this an argument for their ‘cons’ column. But, hey, it had one benefit after all: if this was the worst it could get, there was nothing left to lose.

You kicked open the door of the buried school bus that had become your temporary home for a while now. Temporary in the sense that there was no way of knowing what would happen or when something would attack. You tried to make them all as cozy as possible though. Berty was a big part of that attempt. The painted basketball had become a loyal companion in your ever-shifting habitats. And even though it was a pain to transport a so unfortunately shaped object, you would never dare leave it behind. 

The humid evening air hit you like a broken fan. It was springtime, but that had stopped to matter many years ago. The weather merely shifted between scorching hot days and bearable nights. Though the wintertime was making being outside a little more doable. The trees hung low over your head when you stepped past the traps you had laid out around your home. You lived at the edge of the forest, which wasn’t the most secure place of all the ones you’ve had so far, but it was a little cooler. Most of the dangerous things out there hid several miles from the tree lines anyway. 

A dark sky stretched over your head as your feet dangled off the cliff by the forest. You were munching off an old can of beans that you had found on your stroll through the cities as the bright streams of light shot through the sky. It was beautiful and thrilling. Teetering you on the edge of remembering the very day that made this whole shit show go down. The sky was lit up back then too, but it wasn’t half as beautiful as this.

You could have sat like this for hours. The meteors wouldn’t stop passing until the sun rose, but there was a danger of being tired in broad daylight in this world. You couldn’t risk strolling through the morning with half a working brain. Especially because the morning brought a routine acid fog with its sunlight. You took a look at the tactical watch on your wrist. It was 3:30 am - Probably best to head back to safety.

As you stepped through the dried ground, you hummed a song from the old record in your bus. It didn’t work great and it was broken in several places which had you always listening to a slightly messed-up remix of the actual song, but you liked it anyway. Close to the bus, however, there was rustling from the side. Your body went into surviving mode immediately. There was a routine: hide, listen, escape. Only idiots fought whatever was out there. 

So that’s what you did.

The tree you hid behind was wide enough to cover you whole, which gave you easy access to sneak your head past the trunk and see what was making the noise. It came from about 20 feet before the buried bus, but there was nothing to be seen. The rustling continued though and as you stepped forwards from your cover, you noticed that it came from underneath. Something had fallen into your trap! It was foolproof of course, but you still approached it with care, fearfully and intrigued all together as to what you had caught this time... well, it was the first time here to be perfectly honest. Even more exciting to say the least.

Your feet crunched the dried leaves beneath you as a mumbled curse reached your ears. That was weird. Last time you checked, monsters didn’t talk. You were even more surprised, however, to find a broad man tangled in the hole you had dug outside your home. Of course, a person had been stupid enough to walk into your trap. You had been so excited about something more dangerous. 

The man had not noticed you standing above the hole just yet. He was still working with the net you had splayed out beneath the fallen leaves, too busy cursing his life away in the dirty opening. You cleared your throat after a minute, though. And as amusing as the whole scene had been, the man looking up at you wiped the smirk off your face immediately. He was gorgeous. Bright blue eyes gleamed up in the moonshine, a deep frown on his face as soon as the surprise to see you had faded.

“You got caught in my trap.” You said blankly, still captured by his face. You had not seen another person in nearly a month. It was strange, to say the least. That’s why you weren’t really expecting your mouth to say anything smart.

“This is supposed to be a trap?” The brown-haired man huffed before cutting through the last rope to free him from his restraints.

“Well you can’t get out, can you?” There was a short silence in which you caught the slightest hint of disbelief in his eyes.

“If you wanted to catch a monster with that, you wouldn’t be making such snarky comments. It’s barely deep enough for them.”

Anger crept up your neck. Who was this stranger to not only fall into your - awesome - intruder trap but also criticize your work even though he was the idiot stuck in it? “Why do you think I wanted to trap monsters? Maybe my trap was for people, which, in that case, it is brilliant.”

“It’s stupid,” he grumbled. 

“Oh come on give me a little credit, I only had spare materials.”

There was the confused glare again, and you couldn’t really place it just yet.“Yeah, yeah. Trap’s great now get me out.”

“That wasn’t genuine.” Your arms crossed before your chest, but you couldn’t hide the small smile forming on your lips. This was fun.

“You know what’s gonna be genuine? My foot in your ass once I get out of here.” Oh, not so fun.

“That's not a really good way to make me help you, you know?” You were about to step away when you heard him sigh deeply beneath you. A triumphant smirk appeared on your face before you held your head over the hole again.

“Can you please help me out of this genius trap?” The Brunette was rolling his eyes, but it was good enough for you - after all, you didn’t want to make enemies just yet.

“Why of course! I love people that appreciate good handy work!”

You nodded appreciatively and reached for the net he held your way. It took a little bit to get enough momentum but then he jumped and dug his boots into the soil walls and within seconds, the stranger was pulled up from the ground. 

“Drop the bullshit.”

“What bullshit?”

Now that he was standing in front of you like that, you noticed how tall he was, and built, too. It was a wonder you had managed to pull his weight out of there now that you thought about it. He was really handsome, too. His dark hair fell into his face and his eyes were bright blue, staring down at you with a gloomy expression. It didn’t scare you, though. You were more... fascinated by him, really.

He looked at you for a second, and the gears were literally turning behind his eyes. But he caught himself quickly, shaking his head and making his way out of the forest. You weren’t ready to have him leave, though. It was rare to meet people now, and this one seemed entertaining enough.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Away.” You barely heard him over the heavy footsteps he pressed into the ground.

“You can’t go!”

That made him stop. The stranger turned around with an unfazed expression, his shoulders hanging low with annoyance, but you wouldn’t let up. “And why’s that?”

Shit, you hadn’t thought it would get this far. Your hands wrung the net as you stood there looking for an explanation. But the guy turned around with a condescending clicking of his tongue. “Wait! You haven’t told me your name.” You shuffled over to him in haste, you steps faster than his, but it was difficult to catch up to him, still.

“I don’t have to.”

“You do, actually. It’s a rule.” He stopped again, and you almost fell at the abrupt halt.

“A rule,” he repeated in disbelief, his face still unimpressed, but he was quite pretty this way.

You smiled. “Yup. You fall into my trap, you tell me your name.” To be honest, you were a little proud at how fast you had come up with the idea, but it seemed the stranger was still not impressed. He just crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows at you almost amused.

“That's not a rule.”

“It’s my rule.” Was that a tiny smile creeping onto his features? You liked it - looked way better than those broody anger lines.

Then he huffed and shook his head. “Bucky.”

“Gesundheit,” you answered immediately, but that seemed to stick that annoyed look right back onto his handsome face.

“No. Bucky is my name.” Oops.

“Oh. Sorry.” You tried it out in your head, then. And it suited him quite nicely. It was a little odd but witty - just like him. 

“Whatever.” His arms untangled before his broad chest and Bucky looked ready to leave again. You didn’t want that, though.

“Would... uh.. would you like to come in?” Why were you so nervous all of a sudden? Your hands were a little sweaty, but talking to someone that actually responded felt so good...

You earned another look with that question. Really, you’d already gotten used to those in the three minutes you knew him - seemed to be his M.O. 

“What?” He wasn’t confused this time, at least you didn’t think so. It sounded more like he hadn’t heard you.

“You know... be my guest.” A bright smile spread on your lips, but Bucky wasn’t buying it, and frankly, you were running out of ideas to keep him here. Normally, people were happy to see others around here, but Bucky? He didn’t seem to like talking very much.

“Sorry, gotta go.”

Your eyes found the ground as you heard his steps distancing from you again. “Oh, ok.” You mumbled to yourself, and with a last wash of hope, you called out again. “Will I see you again?”

“No.” He was already by the tree line, now. And Bucky didn’t seem like the type of person to run back the distance in slow-mo like you had seen in those old films. 

It didn’t discourage you, though. “Okay, you know where to find me!”

“Not gonna visit you!”

“See ya soon!” You waved and bit back a triumphant smile when you heard him chuckle before he disappeared out of the woods. 

Hey, Book, It’s me again.

And, man, what a great day!

more…

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[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 11

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: Thank you to everyone is still here. It means so much to me 🥹

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 11:

Azriel dropped into a chair across from Elain at the large oak dining table, empty aside from the two of them. A muffin he didn’t want appeared on the plate before him, along with a helping of fruit and a steaming cup of tea. He arched a dark brow and frowned. The wraiths must be working in the kitchen. 

Normally, he chose not to join his family for breakfast at the river manor, as they tended to eat hours after he woke up. He preferred to make breakfast a quick affair, typically shoveling whatever simple fare he could find into his mouth before flying off to attend to his spymaster duties before the sun had risen. He was only here now because Rhys had asked him to come.

Azriel glanced over at Elain, who was bent over a large notebook strewn with small sketches of flowers and other plants, along with descriptions and what appeared to be care instructions. She looked up only briefly to give him a polite smile before dipping her head once more. The food on her plate sat untouched while she worked. 

Though he knew it was unfair, he couldn’t help the tiny bubble of resentment that twisted in his stomach as he watched her. How could she think of flowers and gardens while their world seemingly stood on the cusp of disaster? When his own felt like it was on the verge of crumbling down around him? He realized he was glaring at the top of her head and averted his eyes, wondering when he’d become such a moody asshole.

Azriel looked down at the overly large muffin on his plate, feeling miserable, and now guilty as well. It was really his own inaction that was eating at him, not Elain’s. But Rhys had summoned him here for a reason—perhaps he’d learned something useful, or had come up with a plan to stop Koschei.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Feyre and Rhys breezed in, both dressed in Night Court black, surprisingly formal for the hour and occasion. 

Azriel smiled at Nyx, who was laughing and waving his arms with excitment as Feyre passed him off to Elain. Elain beamed at her nephew as she sat him on her lap, cooing as she squished their cheeks together.

“I’ll be ready to go in just a few minutes,” Feyre announced, and then she disappeared into the corridor that led to the kitchen. Azriel raised his brows and looked at Rhys.

“A word?” His brother angled his head towards the hall.

“We’re going to Day. To speak to Helion. I need you to come with us and be our eyes and ears,” Rhys said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. “As a precaution.”

“Why are you going to Day?”

“We are going to Day to see if there is anything Helion can do about this bargain between Feyre and I,” he said. The words were clipped and tendrils of night leaked from Rhysand and surrounded their ankles like dark, cool mist. Azriel tried to stifle his disappointment that this summons had nothing to do with Koschei or Beron. He couldn’t help but think it was a waste of their time—there was no way out of a magical bargain beyond its fulfillment. He said as much aloud and Rhys bared his teeth, eyes flashing. 

“You will accompany us to Day because this is what Feyre needs,” he hissed. “So lose the attitude and get your shit together. We’re leaving in 3 minutes.” 

Azriel started at the fury in his brother’s voice—that he’d so easily let his temper slip. Rhys seemed to realize it as well and took a step back. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed roughly and dragged his trembling hands through his black hair, mussing it from its perfectly styled waves. He glanced over his shoulder towards the dining room before continuing in a quieter voice. “You’re right. There is likely nothing Helion can do for us, but Feyre still has hope, and I refuse to take that away from her on top of everything else,” he said, voice strained. Azriel didn’t ask what he meant by everything else.

“It’s fine, Rhys. I get it.” Azriel took in the wild, panicked look on his brother’s face and pulled him into a hug. Rhys sagged against him, his tension easing slightly in Azriel’s embrace.

“I can’t stop picturing it,” he whispered. “Nyx, left all alone, Feyre and I, dead—'' he choked on the words and pressed his forehead against Azriel’s shoulder, releasing a shuddering breath. It terrified Azriel more than he cared to admit that his brother appeared to be preparing for the absolute worst—as if he didn’t expect to survive Koschei.

To Azriel, Rhys had always seemed larger than life. He was the one person who would never falter, the one who would always be there to take care of things when everything went to shit. When Cassian and Azriel had returned from the lake, Rhys had remained collected, taking control like he always did. Azriel hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on his brother’s unwavering calm. Seeing him like this…Azriel gripped him tightly, tried to channel some of that strength himself. He pulled back to look into Rhysand’s violet eyes, now clouded with fear and pain.

“That isn’t going to happen, Rhys. We won’t let it happen,” he promised forcefully. He’d come so close to losing his brother only months ago. He refused to go through it again. Rhys nodded and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the fear was gone, a pleasant smile plastered on his handsome face. Another mask, for Feyre’s sake. 

Azriel refrained from voicing his thoughts—that Feyre would likely want to shoulder some of his burden. But that was Rhys—always taking the brunt of the pain so the rest of them didn't have to. Azriel doubted Rhys even realized he was doing it; it was ingrained in his very bones, this relentless need to give and give until he had nothing left. 

Azriel’s heart felt heavy as he watched Rhys make his way back into the dining room. He took a moment to steel himself and then followed, already dreading the visit to the Day Court. 

He wasn’t in the mood to endure Helion’s inappropriate come-ons, but for Rhys and Feyre, for Nyx, he’d do just about anything.

***

Azriel winnowed himself to the Day Court ahead of Rhys and Feyre to make sure nothing sinister awaited them, but all he found was extremely bright sunlight and a hot breeze that made him feel like he was standing inside a furnace. Azriel squinted against the light, his shadows tucking themselves tightly under his wings, and took in the dazzling sandswept palace sprawled out before him.

Helion’s residence rose majestically from the sands, its golden domes gleaming in the late morning sunshine. Arid desert stretched endlessly off into the distance, its dunes rippling like waves frozen in time. Tall, swaying date palms lined the wide stone pathway leading up to the palace, offering a pop of green amidst the neutral shades of tan mixed with gold and white. The scent of desert blooms and rich spices drifted toward him on a steady wind, whispering through the thick fronds above. Splashing fountains with towering bronze statues of former High Lords lined the walkway, the blue water inviting in the building heat of the day.

Azriel grimaced as he took it all in. It had been a century since he’d stepped foot in this Court, but it was as extravagant as he remembered. Everything was so bright—too bright. And hot. Winter had not yet passed. Why was it so hot? He was already sweating in his leathers and decided immediately that he had no desire to step foot in this Court ever again.

Azriel sighed and turned to greet the female attendant. She was draped in white cloth that wrapped around her lithe body in panels, flattering her dark, smooth skin. Her uptilted brown eyes were keen as she welcomed him to Day. Azriel sent a thought to Rhys, giving him the all clear, and a second later he and Feyre arrived beside him and both squinted up at the palace.

“It’s so…bright?” Feyre offered with a wide smile. It sounded more like a question than a compliment to Azriel and he stifled his snort. She and Rhys, both draped in glimmering black, looked extremely out of place. Azriel was certain he did as well—though his shadows had all but disappeared, hiding from the sun.

The attendant only laughed warmly and led them towards the stairs that would take them up to see the High Lord of Day. 

***

The attendant, whose name they learned was Aya, guided them through the luminous palace on quiet, sandal-clad feet. The interior was just as elegant as the exterior. Intricate mosaics adorned the high walls, each tile bursting with vibrant color, seemingly narrating the history of Day. Archways of white marble stretched up towards the azure sky, visible through windows high above that let in shimmering shafts of sunlight. Bordering the stone pathways were narrow jewel-lined rivers of crystal-clear water that whispered softly beside them as they strolled deeper into the opulence of Helion’s home.

For its size, Azriel noted it was surprisingly empty—the atmosphere was hushed and serene, yet cold despite the heat. Impersonal.

Aya slowed as they approached the golden double-wide doors of Helion’s private councilroom. When she pushed open the doors, all four of them drew up short.

“—then make her,” a male voice growled with considerable venom. 

Azriel blinked as he made sense of what he was seeing.

Helion stood nose to nose with Eris, both wearing murderous expressions on their faces and seemingly in the middle of a heated argument. Eris was hissing at him viciously but snapped his mouth shut and turned when the door banged loudly against the wall.

“My Lord, I apologize—I thought you were alone—there was nothing else on the schedule,” Aya stammered, a slight pink tinge to her cheeks.

“Aya my dear, do not apologize, the fault is mine.” Helion’s loud voice was as warm as the sands surrounding his palace. It chilled when he jerked his chin to Eris. “Eris,” he said, his voice now like ice, “was just on his way out.” Helion turned and smiled widely at Rhys and Feyre but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Eris schooled his face into a mask of cool indifference as he strode past Helion. He paused briefly as he approached them, smirking. 

“Feyre, Rhysand. Lovely to see you, as always.” His amber eyes brightened as they slid to Azriel and he felt something warm in his chest. “Shadowsinger,” he said with an incline of his head. He followed Aya out into the hall without another word.

“Rhys, my friend, it’s been too long,” Helion boomed. Azriel didn’t hear the rest of the exchange. His head was turned over his shoulder as he watched Eris round the corner and disappear from sight. 

It was like a compulsion—this undeniable need to seek him out whenever he was near. Azriel didn’t try to fight it when his shadows pulled him down the hall after Eris. Surely Rhys and Feyre could hold their own without him for a few minutes.

He appeared in front of Eris just as he reached the bottom of the stone steps. His shadows felt sluggish under the blaring sun and they returned to their hiding spot beneath his wings.

“What are you doing here?” he said in a low voice as he gripped the forest green fabric of Eris's jacket. How Eris managed to remain cool and unruffled in the scorching heat was beyond him. Not a single hair was out of place despite the steady breeze. Eris' eyes darted towards Aya and she bowed her head in farewell before re-entering the palace and closing the doors behind her. Two armored guards stood on either side of the doors, each armed with sharp, gleaming spears. Though they appeared uninterested, Azriel knew they were listening intently—and would report any unsavory business to their High Lord immediately. 

“Not here. Later,” Eris insisted.

“Eris—”

“Later, Az. I promise.” He brushed his fingers against Azriel’s and with a gust of chilled Autumn wind, he was gone.

***

Azriel quickly sorted through all he knew about the High Lord of Day as he sat at the end of the long, golden table. So much gold. Too much, in his opinion.

Helion had ascended to power following the execution of his predecessor, carried out by Amarantha as punishment for his involvement in the burgeoning rebellion against her.

He claimed no children and had no official consort, though Azriel knew Helion had no shortage of lovers, both male and female, often at the same time. Azriel had been on the receiving end of Helion’s propositions more times than he could count, along with Cassian and Mor. Mor had taken him up on the offer during the war, and at the time, Azriel had been deeply hurt by it.

Azriel nearly laughed aloud when he remembered it had been his outburst at the High Lords’ meeting that had sent Mor running into Helion’s bed. He had tackled Eris into the floor—had tried to choke him to death, until Feyre had stopped him. Gods. He’d wanted to kill Eris in that moment. But now…now, he wanted to wrap his hands around Eris’s long neck for an entirely different reason. Azriel bit back a smirk and chastised himself for letting his thoughts wander, praying no one could detect the change in his scent. 

Azriel studied Helion as he talked animatedly with Feyre, all smiles and loud laughter. He wondered if it was all a façade to mask his loneliness—the humor, the steady stream of lovers, the unfaltering charm. To rule an entire court alone for so many years without a steady partner at one’s side sounded miserable. If the male had someone close to him, he certainly hid it well.

What was his connection to Eris? Azriel hadn’t known the two of them were well acquainted enough to even find themselves in the same room alone together. But there was no denying the ferocity he’d seen on both of their faces. As spymaster, he should be aware of such things. It irked him that it had escaped his notice.

 Azriel shifted in the chair he sat in at the end of the table, the back too high to comfortably accommodate his wings, and forced his attention back on the conversation.

Rhys was explaining to Helion the nature and terms of his bargain with Feyre. Helion’s face was solemn as he listened, and when Rhys was finished speaking, he asked them why they believed themselves to be in such danger so as to need the bargain severed.

And then Rhys and Feyre both, with Azriel chiming in occasionally when warranted, explained all they had learned these past few months. They told him of Briallyn, of Beron’s alliance with Koschei—they shared nearly everything, including Elain’s mysterious vision. 

Azriel had shifted uncomfortably when Rhys had recited the words, thinking it too personal to be shared with the High Lord. Though Rhys framed his relationship with Eris as an alliance and nothing more, Azriel still felt the weight of his assessing gaze as Helion listened intently. Ally or no, he’d kill the golden High Lord if he so much as thought about exposing Eris’s betrayal to anyone who might pass the information on to Beron. He let Helion see the threat in his eyes.

“We don’t know if he truly intends to declare war. For now, he’s backed off of Spring. But should he rally his armies…” Rhys let the thought trail off and Helion picked it up.

“You can count on my forces to join you if Beron does indeed think to make himself High King of Prythian,” Helion promised.

“We’ll keep you informed, should anything change,” Rhys said as he and Feyre stood. Helion mirrored them, and then he looked at Feyre, an earnest expression on his face.

“I will do everything I can to find a solution to this bargain of yours,” Helion promised. “Though I feel I must remind you, the price of severing such a bargain might be one you are unwilling to pay, and once severed, there is no turning back.” Feyre nodded somberly and thanked him, and Helion kissed her cheek. Rhys grasped his hand in farewell. 

Azriel glanced away when he saw the look of anguish that passed between Rhys and Feyre while they had one of their silent conversations. Clearly, it was not the answer they had been hoping for, though likely the one Rhys had expected. Azriel’s stomach sank. He hated seeing them in pain. 

The three of them were quiet as Aya led them back through the estate so they could winnow home. The silence was heavy—sad. Rhys wrapped an arm around Feyre’s shoulders and kissed her temple. She leaned into his side and tucked her head against his chest. A second later, they vanished.

Azriel didn’t spare the gleaming palace another glance as his shadows eagerly carried him home to Velaris.

***

“Is she okay?” Azriel asked Rhys.

Upon returning home, Feyre had stepped out of Rhysand’s arms and had left them standing alone in the foyer. Her shoulders had sagged slightly, and Azriel could nearly taste her defeat as it sat heavy in the midmorning air.

“As okay as can be expected,” Rhys said in a low voice, and Azriel didn’t miss the guilt that flashed across his face. “She’s afraid. We both are.”

Azriel nodded and his shadows swarmed him protectively. He’d lived in a near constant state of fear these past few weeks—and knew it would likely persist until Beron was dead. Az gripped Rhys’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze before turning to leave.

“Azriel, one more thing before you go,” Rhys said tiredly, and Azriel paused. “I need you to help Cassian with the Illyrian forces.” Azriel recoiled, his very skin crawling at the idea of spending more time in Illyria than he absolutely needed to.

“Why? Cassian has things handled just fine,” Azriel insisted. Rhysand’s face hardened.

“If whatever Beron has planned is allowed to unfold, we will need them in fighting shape and ready to fly at a moment’s notice. I’m not asking you to train them, or to interact beyond the camp lords. I just need you to check in with some of the northernmost villages and see what their numbers look like, which units are the weakest, which lords might give us trouble. Take a week.” 

“But—”

“Azriel, please.” The exhaustion and desperation in his voice had Azriel relenting.

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll go tomorrow.”

They parted ways, and Azriel's mood soured further. Visiting the Illyrian villages was the last thing he wanted to do; he had more pressing concerns on his mind. 

As he walked down the hall, his thoughts drifted back to Eris and Helion. "Later," Eris had said. Azriel hoped later meant tonight, though nightfall was still hours away. Azriel launched himself into the brightening sky. 

He flew for a while, allowing the flowing currents to settle his mind, and then set off in the direction of the House of Wind in search of Cassian.

***

Azriel’s breath heaved out of him as he swung his fists at the cushioned slab of wood, each strike brutal and precise. Sweat dripped down his brow and his muscles strained with every punch, but the physical exertion did little to quell the storm raging inside of him. Shadows skittered erratically around him, whispering their ominous warnings in his ears at all hours of the day—a reminder of his own failings.

He couldn't protect Eris from Beron, couldn't find a way to stop Koschei, couldn’t piece together the meaning of Elain’s vision—his irritation burned hotter with every swing. He was pathetic. And utterly useless to Eris. 

His fist shot out again, his siphons glinting in the low light of the moon as he tried to lose himself in the movements. But the unease continued to gnaw at him. What was the point of all this power if he couldn’t use it to protect the people he loved? Azriel growled and hit the wood so hard it splintered and cracked beneath his bruised knuckles. 

And now he was being asked to waste more time overseeing the Illyrians. Azriel ground his teeth in frustration at the thought. They should be doing something to stop Koschei—though he had little idea as to what they could do. He punched the wood again and it groaned.

Azriel had found his way up to the training ring after many hours spent with Cassian going over the general’s extensive knowledge of each Illyrian village: the camp lords in charge, the number of units, which were strongest and which needed work, as well as the warriors living in each settlement. Cassian knew nearly all of it by heart, which made Azriel wonder, again, why Rhys insisted he needed help. He seemed to be handling things just fine on his own.

Cassian had always possessed more patience with the Illyrians than Azriel could ever muster. For whatever reason, his brother loved their people. How he was able to look past the brutality they’d inflicted upon his mother, the way they treated him like trash—all of it made Azriel want to return the violence tenfold. But it was as Rhys said, they needed the warriors.

As Azriel’s temper rose, his shadows whispered to him of movement within the House, and a few minutes later Nesta stepped into the room and leaned against the stone archway. She rested a rectangular package against her hip as she watched him move.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked with a raised brow. Azriel merely grunted, and moved through several more offensive maneuvers without speaking, silently hoping she’d sense his irritation and leave. But when he finally stopped and turned she was still there, watching him. 

Azriel wiped the sweat from his brow and strolled to the water station, pouring himself a cup. Nesta’s shrewd gaze felt like a brand and he finally arched his own brow at her in return. 

“Did you need something?” he asked coolly. He didn’t feel like talking. 

Nesta ignored his cold tone and walked across the ring to stand beside him. He bristled as she studied him. Nesta saw too much, and it often left him feeling vulnerable—exposed. Az knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was in a foul mood.

“How have you been holding up?” Nesta asked, her voice mingling with the howling wind.

Azriel schooled his face into his usual icy mask to hide his tumultuous thoughts. Truthfully, he was coming apart at the seams. He was utterly useless, and pathetic, and going out of his mind at their general lack of action. His shadows wouldn’t cease their hissing as they begged him to look, to pay attention. It was beginning to drive him mad. But Azriel said none of that.

“Fine,” he bit out. Nesta just looked at him in that piercing way of hers until he finally relented with a soft snarl. “I hate not knowing what any of it means. We’re all just sitting around on our asses, waiting for Beron and Koschei to strike, and Rhys has me dealing with the fucking Illyrians, as if we don’t have more important things to worry about. Eris could be killed at any moment—” Azriel clenched his jaw, pissed at himself for letting his temper slip. He blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know what to do—about any of it.” He dragged a scarred hand through his sweaty hair and voiced what was really eating at him. “I’m scared for him,” he admitted bleakly. Azriel looked away as he said it. It still felt strange to speak of Eris so openly. Nesta drummed her fingers on the package in her hand.

“Eris is cunning. He’s been dealing with Beron for centuries. He knows how to play the game, as he likes to say,” she said. Her voice left no room for debate and he supposed she was right, to a certain degree. Eris did know how to handle Beron—but things had changed. He wasn’t dealing with Beron’s typical brand of cruelty anymore. The paranoia, his alliance with Koschei…he was unpredictable, and it terrified Azriel. 

“And we’re not doing nothing,” Nesta went on. “You have your spies monitoring the lake.” Azriel arched a brow that she even knew that to begin with. “Helion is now aware of Koschei, and pledged his forces should Beron do something stupid. There’s only so much you can do.” He willed himself to believe her. “Eris has to be the one to decide how and when to kill Beron. So let him. Surely he’ll tell you if there’s something you can do to help,” she said.

Azriel wasn’t convinced. He didn’t think Eris would ever willingly let Azriel shoulder any of his burden when it came to Beron. He was so used to carrying it on his own—he’d been doing it his entire life. Azriel nodded, not wanting to share the private thought with Nesta.

“Thanks,” he said. “For listening.” Nesta offered him a small smile. Azriel’s eyes fell to the box in her hand. 

“Can you bring this to Emerie when you go to Windhaven tomorrow?” Nesta held it out and Azriel accepted it. He let his shadows tuck it away for safekeeping, but didn’t ask her what it was. 

As Nesta bid him goodnight and disappeared into the dark of the House, Azriel realized his chest felt lighter than it had mere minutes ago. Few people could draw Azriel out of his head once he’d decided to brood, and he marveled that Nesta had been able to do it so effortlessly.

***

Exhaustion finally sent Azriel from the House back to his apartment. He was wary, and desperately needed to bathe, but as soon as he stepped through the door a whiff of Eris’s scent had him following his shadows up to the roof. 

He found Eris leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed against his chest, eyes fixed on the twinkling night sky above. 

Azriel took a moment to admire the male. Even here, alone with the stars, he looked magnificent—like a true prince. All that was missing was a crown. 

The moonlight shimmered off his red hair, worn loose around his shoulders with several of the silky strands tucked behind a pointed ear. Azriel noticed the small cuff on the smooth edge and found himself wanting to drag his teeth along it. The golden necklaces around his neck matched the rings adorning his long, elegant fingers. 

Azriel let his eyes roam over the well-tailored cobalt jacket and the sleek pants that hugged his muscular thighs. He looked stunning in blue—it matched Azriel’s siphons, and the realization gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. Gods, he was beautiful. Heat stirred in Azriel’s blood as he approached.

He slid up to Eris and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him against his chest so he could breathe in more of his intoxicating scent.

“Mother above, Azriel, you reek,” Eris sniffed. “Couldn’t spare a few minutes for a bath?” he asked with an arched brow. His eyes glinted with amusement and he failed to hide his smirk.

“You like it,” Azriel snickered and pulled him in for a kiss. Eris grumbled but returned it enthusiastically, confirming Azriel’s suspicions. 

When they pulled apart, Azriel scanned his face, searching for any trace of pain or fear in his amber eyes, but all he found was reflected starlight. Azriel nearly shuddered with relief. Today must have been a better day, then, all things considered. 

“I missed you,” Azriel said. Eris’s face softened with a genuine smile, even as he rolled his eyes.

“I missed you too, bat.” 

Azriel stretched his wings and laughed at the nickname, delighted at the snark in his voice. Lately, there had been so much darkness weighing on him, but tonight he seemed relaxed. Playful, even. 

Azriel wanted to stretch these stolen minutes under the night sky as long as he could, but he knew Eris could never stay for long. He didn’t want to put him at risk, despite how much he craved more time together. It was never enough. 

“Why were you in Day?” Azriel asked as he leaned against the wall beside him. Eris frowned, his eyes straying back to the winking stars above.

“I was there to call in a favor from Helion,” he said in a stilted voice. “He certainly owes me one.” At Azriel’s confused silence, Eris turned his face so their eyes met. “Helion is my mother’s mate.” Azriel’s brows shot up his forehead in surprise. “And Lucien…is their son.” 

Azriel blinked. Lucien…not Beron’s son? His mind reeled. Surely he would’ve heard whisperings…his shadows should’ve picked up on it. He’d never—

Azriel realized there had been talk of Helion's past with the Lady of Autumn. During the war. At the time, Azriel had been so distracted by his unrequited feelings for Mor that he’d dismissed the conversation entirely, uninterested in anything but his own misery. Azriel realized he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut. 

“How long have you known? Does Lucien know?”

“I’ve known since Lucien was born. I was present for the birth, and I was there when she had his powers temporarily bound. Only her nursemaids and I were entrusted with the secret.” Eris sighed. Another burden on his shoulders, all these years. “Beron suspects, but he’s never openly accused her. To admit the truth, that she’d had an affair, would be an embarrassment to him. It would shame him.” The words were hard and Azriel placed a hand on his arm. 

Azriel couldn’t believe he’d been so blind. “I don’t think Lucien has any idea,” Eris added, sounding regretful. “Though it’s difficult to be sure where he’s concerned. He was always so adept at keeping secrets, even as a child.” A faint smile bloomed on his lips.

“What powers beyond fire does he possess?” Azriel wondered. He hadn’t spent much time with Lucien. There had been that brief encounter before the war, when he’d brought him to Velaris and they’d discussed his Autumn Court intel. And there was the short conversation they’d had regarding Eris the other day…but mostly Azriel had kept his distance—he’d had no reason, or any desire, to speak to him.

“Powers similar to Helion’s, I imagine. Spell-cleaving, that bothersome white light, whatever else Day presides over.” Eris waved a hand aimlessly and shrugged. “He entered the world glowing, and I knew in that moment that Beron would kill him if he ever saw him use such power. So my mother did what she could to protect him, and made me swear to look after him.” Eris dragged a hand through his hair and then leaned his head back against the wall.

That explained the faint glow Azriel had noticed when Elain had smiled at the male. He’d thought he’d imagined it, but no…it was his true father’s power, shining through his skin. And Eris’s mother…

“Why does she remain with Beron?” Azriel asked, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer already.

“For me and my brothers,” was all Eris said. Azriel leaned against the wall beside him and followed Eris’s gaze up to the dark sky, sprinkled with twinkling stars. They were quiet for a while.

“I wasn’t even aware you knew Helion beyond formalities,” Azriel admitted into the silence with a wince. Eris laughed, low and smooth like velvet, and the sound danced over Azriel’s skin.

“Remind me again what Rhysand is paying you for?” Eris drawled. Azriel huffed a laugh and flicked Eris’s long nose.

“Don’t be a brat. Helion has only been High Lord for fifty years, and in that time he’s established himself as an ally to the Night Court. And he’s friends with Rhys.” Azriel shrugged. Helion had spent nearly all of his reign as High Lord under the mountain with Amarantha. 

Azriel thought of Lucien, tried to recall any resemblance between father and son, but his mind drew up short. 

“He certainly doesn’t behave like a mated male, what with all the times he’s invited me, Cassian and Mor to his bed.” Eris whipped his head to Azriel.

“Excuse me?” Azriel chuckled at the horrified expression on his face and the soft snarl that slipped through his lips. “Helion is a pain in my ass,” Eris bit out. Azriel’s amusement faded as Eris went on. “Autumn is no longer safe for my mother. Beron’s alliance with Koschei, the violent outbursts…I fear what might happen to her the next time he’s in a rage.” Eris’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and Azriel studied his pale face, now etched with fear. “I was in Day to beg Helion to give her sanctuary, but he refused. Said he couldn’t force her to leave her home if it wasn’t what she wished.” The words were bitter with resentment.

Eris closed his eyes and took a deep breath before they found Azriel’s again. “I’m afraid for her,” he whispered. 

Azriel reached out and folded Eris into his arms, held him tightly as he sagged against him. Another problem Azriel couldn’t fix, another burden on Eris’s shoulders. He didn’t know how the male managed it, but he was in awe of him every day.

“What’s your mother’s name?” Azriel realized he’d never heard it.

“Aurelia.” Eris smiled. 

Azriel listened as Eris spoke of his childhood—of the good memories with his mother. She sounded like a gentle female, and he was grateful Eris had known kindness, despite growing up with Beron as a father. Eris asked him about the rest of his visit to Day and Azriel shared the brief details. They chatted about other, lighter things, for a while, and eventually they fell quiet, content to be together in silence.

It wasn’t long before Eris had to depart, so Azriel let him feel how desperate he was for him as he gripped his neck and crashed their lips together. He kissed him deeply, tongues twining together, and Eris moaned and pulled him closer. 

Only when Eris was hard and panting for him did Azriel finally relent and pull back. Eris bit his bottom lip, and then licked away the hurt.

“How cruel of you to tease me so, knowing I can’t stay,” Eris said against his mouth, his voice a low, sensual caress that sent heat directly to Azriel’s groin.

Eris reached down and palmed Azriel through the fabric of his pants, squeezed him hard, and Azriel groaned into his lips. Eris drove his tongue into his mouth again and dragged his hand up his length, pressed the heel of his hand over the head of his cock. Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Maybe they did have time—

Eris vanished, leaving Azriel painfully hard and alone on the roof. Azriel cursed as he adjusted himself in his pants. 

He swore he could hear Eris’s wicked laughter on the wind as it brushed over his feverish skin. Wicked male. Those hands. 

Azriel smiled and laughed, despite himself. 

Tease, indeed.

***

The second Azriel arrived in Windhaven the following morning he wanted to leave. He hated this place. The winters were long and bitter, the wind always frigid. It battered his wings and sent chills skating along his spine. The people were just as cold as the weather. 

He kept his distance from the camp lords and the warriors in the training rings as he inspected their progress, though it didn’t stop them from throwing loathing looks his way. He glared back at them. Cassian had always been better at dealing with the Illyrians, though even he had never managed to gain their respect, despite centuries of trying to work with them. Azriel had never wanted it.

He spent an hour observing, making note of which units were lacking in skill, and those that could use their ranks replenished. He noted which lords took the training seriously, as well as the ones who couldn’t help but sneer at him every time he walked past. Two years ago there had been whispers of rebellion, but the subsequent Blood Rite had wiped most of it out. He didn’t hear anything of that nature today, though he doubted they’d let slip any true discontent while he and his shadows were within earshot. 

Before he headed to the next Illyrian village, he stopped by Emerie’s shop to deliver the package Nesta had given him. The store was clean and well taken care of, and it was clear she took a lot of pride in her work. He knew she faced pushback for owning it as a female, but it hadn’t seemed to dampen her determination. He approached the counter where she stood and placed the wrapped box on the smooth wooden surface.

“From Nesta,” he said. He watched her eyes light up when she beheld what was inside—the next chapter of Gwyn’s Valkyrie manuscript, from what he could tell. Azriel knew the Valkyries were still training frequently, but due to the recent events with Koschei several of their sessions had been canceled. 

“Thank you.” 

Azriel nodded. He looked around the store, empty save for the two of them. The shelves were neatly stocked and free of dust. It was warm and inviting. He wondered if she got many customers.

“How have things been around here since the Blood Rite?”

Emerie eyed him skeptically. “Fine. Since when do you care about Illyria? I thought you’d washed your hands of it.” Azriel was startled by the cold edge to her voice. The accusation in it.

“I was asking about you,” he said carefully. “Have you been given any trouble by the camp lords?” 

“There’s always trouble to be found. I can handle myself.” The words were clipped. Azriel couldn’t read her—didn’t know her well enough to determine if this was her usual demeanor or if he’d done something to offend her. 

She was a proud female, and dearly loved by Nesta and Gwyn—and Cassian. She’d laughed and smiled freely during the few times he’d been present for their training. Perhaps being here made her more tense. More guarded. Or maybe she just didn’t like him. He didn’t know why it bothered him. Azriel tried another angle.

“You know you could always move to Velaris. We could have you out of here by the end of the week, if you want.” Emerie arched a dark brow at his offer, a slight frown on her face.

“I belong in Illyria. This is my home,” was all she said.

Azriel shifted his wings in discomfort. Emerie had been polite to him the few times they’d spoken, though they had barely exchanged more than a few words in passing. But the edge of resentment in her voice couldn’t be denied. “Tell Nesta thank you.” She turned around and flipped open the manuscript. A clear dismissal. 

Azriel left her shop without saying anything else. He felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach, but he couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, he was feeling guilty for. He racked his brain of all the conversations he’d ever had with Emerie, but nothing notable stood out. They hadn’t spoken enough to develop any sort of friendship.

He wondered at it—the fierce defense Emerie offered of Illyria, despite all it had done to her. The clipped wings, the abuse, the Blood Rite. Yet she insisted it was her home, and clearly had no interest in abandoning it.

As each beat of his wings took him farther and farther from the cold village of Windhaven, Azriel tried and failed to ignore the kernel of anxiety that burned in his stomach. Later that day, after inspecting a handful of the villages on his lengthy list, his thoughts returned to their conversation. He tried to shake off the unease, the guilt. But for some reason it lingered.

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

Full Chapter List

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @jules-writes-stories @christeareads

[etherealhoneybee777]

Okay, the mp100 fandom (and other fandom spaces as well) makes me really hopeful✨

The internet is mostly a cruel and terrible place. It largely exists as an instrument of global capitalism. Governments use social media to push propaganda that either reinforces their fascist, conservative ideals or instills leftists that want to fight back with a sense of hopelessness that paralyzes and scares them. And we’re also getting to a point where much of the content we see online is not only made by AI, but interacted with by AI as well. We’re seeing “art” and ragebait stories that aren’t even made by real humans, but are spread online as if they’re true. Transactions are everywhere, but because everything is a subscription service, we own nothing. Corporations are putting advertisements on even the most sacred corner of the web & encouraging people to constantly consume, to BE consumed with the desire to consume more things, and to fill up the little time we have left with constant, buzzing productivity—because the internet is an instrument of capitalism, and capitalism is about constant expansion, expansion that won’t stop until everything in our lives is quantifiable and our whole being is stretched thin in service of a pointless, unstoppable economic growth.

In the face of that, I think your mp100 art is amazing. I think your fic is amazing. I am glad you decided to share it with us. I am glad you took the time to analyze Mob or Serizawa or Tome. To post screen grabs of Dimple or gifs or animatics or anything else. I’m glad you reblogged my post and added some silly or thoughtful little hashtags. I’m glad you DM’d me or posted a long ramble about Ritsu or Teru or reigen.

People don’t have to do these things. They don’t have to sketch characters or share headcanons or write fic or make watch parties on cute little discord servers. But they do. They do it because it’s a fun thing to do & because they’re talented and passionate. And it makes me happy that on the internet—which is increasingly being used to alienate and control us—still hosts real communities and real people making real art and writing their real thoughts without any kind of profit motive or manipulative agenda. People are literally just posting because they want to share their work and connect with others. It reminds me that no matter what capitalism does, we live in a fundamentally social world & we’re constantly trying to connect with each other about the things we like. MP100 is the thing I like and the people here make me hopeful. I see people post their art/writing/headcanons and I get super happy. I get inspired. I look at people’s bios and all the different countries they’re from and get really happy that the internet can be used as a tool to connect people across the world with the same interest together.

Choosing to create and make friends and be nice and spread positivity over the internet is a uniquely powerful thing. It may not seem like much, (and being on the internet is often framed as “wasting time”) but the Internet is important and the things you do here are actually tangible and real. Making and sharing art—making friends—sharing writing and blurbs and headcanons is a legitimate pushback against the terrible capitalistic machine that the internet has become. I’ve heard a lot of creators say that their art doesn’t get noticed/doesn’t matter because it doesn’t get a lot of attention. But it DOES matter. Because, for every second that someone spends seeing your art, that’s one second that they don’t spend on government propaganda or brain-numbing advertisements or ragebait or AI generated “content”. And even if no one sees your art, YOU spent time making it. You loved it and cared for it and valued it in a way that capitalism can never profit from or understand.

I hope you know that I see your art & love it. I look at it when I’m sad. My gf and I look at mp100 art while we sit outside and feel the world leave our bones. Maybe this is too much, but I’m feeling earnest and joyful tonight & am trying to lean into those feelings.

I’m just thankful. You create and share just because you wanted to create and share. You’re making the world a better place.

[marigolddove]

Love Begins With Murder, Believe it or Not.

Part One

This is a request from @yandere-dark-cupid, I'm sure you intended for this to be a one-shot...buuuuut I got super carried away because I L O V E mafia/mob AUs. They're my favorite all around and I just couldn't help myself, especially when you said you wanted a sweet civilian that's my jam. So, yeah this is part One for now, I'm thinking this is gonna end up being 3 parts minimum with how it's going and I will tag you in all 3, thanks for the request it was so much fun to plan and write and I hope you're happy with it!

Warnings: Blood and violence at the start, bit of torture and mentions of murder. Only at the very start though.

💀♥️💀

     If Wally Darling could only choose two qualities he hates most in this world he would choose dishonesty and disloyalty. Both of which this sorry bastard strapped to a chair in his office have. Wally didn't need to watch to know Barnaby was doing his job and doing it well, making this insignificant waste of air scream and wheeze through his gag. 

     He had more important things to focus on anyhow, like his craft for one. Having grown bored of reading recent reports and approving deals with neighboring rival groups, he turned to what he really loved most: art. 

     Sure now it was only a hobby compared to his full time job of running his family, but in his younger years it was his passion; his reason to get out of bed each morning and breathe. He's become weary and disappointed by his lack of motivation and inspiration as of late. There was a time when no one could pull him away from an easel or a sketch book for hours; but now, even with the tension and emotions bouncing around the room from this well deserved "lesson" he couldn't fully immerse himself in his work.

     At a particularly loud and strangled cry from the now ex-member of his family, Wally growled and scribbled through his current piece so violently the paper ripped; then tossed the sketchbook and pencil haphazardly onto his desk. He finally turned his attention to Barnaby and his victim.

     Barnaby, having heard his friend's frustration through the gasping breaths of some no-name newbie who crossed Eddie and Frank, immediately fixed his attention onto Wally.

     "Everything alright boss?" 

     "Just peachy." Wally sneered sarcastically, clasping his hands tightly together on his desk, "I believe I'm now tired of our session, you can take him and finish this up elsewhere, please? Oh, and on your way out get Julie for me." 

     Barnaby immediately unstrapped the man from the chair and threw his weak, limp body over his shoulder, "Sure thing boss, I won't take up more of your time; but I'll be around if ya' need me." He moved to grab the bloodied and soiled chair, but stopped when Wally waved dismissively.

     "No need for that, leave the chair and the mess, I'll have someone else clean that. Thank you Barnaby, be safe." Barnaby nodded and with that left the now slightly dank office. 

     Now alone for a moment, Wally leaned back into his leather seat and sighed, typically he wouldn't have these sessions in his office but this had been a…special occasion. A heat of the moment call if you will. 

     You see, that man had been new to the family, very new. He had yet to learn just how important family really is to Mr. Darling, but when he put the lives of Eddie and Frank into danger well…now he knew. All could have been forgiven had he shown a bit of sympathy and care for his new found family, but all he seemed to care about was his wallet. Selling personal information about individual members of the family to rival groups or reporters, one of those stories being about Eddie and Frank.

     Wally has never frowned upon interpersonal relationships, in fact he had encouraged it. Afterall, love is a beautiful and wonderful thing and he was so pleased it had been found in his friends. It was just such a shame that others didn't seem to share his sentiments on the matter.

     Running a hand through his hair, he attempted to correct any loose curled strands that fell into his face and onto his ears during his episode moments before, using any residual hair product still in his hair to hold them back in place. He began to straighten his posture and his desk at the sound of heel'd footsteps against the hardwood floors of the hall outside his door.

     Soon in walked Julie, dressed in a very fine magenta three-piece suit, a black criss-cross bow tie, classic black heels and her hair curled and pinned back to perfection; jewelry accenting her manicured hands. Wally felt a swell of pride and admiration towards Julie's sense of confidence and style.

     "Well, don't you look fierce today my friend." He started warmly at her entrance, she beamed at his compliment; only briefly glancing at the bloody mess at the center of his office before seemingly losing interest and turning her attention back to him. 

     "I woke up feeling fierce, so I just had to go all out today," she states as she moves to stand in front of his desk, hands on her hips, "so," she glances at the distressed art book still on his desk, "Barnaby said you needed to see me?"

     "Yes, I just sent him to take care of that…problem we were having, and it occured to me that the problem had a romantic partner. A young woman by the name of…" he examined a note he wrote for himself, "Ah, Allison Forester."

     A look of understanding flashed across Julie's face, "You need me to take care of her?" She was surprised when he shook his head.

     "No, no that won't be necessary. Our message will be clear soon enough, and there was never any evidence she was involved in his little scheme." His face turned a bit sour at the end before reverting back to neutral, "No, I want to send her flowers as an apology for his mess and for my rash actions." He sounded anything but apologetic, in fact he smiled just a tiny bit when calling his actions 'rash'. 

     "Oh, okay, sure thing sir. Any types of flowers in particular?" She knew Wally was very detail oriented and wanted to be sure he was giving her full creative liberties. 

     He waved dismissively, "No, just something pretty, that's all for now. You're dismissed, be safe." Turning his attention back to the art book, Julie knew he was now ignoring her; but she didn't take it to heart, he never meant anything by it, that's just how he was. Quick and to the point, and once the point was over he was done with it entirely.

—————————

     Julie closed the office door behind her as she strutted her way back out into the main area of the building, the building they're in used to be strictly an office building, but since it fell into Wally's hands it was almost like an art studio where business happened to be held. He had completely renovated the building, still keeping some of the office spaces (not all of them were used as such however) but also turning part of the building into his own private home and space. They had more official places of business elsewhere, this one was just for comfort, for him to be himself. 

     Only the closest of family members were allowed to work here, the most trusted and beloved; because Wally does love them, even with his business facade and too-cool-for-you appearance she never doubted his love for her and the others. How could she when they're family?

     Julie decided she wouldn't leave until she could say goodbye to Frank and Eddie, they were her two closest friends in and out of the organization, and she knew that the recent news of betrayal had hit Frank hardest. Behind their serious and uncaring demnor hid a very emotional individual only she and Eddie really got to see. 

     It didn't take very long to find them and when she did she nearly hesitated, they were having a moment together and seemed to be having a very serious conversation. Together they sat on a velvet bench in front of a few art pieces Wally had completed, their fingers were interlocked as they faced once another. It seemed so pure and intimate, she nearly turned to leave until Eddie spotted her out of the corner of his eyes and offered her a soft smile and silently waved her over.

     When she reached the two she immediately pulled them both into a tight hug, "I'm so sorry, everything's gonna be okay, Wally will take care of this. I know he will." The two hugged her back just as tight.

     "Thank you, Julie. We're grateful for the support." Said Eddie, his southern charm as endearing as ever. She felt Frank nod against her shoulder and sniff a little.

     She pulled back and with as big of a smile as she could manage, Frank made it a little hard though, her poor friend's face was tear stained and eyes a bit redder than normal. They'd definitely been crying, and looking at Eddie she found unshed tears locked in his eyes and his face more flushed than usual. Good riddance to that idiot, whatever his name had been.

     She'd never been the violent or hateful sort, usually charasmatic and subtle, but if Wally or Barnaby had refused to do something about that guy…well, she had no doubts she would have taken him herself.

     "So where does Wally have you going?" Eddie asks, changing subject, a knowing look in his eyes. He was a sharp character, so she didn't have to ask how he knew Wally had given her a task.

     "I'm glad you asked, he's asked me to pick up flowers for a lady, I wanted your advice on a good shop for it. He wants them pretty." Eddie raised a brow at her and she chuckled, "Not that kinda lady, I'm afraid. It's for the…uh, girlfriend of the scum bag." 

     "I'm surprised he's sending her anything but a death threat." Frank says. 

     "Yeah, well boss says she didn't have nothin' to do with what went down. She's just a civilian caught up in it." 

     Frank nods while Eddie gets this excited look in his eyes, "Oh! I know just the place, hold on," he shifts and reaches into his back pocket to pull out a nice leather wallet, he takes out a small business card and hands it to Julie, "This place is really good at making bouquets, one of the employees there is a real charmer. Name's Y/N, (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair. They're an artist when it comes to flowers, I swear." He said with a bright smile on his face, before turning a bit sheepish as the tips of his ears turned red, "I, uh, used to go there a lot back when I would get flowers for Frank." He admits.

     Frank practically has hearts in their eyes as they gaze lovingly at Eddie and his bashful face, Julie giggles at how cute they are together. They truly deserved the happiness they found in one another.

     "Well then, this is where I'll go then! How can I say no when you give such a sparkling review?" She teases, looking over the card and memorizing the address before tucking it into her pocket, "If I tell them your name will I get a discount?" She joked, but suddenly Eddie got a look of realization on his face.

     "Ya know what? You actually might! Y/N owes me a bit of a favor, so you just tell her Eddie Dear sent ya and I'm sure she'll do something for ya." Both Julie and Frank gave him a questioning look so he continued, "There was a big ol' spider in there the last time I went, poor thing was absolutely terrified, sitting on the counter and staring at it. So, I killed it for them and they gave me an IOU, they wanted to give me my flowers for the day free of charge, but I refused." He explained with a shrug and a sweet smile.

     "Flowers probably won't be too expensive and it's on Wally's dollar so I'm not really worried about it, but I'll still tell them you said 'hi'." 

     "Please do!" 

     Julie turned to leave, but not before giving one more tight hug to Frank, rubbing their back soothingly. They return the hug just as tightly.

     "Be safe, and come back soon…I think I wanna talk to you alone later. I have a lot on my mind." Frank whispers into her ear, although Eddie might've heard it. He didn't speak on it. 

     She pats their back, "Sure thing, bestie." 

     With that she ends the hug and waved as she leaves the room, leaving the two as they embrace one another and continue speaking 'I love you's in hushed tones.

—————————

     The flower shop is only 15 minutes from Wally's "home", and even though she recognizes the strip its located in, she's certain she's never noticed the shop before. It's surrounded by restaurants and a bakery, but now that she's noticed it she can appreciate just how cute it looks. It's small and the sign is elegant while the actual building itself is colorful compared to the rest surrounding it. It's actually so colorful she wonders how she's never noticed it before.

     She enters the establishment with a ring from the bell hanging just above the door signaling her entrance, the inside is a bit more simple compared to the outside, mostly natural woods and white paint while the flowers brought the room to life with their vibrancy and colors. To her right she sees a (e/c) and (h/c) employee, just as Eddie had described.

     You jump up from a stool you had been sitting on behind the counter with the register. Greeting her with a bright, relaxed smile.

     "Oh! Hello, welcome, my name is Y/N. Is there any type of flower you're looking for in particular today?" 

     "Hello, my name is Julie. Julie Joyful, how do you do?" She asks cooly, approaching the counter and outstretching her hand, your smile somehow becomes even more dazzling at her introduction and greeting. 

     "I'm doing well actually, thank you for asking." 

     Julie reaches into her pocket and pulls out the business card holding it up, "I got your card from Eddie, he says hello and that you're quite the florist." You move out from behind the counter with a gasp, still smiling.

     "Oh! Eddie sent you? Does he need more flowers for that friend of his? I thought for sure he would've won them over by now!" You laugh.

     "Nope, he only recommended you, I'm here for another friend of mine actually." Julie corrects, a smirk growing on her lips, "Oh, and that friend has certainly been won over. They're so cute it's sickening." 

     "Oh I knew it! I had a good feeling about him, I don't always have a good feeling about every customer who comes in, but he was definitely one of the sweetest. Definitely a lot of love in his heart, for sure." You say as you approach a table next to the counter, readying some wrapping and bows/ties, "So, this friend of yours," you start with a lilt, "Are they a friend, or a friend." Julie laughs at your teasing insinuation.

     "A friend, and the flowers are actually for a funeral…kinda." You immediately drop a pair of scissors you pulled out of a drawer onto the table, turning with a look of horror on your face. 

     "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been so casual and I shouldn't ha–" Julie laughs, interrupting your hurried apology.

     "No worries, it wasn't anyone close to me or to him. It's more of a courtesy thing, I guess."

     A bit of color returns to your face as you visibly relax, realizing you hadn't offended Julie. Even so, next time no funny business!

     "Well is there any particular message you'd like to send using the flowers? Or do you just want a bundle of the same type of flower? White lilies are very popular for funerals, although they're also great for weddings and symbolize purity, and then there's marigold's. They're a bit deceiving, because while they look bright and sunny they really represent mourning and grief." 

     Julie took a moment to examine the flowers filling the room, "You can also just choose whatever is prettiest to you, all flowers have special meanings and can be a sentence all on their own, but not everyone cares too much for that as long as they're pretty." You continue, not focused on Julie so much as you browsed the flowers, mentally comparing combinations in your head. 

     "I'll let you decide, Eddie said you're like an artist when it comes to flowers, so I'll trust you know what you're doing." You hum in response to let Julie know you heard her.

     "You said the flowers aren't for anyone close, but are they a friend or family?" 

     "Family…kind of, I guess. They're for the girlfriend of a distant recently deceased family member."

     "Ah, so like you said, a courtesy bouquet."

     You take a moment to decide, then you immediately set to work, three types of flower should be enough, a short sweet message, "Coral rose, marigold and blue salvia." You say as you expertly cut the appropriate amount of each flower. 

     "What would that mean?" Julie asks, watching as you move the flowers to the table and clip leaves from the stems.

     "Coral roses can mean friendship and modesty, but in this case it means sympathy. Marigolds, as I said, mean mourning and grief; while blue salvia means 'thinking of you'." You explain softly as you arrange and wrap the flowers gently in a neutral paper; then finally tying it together with a matching cord. 

     "So essentially I'm trying to tell her: 'You're on my mind and I sympathize with your grief.' short and sweet." 

     Julie smiles as you turn around and hand her the finished bouquet, it's more colorful than she would've thought a mourning bouquet is supposed to look, but it is pretty just like Wally requested and it has the meaning, "Perfect!".

     You smile, pleased that she likes it, before moving behind the counter to ring her up; but then you remember that Eddie recommended her…you do owe him a favor. Maybe this was his favor?

     "So how much do I owe ya?" 

     "Nothing, it's on the house, this time."

     She looks up from the flowers to make eye contact, "You sure? They can't be that expensive, I don't mind paying, it's outta my buddy's wallet anyway." 

     "It isn't that expensive, which is why I don't mind letting this one go. It's for a good cause and I owe Eddie, I don't know if I'm calling this his one favor, but it's nice to do something nice for someone else." Julie smiles at your kindness.

     "How about I just pay half then? Just consider it a special discount." That sounded like good middle ground. 

     You agreed to her compromise, charging her only fifteen dollars, "Thank you for your business, have a wonderful day and I hope your friend approves of the flowers!" 

     Julie thanked you for your help and waved goodbye before leaving the store and returning to her vehicle, delicately carrying the bouquet.

I am already working on Part Two now!