#that shaker charm on the side is mine :)

[littlesliceofimmortality]

DIALTOWN FANMERCH !!!

im SO happy to collab with @shininguponthestars for the double sided callum & gingi keychains :-] BUT along with that, im also selling gitd (glow in the dark) randy keychains as WELL as phone- typegingi shaker charms !!!

feast your eyes...

these are all limited stock, being ordered & shipped from within mine own humble abode! international shipping (sorry i cant control the prices! D-X) ... however, they DO come with a discount of 10% off if you order all 3!

[gilly-moon]

How did you make the charms?!? I’ve been wanting to do something like that forEVER but idk how :(

Shrinky Dinks and UV resin!! HERE is the tutorial that spawned my interest in doing it myself, and a little overview from myself below the cut (no pictures sorry, hopefully my words are descriptive enough ^^;). It took me some trial and error but it's a pretty easy craft once you're familiar with how shrinky dinks and uv resin work!

I got my shrinky dink paper from an off-brand online but you can find them in craft stores as well (you'll need the printable kind specifically - white or clear depending on your preference). I used my cricut to print & then cut the character charms, but you can also cut them by hand. Make sure to leave a hole for adding the keychain part tho >.< a hole punch works great if you're cutting by hand.

Once you've shrinked the dinks, just coat the printed side with a layer of resin, cure them until hard, and finally add your keychain & decor!

For the shaker charms, I used a mold and just added some color & glitter to the resin. The mold came with acetate sheets that you 'glue' on top with more resin around the rim of the charm after you've put all the shaker bits inside (if you want to make more than 11 charms, trace the acetate sheet before you run out so you have a guide to cut out more later). I used the same method as before for the character charms inside - shrinky dinks with a protective layer of resin on top.

Adding liquid is optional, but I used a pin vice to drill a hole in the side of the charm and a needle-tipped syringe to get the liquid inside. Once full, dab on some resin to seal the hole and you're done! I tried baby oil and distilled water for mine - I recommend the water. More often than not a little bit of liquid would bubble out the hole when I was filling the charm, and let me tell you it is NIGH IMPOSSIBLE to fully clean up baby oil, which made sealing the hole with resin a nightmare. Water is much more friendly.

Also, THIS is the mold I used:

[dragonbma]

I’ve had a few questions regarding how I made custom shaker charms so here’s a basic guide. For starters, I used Vograce for my production. (There are a myriad of other custom product websites, but I only have experience with this one so that’ll be what I detail here.)

What I learned from my first shaker charm purchase:

Before you start drawing, make sure your canvas color profile is in CMYK. (If you don’t know how, I recommend Googling color profile settings for whichever drawing app you use.) In Procreate, once you create a canvas, you cannot alter its color profile. Guess who had to create an entirely new canvas and move over every. layer. for. every. trio. frame. layer. And then recolor everything. CMYK does not have as vibrant a range of colors as the typical color profile. Your designs may look slightly off-color.

Speaking of canvases, the recommended resolution for Vograce charms is at LEAST 1000x1000 pixels. I did 1360x1360 for all mine. Leave a decent portion of rim around the images as every piece of the shaker charm will have a 2mm border. Your design may be cut off if you do not leave sufficient room for the border. (For my 1300x1300 canvas, I added +30 pixels to each side before saving anything as PNGs just in case.)

Artworks Needed:

Layers/Frames: When designing shakers, you will design a front, middle, and back frame to your charm. The front layer will include a transparent section (where you see your charm inside.) The middle layer will ALWAYS have a hollow area, but does not have to be the same as layer 1. (Can have a larger/smaller hollow area depending on what you want to make.) The background can either be solid and provide an image behind where the charms shake around or have a transparent area. For Vos’ charm, the background is solid and details the cage backdrop; Romeo’s frames on the other hand, are all see-though (reflecting an actual blender.) Something to note, thick edges around hollow areas are preferred. Vograce has a short video detailing these frames. To make things as clear as possible, it’s important you add “Layer 1/2/3” to the name of the frame. (See image below)

Charm Pieces: You can have up to six charms that shake around in your keychain. These can all be different designs or the same charm duplicated multiple times. On average, the more pieces you add, the smaller they have to be to all fit and still have room to shake around.

Save each frame and charm as a separate PNG. Here’s a little peek at what made up Vos’ charm: (apologies for the messiness; it’s late here rn-)

I cannot stress enough how important a mock-up design is. These are essentially previews that show your manufacturer exactly what you want the finished product to look like. This includes a view of all the layers together, what sizes you want each charm to be, and I would recommend it be animated if possible:

Once you have your layers and charm pieces saved, it’s time to buy your shaker! In order to submit multiple images at once, you’ll want a Zip File. The way I turn my files into Zips is by saving all PNGs into a Google Drive folder (above) and then downloading the folder to my computer. (This will automatically turn it to a Zip file.) Then when you click to submit images, click the downloaded Zip File and it will link all the needed PNGs!

The minimum number of a single keychain/shaker charm order you can buy at once is 3. (You cannot just buy 1 or 2 of a design using Vograce.) If you buy more than 5 of a product at a time, Vograce will send you a proofing email you need to confirm before they start making your charms. This email is basically their way of saying “Hey, here’s what we have for your design pieces. Does everything look alright?” If yes, you can confirm the proofing and they will begin manufacturing your order. If something is wrong/ needs something tweaked, simply reply to the email with your concerns/suggestions. Some important things to keep in mind when looking at the proofing for shaker charms is the dimensions and borderlines of everything, how big the charms look in comparison to the inside of the hollow area, etc. The first time I bought stickers I forgot to check for the proofing email. DON’T FORGET TO CHECK FOR THE EMAIL. It usually comes within 2-5 days after the order.

The proofing for Vos’ keychain looked like this. It’s color-coded with the layers above for reference. ^

Things I wish I knew beforehand:

You can add an “X” on the mock-up to mark where you want the hole for the chain. Otherwise, it is assumed the chain will attach to the middle of the top.

Be sure to give your charms lots of room to shake around. I probably should have made the Sammy charms a larger area-

When choosing a charm’s size, the length will be the longest side. For the cage charm below, this was its height (3in tall.) For the map, this was its width (2.5in wide.) For whatever reason, I thought size always referred to height. It does not-

4. Somehow the map flipped, but idk how to explain that so I won’t. I am currently asking Vograce about it though- (it doesn’t really affect my design so I don’t mind)

There’s probably a LOT I forgot, but this is essentially everything I needed when I was designing my charms. Feel free to ask a Q if something sounds confusing- I hope this helped ^^

@woofmochi @planetsofmarz *places this in your hands*

[bluepoodle7]

#Househuntedgame #Johndoegame #JohnDoe#MaisonTalo #BodyPillow #Merch #HouseManMerch

Randomly found a website that made a Maison Talo Body Pillow cover in Russia.

It seems to be original art but I might need to find the original owner.

There's a John Doe one too!

I wonder what the print image quality are these drawings?

And who is the artist?

The newest body pillow art looks more like that character than the last body pillow art.

This picture of Maison Talo's side view face looks similar to this body pillow.

Link is provided.

Divone GG🍉 on X: "#househunted #Househuntedgame 🏠🛐 https://t.co/jGniZ32pN4" / X

Images not mine but links are there.

Suggestive warning.

Buy Dakimakura - Maison Talo - buy at a bargain price | Geekmagazin.ru is an online store of things for anime, movies, series and games

Дакимакура "Джон доу / Johne doe" - купить по выгодной цене | Geekmagazin.ru - интернет-магазин вещей по аниме, фильмам, сериалам и играм

Dakimakura Maison Talo 18+ - buy at a bargain price | Geekmagazin.ru is an online store of things for anime, movies, series and games

Дакимакура Джон Доу - купить по выгодной цене от 1390 руб (dakimarket.ru)

I would rather wait for Mortisfox to restock the original John Doe bodypillows with the mini version, and maybe make a real Maison Talo bodypillow covers.

I wouldn't purchase these but I did see one fan have the Doe ones.

Images not mine but links are there.

John Doe Mini Dakimakura Keychains - Etsy

John Doe Dakimakura body Pillow Cover - Etsy

I just hope we get a makeship plush of Maison Talo or Heim Baile if the Doe plushies sell well. I'm not into bodypillows since I find plushies better and easy to explain having but the mini ones are close to being plush like that I would buy if restocked.

I just want the John Doe perfume and curious about what it smells like.

I wonder what Maison Talo and the other REALTORs smell like?

I know John Doe in fake human form smells like clay but what does his hair ball form smell like?

나랑 발더게 얘기해줘 Onion BB🐇 on X: "John Doe Perfume commission from ( @makye_perfume )! I'm HAPPY to get Doe-smelled perfume (It reeeeeally smells like "THE CREEP FROM THE BUS".... I mean Doe.) And there's a cute tiny fur ball Doe behind the bottle. https://t.co/U4j6qscbZh" / X (twitter.com)

The only merch for this house dude besides the poster was from the creator's Etsy.

Hope these keychains gets back in stock one day.

Maison Talo Keychain - Etsy

UCV fashion poster: Maison - John Doe Game - Posters and Art Prints | TeePublic

il_570xN.4662759110_6ncr.jpg (570×351) (etsystatic.com)

il_fullxfull.4662759174_m5ou.jpg (2100×1830) (etsystatic.com)

This item is unavailable - Etsy

Maison Talo Liquid Shaker Charm - Etsy

Static John Doe Charms W/ Lanyard - Etsy

Anatomical Heart John Doe Liquid Shaker Charm - Etsy

John Doe Double Sided Keychain Charm - Etsy

John Doe / Cat - Etsy

Syringe John Doe Liquid Shaker Charm - Etsy

LIMITED Hide N Seek John Doe Liquid Shaker Charm - Etsy

SPECIAL LISTING Do NOT Buy John Doe Lanyard and Keychain - Etsy

John Doe Kitty Charm 2 in Each - Etsy

Дакимакура Мэйсон Тало - House Hunted👹👹👹 | Geekmagazin-гик/аниме магазин. Дакимакура, пледы | VK

Found this bootleg standee.

Акриловая фигурка Мейсон Тало House Hunted статуэтка — купить в интернет-магазине по низкой цене на Яндекс Маркете (yandex.ru)

Found a cool Etsy made John Doe Pillow case.

This art is well drawn and very cute.

Made by WeebsBUs

John Doe Pillow Case 7in X 11in - Etsy

Randomly saw this Maison Talo art on a spiral notebook.

I wonder who drew this?

Unless the person selling this could be the artist.

Anyway this art is well drawn.

"House Hunted Maison Talo" Journal for Sale by tuperwherez | Redbubble

The bootleg John Doe wig.

🦊 FOX 📼 on X: "YES made it to the big time baby, those over seas cosplay sites are finally making weird cosplay products based off my game fuck yeah https://t.co/wja9PusrD4" / X

advertising the illness (hannibal) 😪 /// (tags) #CapCut #itabag #itab... | TikTok

[fictionplumis]

I'm hoping SOMEONE on here can help me.

For those of you that make shaker charms, what liquid do you fill them with?

Mine are specifically from Vograce and for some reason the glitter just sticks to the sides and it doesn't flow nicely. I've tried water and I've tried several water/glycerin ratios.

And god forbid there's any sort of air bubble left in it, the glitter will clump against the bubble.

[joannasteez]

"𝙞𝙢 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪" - 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚

eventual mother’s milk x reader

if this doesn’t get posted now, no one will probably ever see this… hopefully posting it will give me the push to continue, finish and maybe even add more to it than I already have…

‘The Reserve' is an illusion, a vanity shaped dream for the self proclaimed movers and shakers. For those who believe themselves to be more illustrious than their bathroom-in-kitchen apartments allow. But even a partial step into 'The Reserve' would clue in even the naivest of individuals of otherwise, that such claimed glory is really just some poor desperate bastards attempt at a pseudo heaven on earth. 'The Reserve' is ugly, its sunny gold pillars rusted to a seedy brown reeking of greed and low cunning.

And God…

…The walls, old lavish embroidery marred and greyed by nasty streaks of some indiscernible substance. The air is thick as well, but that shouldn't be a surprise, strengthened every minute it seemed by some nose curling pungency. Sweat, alcohol, and the dry crusted salty tears of some long ago killed ambition. The only thing 'The Reserve' is good for is its symbolism, sitting so uncomfortably at the edge of Downtown Brooklyn, it's weak and feeble visage living in the shadow of the city's sacred Vought Tower. Its an unwritten thing, wholly for the sake of sugarcoating ego, a communal experience even, for the drunk regulars and D to Z listing super-abled to stand together in a pathetic formation of reverence from their lowly place to watch The Homelander take to the skies.

You hate 'The Reserve' but you also work at 'The Reserve' because it pays well enough as a side hustle and mixing drinks is great tension relief from a nine to five that consist of talking through the life shattering trauma of being a collateral damage survivor with adolescent youth.

It's quite the shitty silver-lining, having to constantly entertain and serve, pouring into the anger and failure of dozens of overgrown children who lack all charm and the means to be even slightly personable. Who, in the eyes of all that is commercially holy and capitalistic, were just never profitable enough. They were not the proclaimed gods among men they were poisoned and promised to be. They just couldn't fucking hack it. But at least you made enough to cover a months worth of groceries in one night and a steadily growing record collection.

"A double of tha' cheap russian shite you lot water down so much yeah".

Its push and pull, the harsh tugging outward motion of an ocean current , a very visceral spine tingling nagging of something creepy and bitter like disgust or malcontent even. Before the inevitable, gentler pull in of intrigue. Billy Butcher is something of an unstoppable force, a train wreck of anger and charisma swaddled in a harsh cockney accent and even harsher words and deeds. Everything about him is war, all blood and destruction. The cracking of bones and the splitting of deep, and what you thought untouchable, nerve. He's horrible, but then again 'The Reserve' attracts all the ugliness of the city, even when that ugliness is owned by a not so ugly face.

"If it's so shit, why do you always drink it?"

He's smirking that smirk that makes your well crafted, personable, customer service nature quell, shrivel and nearly die. Nothing good ever came of smirks like those, lopsided and daring.  "I don't know, something about the little bird who serves it to me. She just makes it all the more delicious".

The most you can muster at the moment is an eye roll, opting to address the rest of the very dangerous bunch. A more genuine smile appearing, warm and delighted.

"Frenchie, always a pleasure, even when you're giving Travis Bickle".

He smiles, amused at the reference. "The pleasure is all mine mon amie".

And then with the excitement of a newly unsheltered child, a woman, cute as a button really, waves your way with dainty but red raw battered knuckles. 'A supe', instinct tells you, but as you smile, waving back with matching enthusiasm, you come to the conclusion that you may be wrong. That the light in her eyes, the unmitigated eagerness of the moment, is far too bright for any super abled person to have so intrinsically.

You'd must've forgotten how odd this bunch truly were, not having seen them for some time, especially now coming to rest a bit of a scrutinizing gaze on the next one.

He's tall and lanky with a forced relaxed disposition about him. He's used to this, places like this, like 'The Reserve', but still the tiniest inconvenience could make his own patience stretch beyond wear and snap. Split and break, and now he's back to where he hates to be, helpless. He reminds you of the kids in the support group, the older ones, still scarred and scared but trying desperately to show otherwise. God its the way he fidgets just the slightest, like he's in his own body but with new skin, trying hard to get comfortable.

"And you must be Butchers newest exploit, please blink twice if you need help", you say.

You're joking, really you are, but you're not. It's something like second nature to dote a bit over the younger ones.

"I- .... ", he's unsure of just how serious you may actually be and its no fault of his own, you've practiced quite the serious face, one of motherly concern that seems to make him repel more than anything. Interesting. "Oh, you're not joking- I", he tries again.

Butcher pats his back. "Thats alright Hughie.... she's just takin the piss is all".

Hughie sighs. Exhausted already, but it's only midnight, and knowing butcher, the night hasn't even started yet. "Can I just get a beer?", he asks, seeming resigned now to whatever will come from now till the end of the night.

"And something sweet for mon coeur please",  Frenchie adds.

You crack Hughie's beer open, sliding it to him before pouring out Butcher's double, but you're not so ready to give him his drink.  Wary of what even a little dose could do for his destructive nature. "No bullshit tonight, I mean it Butcher", and he's rolling his eyes, like he isn't responsible for generally wreaking havoc wherever he goes. "Last time you were here I had a patron get sent to the ER for head trauma".

His warm fingers slip over your unsure ones, taking hold of the slender glass to knock back the liquid with nothing short of delight. Sarcasm dripping cooly once he's done. "I'll behave mum, I swear".

You take his promise with a grain of salt, opting instead to ignore the beginnings of a new nagging feeling by mixing the sweet citrusy cocktail Frenchie had asked for. This creeping thing though, at the base of your nape felt less like mild disgust and more like an un-quelled curiosity. Eyes darting every so often to the lowly lit entrance before they scattered, with an eager quickness that was rather embarrassing, to the other corners of the establishment. If Butcher and Frenchie were present, and generally tamed from mischief, then he wasn't too far behind right? A balmy rush unfurled its way from your gut to the tips of your ears at the anticipation alone, and you'd be lying if you'd tried to convince yourself you didn't know why. He just had that way about him, and it forcefully lulled you in, a bit straight laced air to him but the sensibility was all there, and not to mention the man was fine as hell-

"He's outside taking a call".

Cleaning cocktail glasses has become a point of interest as you feel The Frenchman's sweet clever eyes nail you to where you stand.

"I don't know what you mean".

He scoffs. "Please, you're not the only one with eyes and good observation skills mon amie".

And he's right, it wouldn't take a genius to realize the very apparent attraction you have for a certain member of the infamous group, but whether he notices it or not is the real issue. You don't have much time to truly mull it over though because he's swaggering through the entrance and up to the bar to meet 'the boys' in a matter of seconds. Those seconds being the duration of time in which you short circuit before pulling it together and crafting the greatest nuanced expression possible. A little nonchalance, followed by well placed hints of allure did the trick in most cases. It made most men hesitate, and Marvin wasn't an exception.

You're cleaning the glasses still with a little less impatience and a little more fluidity. Grace. Eyes traveling up and down the distance of his physique, or of what you can see at least. "Can I get you anything?"

It's appropriate for the moment, but theirs a slight inflection to suggest otherwise.

He clears his throat feeling the burdening gaze of his friends, Butcher and Frenchie specifically, their looks of knowing, and squares away the beginning of a thrumming in his blood.

He looks to Hughie's bottle and gestures toward it. "I'll have what the kid is having".

It stings, and it takes a bit more than usual for him to shake it off. When you hand off the beer without another glance, slipping away to take care of another patron, something in his gut tightens. A bristling of bitter smoldering heat, and Marvin knows what it is, in the safety of his own quiet thoughts he's felt it more times than he can stand to admit. Like that one instance, a rare but vivid moment in his memory, Butcher had said something racy but your usual disgust wasn't there. You'd actually laughed and got all cheesy when Billy slapped on that shit eating grin. It was the same feeling now as it was then, and it was green and ugly, making his jaw tick but its there all the same.

Its only the seriousness of the mission that gets him out of it, that and the beer and he's back to thinking of other things.

Leave it to Frenchie though to reel him right back in.

"So", he starts, "When are you going to take that gigantic stick out of your ass and talk to her eh?"

"I don't know if you're too high off the ket to notice Frenchie but were on the job".

"Fuck you I'm sober". And he'd been sober for months, all the boys knew it, but what would his relationship with Marvin be if they didn't exchange some form of below the belt insult. Frenchie knew better than anyone what inner conflict felt like, how it wore so heavy on the shoulder, in the face of such evident but leery romance. "Mmmm, but play makes working all the more fun no? How long will she give u the eyes before you finally indulge her?"

"I don't know what you're talkin' about".

'Found a little love and thinks he's fucking cupid', Marvin thought. Stealing a swift glance at the bar, at you.

It's Butchers turn then to be annoying, to deliver that shit eating grin he loves so much, the one that irks Marvin to no end, but now more than usual because Butcher's just as quick and discerning as Frenchie. "Frenchies right M, come off it and shag the girl already before she starts givin' another bloke bedroom eyes".

Everyones just so damn rife with suggestions. MM turns to Hughie, whose babysitting his beer rather attentively, as if to avoid the conversation.

"Anything you wanna add? Since everyone thinks their Dr-fucking-Phil".

Hughie sputters a bit. "Uhh, no. What they said"

"Now", Butcher gathers them all, rightly satisfied with making MM uncomfortable. "Look alive boys, our targets are here".

[knifesxedge]

OMG that’s gonna be so awesome!!!!! have fun!!!!!

yeah!!! i’ll hopefully be posting pics of the soap later it’s gonna have bees on it :))))

oh keychain jacket may i see? that sounds rly rly cool 👀👀👀

i’m not gonna see him for a bit but. sending him kisses in spirit for you

!! ty im very excited (there was a change in plans but. it seems that im still getting a tattoo just maybe not exactly the one i thought. i’ll def post pics tho of whatever i end up getting) 💕

!!! bee soap! oh i love bees that’s amazing

i cant take credit for the idea because @ribombeee came up with the concept of a keychain jacket but i started making mine a couple months ago! i don’t have a lot of keychains on it yet but here it is!

[ID: a black denim jacket with an elastic bottom hem. it has multiple wire rings sewn onto the collar and front, with keychains attached to them. these include a red, black, and white thread-covered carabiner, a hot pink bloch miniature bootie, an imitation stained-glass carousel horse, one in the shape of the gerard way cookie from the “put gerard back” vine, a three-cheers-themed mcr shaker charm shaped like a coffin, and three funko pop keychains, two of harley quinn from batman/suicide squad and one of grogu/baby yoda from the mandalorian. there is also a small golden enamel pin of a monkey surrounded by peaches pinned near the collar on the left side. it is lying on a bed with a blue blanket. end ID.]

the shaker charm is by @andpierres and the gerard cookie one is by @birdloaf i believe!

anyways ty pen i hope your sunday is wonderful ty for reaching out as always <3

[licorescence]

Vanilla Indulgence

Fandom: 終わりのセラフ | Owari no Seraph | Seraph of the End

Rating: T

Pairing: Mikaela Hyakuya x Yuuichirou Hyakuya (MikaYuu)

Notes: Bartender!Mika + eyeglasses

Warnings: Mild alcohol, mild swearing/cussing

A/N: Happy (Belated) Valentine’s Day~ To be honest, I was writing this out of boredom, but after knowing that February 14 was approaching, I thought of finishing this up in order to celebrate the holiday~ And yes, it’s Bartender!Mika, but this time, with EYEGLASSES. >w< I hope this piece is okay since I felt like I rushed it. I might edit some parts in the future to make it better. In the meantime, enjoy, my dear readers. *thumbs up*

———————————————————————————————————

Yuuichirou was torn between feeling two things. There was this side of him that wanted to choke himself to death with his drink to save him from the sheer embarasssment of what he was going to do, and the other side of him - the one that he was suppressing so, so hard - held this urge to murder Shinoa on that damn barstool. He wasn't expecting his friends to plan anything for tonight since it had been a stressful week of almost nonstop work and all he wanted was to let loose in order to relax.

But, no. That wasn't happening, especially with Shinoa feeling so high spirited after having a couple of cocktails.

"Come on, cherry boy, I'm very generous with this dare~ You just have to ask that guy for his number and that's it." Shinoa's voice slurred just a bit as she pointed a finger on a man by the bar counter. "He looks pretty good and he even shows good etiquette. I think you should totally ask him out. When was the last time you ever got laid anyway~?"

The rest of the squad sputtered on their drinks in surprise after what Shinoa just blabbered.

"I-Idiot! Don't ask him that! God, don't you have any shame?!" Mitsuba shrieked as she shoved a hand on Shinoa's mouth to make her stop spouting other things. Her face was red in mortification and she gave Yuuichirou an apologetic look, "Ah, you don't really have to ask him out, Yuu… Maybe asking for his phone number is already enough for the dare. Right, Shinoa?"

"Eh, where's the fun in that, Mitsu-chan~? Can't you see how lonely Yuu-san looks nowadays? He needs a lover!" Shinoa exclaimed, though it was muffled within Mitsuba's palm.

"Be quiet," Mitsuba growled.

"Well, if you don't want to do the dare, you could always say so, Yuu-kun. You don't have to force yourself if it makes you uncomfortable." Yoichi reassured with a smile as he bit on a rice cracker snack.

"That'll make him a wuss, though." Shihou commented offhandedly on the side, which earned him a sudden smack on his gut from Yoichi. "Ow, what the--?! Yoichi!"

"Oh, sorry. My hand slipped." Yoichi apologized but it didn't sound all that sincere, especially with the smile (glare) he threw right at Shihou's direction for the insult  before he turned back to Yuuichiriou, "If it makes you feel any better, I'll treat you to coffee tomorrow."

"Thanks but save it, Yoichi. Coffee won't make me feel any better especially with her around." Yuuichirou hissed as he pointed a finger on Shinoa. "If I do this without humiliating myself, you better have the dare money ready."

"Hmhm, don't worry, Yuu-san. I can bet my entire allowance if you want~" Shinoa slurred in glee and she even gave Yuuichirou a thumbs up. "You have my full support. Now go get some of that ass!"

Yuuichirou swore under his breath at how utterly brazen Shinoa was acting in public, yet he didn't comment on it and just stood up from his seat in order to do his dare. He was slightly disoriented and warm from the drinks he had before, but otherwise, he was still sane enough to know what he was getting himself into. He honestly felt sorry for the poor, unfortunate soul Shinoa wanted him to mess around with this dare. He just hoped the other wouldn’t creep out with what he was going to do.

“Uh, h-hey… Mister...” Yuuichirou started out as soon as he reached the stool near the bar counter. His gesture immediately caught the attention of the bartender present.

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” The man at the other side offered with a polite smile while he approached Yuuichirou after he finished cleaning up some glasses. “Do you want another drink? Or perhaps a glass of water?”

“N-No, I’m fine, thank you…!” Yuuichirou refused courteously despite the slur that slipped out of his sentence due to his marginally drunken state. “I, um… I came here to ask for your… your…”

“... My?”

“Your phone number…! Please!” Yuuichirou blurted out with his eyes shut closed as he offered up his cellphone towards the bartender, yet all that responded to him was silence. He quietly thanked the gods that there wasn’t anybody near him at the moment, because if there were, he would most likely dig a hole to bury himself into right now.

Yuuichirou could have sworn that the other guy must think he was crazy to ask him something so personal out of the blue, but instead of a repulsed reply that Yuuichirou was expecting, he could make out soft giggles that were stifled behind a hand. Blinking, Yuuichirou slowly opened his eyes to see what was so funny, only for him to get a good look at the bartender attending to him and his cheeks reddened from something that wasn’t the fault of his drinks tonight.

Holy cow…

There, before him, stood a gorgeous blond man. His wavy locks were tied up in a loose ponytail, his bartending uniform was quite loose yet it snug on his form so comfortably, and his blue eyes sparkled with mirth. His thin framed eyeglasses were a nice little touch to his already handsome appearance. Yuuichirou had barely figured out his name on his vest because of it.

“I’m… I’m sorry. It’s just...” The bartender - Mikaela - was holding back his laughter for a moment before he composed himself. “Forgive me for that. I was actually expecting you to say something like that from the moment you came here, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so cute in doing so. It honestly caught me off guard.”

“Cute…?” Yuuichirou repeated in disbelief before he frowned just a bit. “I’m not cute. You take that back.”

Mikaela snickered while he let his arms rest on the bar counter, looking completely relaxed under Yuuichirou’s presence despite what happened a minute ago. “You know, you’re not convincing anyone with that face of yours. I guess you have one too many drinks tonight. Are you stressed, perhaps?”

Everything about that tone was gentle, almost as if this stranger was one of Yuuichirou’s friends that it inclined him to speak his piece. It was a lovely offer that held no strings attached to it, giving Yuuichirou some form of liberty that he badly needed.

“... You could say that,” Yuuichirou murmured as he slowly drew back his phone and slouched on his seat. “Honestly, my entire week was hell. Every day, I wake at six in the fucking morning, clock in the office, file papers, organize documents, send faxes, type shit on computers and get a paycheck that doesn’t do me justice for all the hardwork I give. Just, ugh…”

Mikaela hummed in understanding and he outstretched a hand to pat Yuuichirou on the head, “But look at you now. It was difficult, but you did well in the face of it. Your efforts deserve praise.”

Yuuichirou blushed but he shook off the man’s hand on him with a light scoff. “Yeah, well, since my company is shit, my deeds don’t really matter to them. All they care about are the numbers.”

“I see…”

Yuuichirou could have sworn he heard disappointment from the other that perfectly matched well with the frustrations he felt during those days. This just made him all the more curious about the bartender in front of him who seemed to understand him far better than his friends do.

“It’s a shame to hear your work go to waste after all that. However, here in my bar—” Mikaela then pointed down on the counter for emphasis while he smirked. “—I’m not one to let such a thing go unnoticed.”

With that said, he straightened up and quickly grabbed his newly cleaned cocktail shaker from its place in order to concoct a cocktail on the spot. Yuuichirou watched in amazement upon being treated to an unplanned performance, mesmerized at each movement that spoke of grace and professionalism. The man was also quick in his job because he already finished the cocktail in mere seconds, and presented Yuuichirou with a creamy drink in a martini glass.

“Thank you for waiting. This is for you, on the house.” He offered proudly and nudged the cocktail towards Yuuichirou with a charming smile. “I hope you like it.”

Yuuichirou unconsciously swallowed just by staring down at the drink, and he extended his hand for it like he was hypnotized before taking a small, experimental sip.

The smooth blend of peach and vanilla slipped down his tongue, gracing Yuuichirou with a heavenly flavor similar to a peach tart dessert. The cocktail immediately brought an expression of wonderment on Yuuichirou’s face at tasting something so rich and luxurious.

“This is so good. Is this really for me?” Yuuichirou asked in a near stupefied fashion.

“Of course. You deserve it, after all.” Mikaela confirmed and he pointed at the drink with his forefinger. “The name of the drink is Vanilla Indulgence, and it’s a cocktail that fuses peach, vanilla beans and bourbon whiskey into one, similar to fruit tarts. In the language of cocktails, it means ‘Reward yourself generously’.”

A light blush made its way to Yuuichirou’s cheeks at the thoughtful gift. He never imagined that this bartender would give him something so heartfelt as a response to his horrible week. Despite being strangers, Yuuichirou was touched by the gesture and he could only offer the man by the counter a genuine smile of appreciation.

“Thank you. This means so much to me.” He confessed softly as he began to nurse his drink little by little.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Mikaela grinned before he slipped a card forward, eliciting a confused look from Yuuichirou. “You asked for my number, right? This is my business card, feel free to talk to me whenever you wish.”

“Oh, that…” Yuuichirou dawdled slowly and shook his head. “It’s okay. I only did it for a dare. I have no right.”

“I don’t really mind. I’m giving this to you because I want to.” Mikaela explained and his grin turned just a little mischievous as he added on, “Besides, you already accepted my invitation by simply drinking this cocktail.”

Yuuichirou frowned, puzzled. “... What do you mean?”

“What I mean is…” Mikaela leaned close so that he could whisper to Yuuichirou. “‘I find you attractive and I want to get to know you more’.”

The blush on Yuuichirou’s face deepened tenfold and he was left with his mouth hanging agape at what Mikaela just admitted. Mikaela, on the other hand, chuckled as he fixed his eyeglasses up, pleased at Yuuichirou’s reaction.

“I look forward to seeing you here again. Have a good night.”

Mikaela gave Yuuichirou a wink before he walked to attend to another patron that just arrived, leaving a dumbfounded Yuuichirou to process what just happened. He couldn’t comprehend why Mikaela found him attractive enough to flirt with him and possibly ask him out on a date in the future, but what he understood from their conversation was that he definitely got more than just a phone number out of Mikaela.

And, after days of feeling like a loser, Yuuichirou finally had something to look forward to.

[tigerintokyo]

IDOLiSH7 Part 1, Ch 6.5 side story

Side Story: The Rhapsody of the Launch

(other parts in the directory)

Translation under the break.

-

(Tsumugi: IDOLiSH7 was a huge success! Even with the sound cutting out, they connected Tamaki-san's dance break to Sogo-san's solo!

Tsumugi: After the concert, they were all congratulating each other on a successful performance!)

Mitsuki: That was awesome! You looked really cool, Tamaki!

Tamaki: Did I get on TV? Did I?

Riku: Sogo-san's timing was perfect too!

Sogo: Thank you. I'm glad I didn't mess it up.

Yamato: OK! Should we stretch out our legs for a bit and have a party tonight with a few drinks?

All: Yeah.....!

Iori: ......a few drinks? Some of us are underaged and can't drink though.

-

Nagi: OH..... Why did Tsumugi already go home? It feels empty when there's no party flair.

Iori: The president called her home so that we could "celebrate with just the guys." Well, I'm sure he would be worried about his daughter in this situation.

Mitsuki: OK. The food is ready! You guys get yakisoba.

Iori: Thank you. Nii-san, you went drinking with Nikaido-san and Osaka-san before, right?

Mitsuki: We did! It was fun! I can't really remember though!

Iori: ………...

Sogo: I don't remember much from that night either... The only thing I remember is waking up in my room.

Iori: Will you all be okay tonight? With the drinking...

Tamaki: Yakisoba! And fried egg! Super fancy!

Riku: Tamaki, we have to wait for everyone!

Tamaki: The yolk is mine!

Yamato: Your onii-san remembers everything from that night. Sou was guzzling down any cocktail or liquor that he could remember from song lyrics.

Sogo: Ah, that's right. I've always wanted to know what some of those drinks tasted like. It was nice to finally be able to have them.

Sogo: Since then, I've been gathering cocktail making tools to try making some myself.

Yamato: Really....? Well, just don't drink too much.

Mitsuki: Old man, don't be so stingy. What's the big deal?!

Yamato: You got drunk before him, so you don't have a say.

Mitsuki: Yamato-san, you were the one whose face was all red! Fine, how about starting with beer?

Yamato: Thanks.

Mitsuki: Everyone, pass your glass over. If you're underaged, you can't drink though!

Iori, Tamaki, Nagi & Riku: Okaaaay.

Riku: What do you want to drink? Orange juice, soda, or oolong tea....

Iori: Since it's yakisoba, it has to be oolong tea.

Tamaki: I want juice! The carbonated one!

Nagi: I'd love to have a glass of wine, but I'm following Japanese rules. Maître, something that goes well with yakisoba. [1]

Riku: Orange juice!

Iori: Oolong tea.

Tamaki: Soda!

Nagi: No....! Don't pull on me all at once!

Mitsuki: Does everyone have their drink? Alright, cheers!

All: Cheeeers!

Riku: Sogo-san, what are you drinking?

Sogo: It's a rusty nail.

Sogo: It's in the lyrics of the third song of the second album of that band that lent to you before. I also want to try a Lucien Gaudin that's in the fifth song on that album, but I heard it was sweet.

Riku: It's a drink that shows up in the song's lyrics!

Sogo: That's right. I was thinking of trying a gimlet, a godfather, and a Whisky Mac today.

Riku: That sounds so cool! I can't wait until I can drink with you too. But, Sogo-san, you're not drunk at all.

Sogo: I guess not.

Yamato: Sou, can you come over here for a second?

Sogo: ............? Alright.

Mitsuki: Yamato-san, it seems like you're trying to pressure Sogo! Don't use younger people like that.

Sogo: Haha.. I don't mind.

Yamato: Can't you see that I'm about to become a human sacrifice in the spirit of Princess Andromeda?

Tamaki: Sou-chan! I want to try this one! The one that sounds like kacha-kacha!

Sogo: A cocktail shaker? Of course. But, Tamaki-kun, you shouldn't drink.

Tamaki:  I know! Hey, Nagicchi. How do you do this one?

Nagi: Why are you asking me?

Tamaki: It seems like you can do it.

Riku: Ah, I know how! I can shake it like a bartender!

Nagi: Sorry. I only specialize in drinking what's served to me. Iori, do you know how?

Iori: I don't.... But don't you just put liquid in a container like that and shake it?

Tamaki: Liquid? Is anything okay?

Nagi: If it's Sogo's cocktail, shouldn't it be what Sogo likes?

Tamaki: Tabasco....?

Riku: It would have to be tabasco, right...?

Iori: If it's only tabasco, there's no reason to shake it. You have to put alcohol in it too.

Tamaki: Beer and... this should be good.

Riku: What did you put in?

Tamaki: V-O-D-K-A..."bodoka"? ......

Nagi: It's vodka.

Nagi: You made a beer buster. It's better stirred and not shaken. This goes without saying, but if you shake up beer...

-Boom!-

Tamaki: Waahhh...!

Nagi: Shit.......!

Tamaki: It's cold! It exploded....

Iori: Here, both of you, wipe yourselves off with this!

Riku: ........

Iori: What's wrong?!

Riku: I remember! His name was Wada-san. The bartender from my Dad's place.

Iori: Nanase-san, you sure are free from worries.

Iori: Are you talking about the show club your parents used to run?

Tamaki:  Hey. I've been meaning to ask, but what is a "show club"?

Riku: Hmm, it's kind of like a cabaret?

Tamaki: What?! Isn't that the X-rated one?

Riku: No, no! Um.....

Riku: ........ow!

Mitsuki: Tweet-tweet!

Mitsuki: Yellow card!

Riku: .........?

Mitsuki: You can't do that! Kids should be kids and talk about wholesome things!

Mitsuki: Who's in charge over here?!

Iori: In charge...?

Nagi: Mitsuki, are you drunk already...?

Mitsuki: You're the one!

Nagi: Ouch!

Mitsuki: You're the oldest over here! Line up by age! Number off! Starting with the youngest!

Tamaki: One.

Iori: Two.

Riku: Three.

Nagi: Four.

Nagi: .......OH! I am the oldest!

Mitsuki: Right! You're the team leader?!

Nagi: I'm head honcho! I'll do my best to be in charge, Mitsuki!

Mitsuki: Great! As you were!

Tamaki: ......Mikki, your face is super red....

Iori: Nii-san has a habit of getting in your face when he drinks. Nii-san is such a good communicator. He even lets you know clearly when he is drunk.

Riku: Hey... I'm not sure if I should, but can I say something?

Iori: What?

Riku: You're pretty much a bro-con, Iori.

Iori: What? I'm just giving my objective analysis. Your case is different.

Riku: What?! I think I'm just as good as being objective as you are...!

Tamaki: No fighting! Let's go back to what we were talking about before. What was it again? Something about Rikkun and X-rated...

Nagi: Stop...... I'm going to get scolded. Instead of that word, you should use a code.... Let's use a cipher.

Tamaki: OK. Rikkun's X..... FSC.

Riku: Oh, that really big company! You can use "FSC" instead. Um.....

Riku: Our place wasn't FSC though. We had live bands and small shows.

Tamaki: That's it? There weren't any FSC girls there either?

Riku: There were people who wore like FSC-looking clothes, but I was just a kid. I hid with Tenn-nii under a skirt.

Tamaki: That's super FSC!

Riku: I was a kid!

Iori: Even if you say it's not FSC, if it's FSC, it is FSC, Nanase-san...

Nagi: Now, now. Everyone has memories of the charm of the FSC.

Nagi: Even Sogo, for example, will have some FSC memories.

Sogo: ..........!?

Riku: Sogo wouldn't be involved with FSC.

Tamaki: Yeah, I don't think Sou-chan would be FSC.

Nagi: He doesn't look like it, but he is FSC.

Iori: Kind of like, he's unexpectedly FSC....

Sogo: .......um...... Uh.... I......

Yamato: What's the matter? Your face is really pale.

Sogo: I'm okay. It's nothing.... .......gulp......

Yamato: You drank that in one shot. What are you drinking?

Sogo: Godfather.

Yamato: That's a pretty strong drink... I'll drink yours. Sou, you should drink a glass of water.

Sogo: I'm not drunk. Yamato-san, you should watch how much you drink today too. Last time, you got red immediately.

Yamato: Ah, but you really can't tell if Sou is drunk... That is until the switch is flipped.

Sogo: Switch?

Yamato: That's right.

Yamato: You're so cute when your enjoying your drinks. I don't want to ruin the mood. But then, of course, I have to take care of you until the end of the night.

Yamato: So, if you start feeling it set in, make sure you tell your onii-san as soon as possible.....

Sogo: ......fufufu......

Yamato:  Did the switch just flip?

Sogo: I want whiskey.....

Yamato: You can't.... At least, do something weaker. Why are you always drinking the hard stuff.....

Sogo: If it's not whiskey, it's not rock 'n' roll.... fufu....

Yamato: I'm going to debut in a rock band and write lyrics like, "Non-alcohol! Yay! Yay!" so you should drink beer that even kids can drink....

Iori: ......? What's going on over there? Nikaido-san and Osaka-san are acting real strange, don't you think so?

Riku: Hm, I don't know, it's weird... It's kind of like when the person next to you on the train is sleeping and then slouches in front of you.

Iori: That doesn't really happen, does it?

Riku: It does. You were like that before. I could even see your scalp on the top of your head.

Iori: Stop messing around!

Tamaki: Sou-chan, are you drunk...? I forgot to give it to him, but it's probably better not to give him the one I shook up, huh?

Nagi: OH.......... Under the current circumstances, it's not a beer buster; it would be a Sogo buster.

Riku: Oh, Sogo-san is looking at me!

Sogo: …….

Tamaki: He's laughing and making a zombie pose.... I'm scared....

Riku: Zombies have their hands facing the other way. This pose if more like, "Take this feeling with you!"

Nagi: It's the same pose as Magical☆Crush!

Iori: Usually, that would be the gesture for "please." Are you sure he isn't just asking for a refill?

Sogo: Iori is right....

Iori: ........!?

Tamaki: Iorin......?

Nagi: Sogo, what's wrong?!

Riku: Oh, Yamato-san covered up Sogo-san's mouth!

Yamato: This guy...! This moron....! If the kids find out your drunk, you're gonna feel bad tomorrow!

Sogo: Fufu...... Feel bad......

Yamato: Right?! Fine, let's go to bed now. Your onii-san will go with you....

Sogo: Ah......!

Yamato: Wh--what's wrong?

Sogo: Um..... Today, there was lightning......

Yamato: Yeah, lightning did strike today...

Sogo: I'm glad I didn't mess up.....

Yamato: Yeah, you did good....

Sogo: Fufu......

Yamato: OK! Bed time......

Yamato: Ah, ow!

Mitsuki: Tweet-tweet!

Mitsuki: Yellow card!

Yamato: .......what?! Your onii-san didn't do anything wrong!

Mitsuki: We're all having a good time, but you're going to bed! Geez, Yamato-san! Such a sneaky boy!

Yamato: I'm not! Sou is passing out, so I'm just....

Mitsuki: Are you passed out?! Sogo?! Are you drunk?!

Sogo: I'm not drunk.

Mitsuki: See! He's not drunk!

Yamato: You're drunk too!! Here, have a lemon....!!

Mitsuki: Mmmph...!

Iori: Hey! What are you doing to Nii-san?!

Nagi: OH! Mitsuki! I'll rescue you! Lie down! ......AED!

Mitsuki: MMmmph....!

Iori: Rokuya-san....! Doctors don't mount the patient!

Tamaki: Sou-chan, you guys, calm down! Adults shouldn't act so crazy! Especially you, Sou-chan!!

Sogo: ………….

Sogo: Riku-kun..... Hey, come over here.

Riku: What is it? Hm...? My ear...? You want to ask me a question?

Sogo: Yeah.....

Riku: ………...

Tamaki: ………….

Sogo: ........Tamaki-kun is always quick to yell.....

Tamaki: Are you whispering about me?!!!!

Sogo: Ow.

Riku: Sogo-san is so funny tonight!

Sogo: Yay.

Riku: Do you want to lean on me? I'm used to seeing the tops of people's heads, so it's no problem at all!

Sogo: Riku-kun, sing.

Riku: Okay!

Sogo: Yay.

Nagi: Great! The operation was a success! I have removed the lemon-yellow tumor!

Mitsuki: ..........cough........! Oh god.....! Why didn't you get it out faster?! I didn't need the chest compressions!

Nagi: That was a special service for you. I'll also add a wink. Ciao.

Iori: Well, it's Nikaido-san's fault anyway! Don't do things like that to my drunk and defenseless brother!

Yamato: Who was defenseless?! He was all offense!

Iori: Nii-san was looking after everyone, wasn't he? How could you do that....?!

Iori: .........Mmmmph.....!

Yamato: Then you can have your brother's lemons!! From now on, I'm gonna call you two the Lemon Brothers!

Sogo: What? There's a new band?

Riku: Do you want to sing a Lemon Brothers song?

Iori: .......ah, sour.... ah, so sour.....

Tamaki:  Ah!!! Enough! You drunks are so loud!! Quiet down or you're gonna get it!

Mitsuki: Tamaki....! It's not polite to stand on the table! And, what's that you have in your hand....

Nagi: No....! Tamaki....! You mustn’t shake the beer!

Tamaki: Take this....!

Riku: Gaaaah.... it's cold........

Nagi: .........hn......oh my god....! There's beer and tabasco in my eyes....

Mitsuki: Ah, it's sticky! What is this...?!

Sogo: ......hn..... It has a bite, but it's delicious......

Tamaki: ............!? Ah! Guys, this is a big problem....!

Tamaki: My eyes hurt! I can't open my eyes! Oh my god! Oh my god!! Somebody get a towel...!

Iori: Did you hit yourself with it?! Are you stupid?!

Tamaki: But....!

Yamato: ………….

Yamato: .......This was a big win for glasses.

Tamaki: My eyes hurt!

Sogo: I want another one.....

Yamato: A big win!

Mitsuki: Shut up! Go get some towels!!

To be continued...

-

Placeholder: next chapter

-

T/N:

Nagi uses the French word “maître,” as in a master of the bar who preps drinks.

Please do not use my translations without my permission.

[hazzasgayvodka]

17 * SNAP OUT OF IT * 17

Impact: Chapter 17

Chapter title song: Snap Out of It - Arctic Monkeys

JESS

I wake up to see the sky already dark outside his window. He's snoring softly above me and I turn in his arms to look up at him. The usual crease between his eyebrows is nowhere to be seen and the constant smirk that adorns his lips has been replaced with a parted pout. He stirs in his sleep as my phone buzzes on the nightstand and I curse under my breath as I untangle myself from him and turn it on silent.

Despite my efforts to keep him asleep, he rolls over into my lap and peels his eyes open with a groan. I mindlessly run my fingers through his bedhead as I scroll through countless posts I'm tagged in from the party last night. Most of them are just drunken sing-alongs and the beer pong game but a significant few are pictures of me and Harry kissing.

"What are you looking at?" He asks quizzically, straining to look at my phone while leaning on my shoulder.

"It's nothing." I sigh, turning my phone off and setting it back on the side table.

"It's not," He says, looking up to meet my eyes, "What's wrong? You went from being fine to being pissed in like two seconds."

"It's just," I huff, wondering why I'm even mad about this, "There's so many people posting about us kissing last night and rumors are everywhere about me dating two guys."

"So what? Who cares?" He laughs, standing from the bed and walking over to the mirror above his dresser.

"I do, Harry," I sigh, following him to the other side of the room, "I don't want to be known as some school slut."

He turns around suddenly, grabbing me by the shoulders, "Hey, you aren't, it's just a bunch of people with nothing better to do than talk shit."

I sigh, letting my eyes drift from his to the floor but he's not having that. He grabs my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to meet his again.

"If it's bothering you than let's do something about it." He assures me.

"What are we going to do? Never speak to each other again?" I huff.

"No, obviously not, who the hell would I play beer pong with?" He laughs, "No, we're gonna go somewhere."

"How is that going to help?" I groan, watching as he paces over to his closet, deep in thought.

"I've got it, The Stroke." He says simply.

"The what?"

"The Stroke, it's a bar on the rougher side of things but-"

"Wait, a bar? That's how we're going to fix this?" I huff, folding my arms across my chest.

"Listen dollface, think about it, I'm intoxicated in a room full of easy women, it won't take long for the student body to find another rumor to spread." He winks smugly, a smirk spreading on his face.

I roll my eyes, shoving him out of my way to get to the bathroom but of course he follows me all the way there defending his idea.

"My god Harry, you're so-"

"Charming? Charismatic?" He suggests, leaning against the closed door of the bathroom, "Oh wait I've got it, ruggedly handsome?"

"How about not nearly as badass as you think you are." I smirk, opening the door and shoving him back through it.

I close it again and hear him protesting on the other side, his fist banging against the wood.

"Jess! Oh come on, I'm joking you-"

I open the door abruptly to see him with his arm still raised in the air, the end of his sentence dangling on the end of his tongue.

"What was that you were going to say? You...fantastic person who is also my best friend in the whole world?" I grin and the worried look in his eye vanishes as he throws his arm around my shoulders and walks me back to his bedroom.

"Yes, exactly what I was going to say." He laughs, shoving me into his room and shutting the door behind us.

We agree to meet Sam and Louis at the bar in an hour. Sam is overly excited considering I never want to go out anywhere and both of them are overly in love from staying with each other for a solid week alone. As soon as we get inside they're sitting on barstools and grabbing all over each other, their lips super glued together.

I turn away from the burlesque next to me to see Harry snapping at the bartender to get his attention. He comes over with a pad of paper, a pen, and a name tag that reads Kevin.

"I'll have a Jager bomb and she'll have a vodka and sprite." He says nonchalantly, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it between his lips.

I roll my eyes knowing that he is fully aware that I'm not a fan of vodka. He turns to me with a smirk and blows a cloud of smoke the other way.

"Can I get some I.D.?" Kevin asks, interrupting our staring.

Harry turns to him with his eyes narrowed, removing the cigarette from his lips. While Kevin looks unbothered I know that Harry's about to chew him up and spit him out.

"I.D.? Really kid?" He asks, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to display his forearms completely covered in tattoos, "How's this? I didn't get these yesterday mate."

Kevin rolls his eyes, "Listen, it's procedure."

Harry huffs, his cigarette bobbing between his lips as he takes out his wallet and produces his I.D., sliding it across the bar counter and I do the same. Kevin takes a look at both of them and nods, handing them back to us but Harry grabs mine before I have a chance to.

"Harry, give it back, it's horrible." I groan, reaching around him to grab my I.D. from his hand.

"Wow, Jessica Rose, huh?" He laughs, handing it back to me.

Before he has a chance to put his away I snatch it from his hand hoping to see his middle name too. I'm surprised by his picture to see his hair cropped short and his arms free of tattoos. He looks like any regular guy without any metal in his face and his hair above his shoulders.

"Oh my god." I gasp, holding it out of his grasp as he wraps his arms around me to get it back.

I scan the rest of it, Harry Edward Styles. Birthday is February first, he's twenty-five.

"Hold on, wait," I think aloud, turning to see his face over my shoulder, "You're twenty-five?"

"Yeah, why?" He shrugs.

"Because we're both seniors and you're another three years older than me. You started college at twenty? I thought schools in the UK graduated from high school sooner than us, not later."

"They do, I just didn't go to college right away." He says carefully, taking the card from my hand and putting it away.

"What did you do out of high school then?" I ask curiously, the image of him tattooless still in the back of my mind.

He opens his mouth to speak but Kevin cuts in, placing our drinks in front of us as well as taking orders from Sam and Louis who have pulled away from each other long enough to get two beers. I desperately want him to finish explaining but we're once again interrupted as a blonde girl in a pink dress approaches him with a wicked smile on her lips.

"Harry! I had no idea you'd be here tonight." She smirks, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Lynnette, what's up." He grins, turning on the charm as he turns to talk to her.

Suddenly I'm between two parties of flirting, third wheeling on all sides and wishing I could just go home. I take a sip of my vodka soda and gag, putting it back down quickly and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Lynnette grabs Harry's hand and starts to drag him towards the dance floor before he's barely taken a sip of his drink. I know he needs at least two beers worth of alcohol in his system to be up for dancing, but he lets her drag him to the middle of the crowd.

She grabs onto him, running her hands down his chest and moving her hips in ways that I could never. His hair is sticking to his forehead in minutes and his hands are roughly grabbing her waist and moving her against him. She presses her lips to his and I turn around, sighing as I come face to face with the bartender.

"You've got some shitty friends." Kevin remarks with a smile as he leans on the bar top across from me.

"They're just having a good time, this isn't my scene anyways." I shrug, mistakenly taking another sip of the vodka soda in front of me.

He laughs when I nearly choke on it, putting it back down and pushing it away from myself so I don't accidentally drink it again.

"Want a real drink?" He asks, taking the glass away from me.

"Please." I laugh.

He grabs a shaker and multiple bottles of schnapps and syrups. He measures them all expertly before pouring the mixture into a cocktail glass and garnishing it with maraschino cherries. He slides it to me and I bring it to my lips, taking a small sip of the sweet pink drink.

"I call it the love potion." He grins, expectantly.

"It tastes amazing, almost too good, I could probably drink five of these and not feel it until I stand up." I laugh, taking another sip.

"I'll make four more if you let me drive you home after." He smirks, finally working his play into the conversation.

I open my mouth to answer but I'm cut off by his voice behind me and his hand on my shoulder. I look up to see his face reddened and I can't tell if it's out of anger or being flustered on the dance floor.

"Don't you have some glasses to clean up?" He huffs, glaring at Kevin.

"No?" Kevin says innocently.

Harry grabs the cocktail glass and shoves it off the bar top, letting it hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces.

"Now you do." He smirks, grabbing my hand and dragging me away.

I rip his hand away from mine and shove him away, "What the hell are you doing?"

"You didn't drink any of that did you?" He asks, cutting me off.

"Yeah, I did, I was having a great time until you just had to-"

"Jess shut up, how much did you drink? Did you see him make it?" He asks worriedly, grabbing my shoulders worriedly.

I shrug him off, finished with his over protectiveness, "Harry this isn't some college party, he didn't lace my fucking drink!"

He grabs my hand midair and tugs me to him, keeping his voice low, "Jess, this place is famous for drugging girls up, they have a track record."

I roll my eyes, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He's always like this, trying to scare me into letting him control me. My mind goes back to Kevin's suggestion of letting him drive me home. No, he's wrong, he's just trying to make me nervous like he always does. I was barely talking to a guy and he just has to ruin it. Meanwhile he's eating Lynnette's face on the dance floor and I do nothing. Not today, not tonight. If he's going to ruin my night, then I'll ruin his.

"You're right, I'm sorry." I say as confidently as I can.

He eyes me warily, he knows this is out of character. I've never apologized, perhaps that was too far. I grab his hand and drag him back to the bar where Lynette is sitting with two beers for the two of them. My blood boils when I look next to her and my eyes land on none other than Ashlyn, waving Harry over to them excitedly. I grab Harry's hand and wrap it around my waist instead. I can read his eyes as we approach the only two seats left at the bar, I can nearly hear his voice in my mind, "What game are you playing, Lawson?"

He takes a seat on the barstool and Lynette offers me the only one left right next to him.

"No thanks, I've already got a seat." I grin, taking a seat on his lap and nearly making him spill his drink.

I reach for his denim jacket, hung on the back of his chair. I slide it over my shoulders and grab his beer from his hand, bringing it to my lips and taking a sip. Lynette and Ashlyn are looking at me with daggers for eyes and Harry is trying to suppress his surprise.

"Oh, it's you, what's your name again?" Ashlyn asks carefully through gritted teeth.

"Jess, you're Ashlyn, right?" I ask.

"Yup, that's me," She smiles, "so I didn't know you and Harry knew each other."

"We sure do, we hang out all the time, not sure it's in the same light that you two, hang out, however." I smirk, raising my eyebrows.

Her jaw nearly hits the ground and suddenly Harry is choking on his beer, spitting his sip back into his cup accidentally. I lean back into him, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around my shoulders. I smirk at Lynette, a confident grin to let her know to walk away. I know I've had the intended effect when they both stomp away from us and over to Sam and Louis sat at the other end of the bar.

Harry picks me up and sets me back on the ground, getting off the barstool and following them. I grab his hand and tug him back to me and he eyes me angrily, glancing between me and the other girls a few seats over.

"What the hell are you doing?" He huffs.

I wrap my arms around his waist loosely, catching a glimpse of Ashlyn's angry stare from the corner of my eye. I can't help but grin as I look up at him, his own face pulled taut and glaring.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I smirk, releasing his waist and taking his hand instead.

"Jess, I thought-"

"Call me dollface, you know I like it better." I tease obnoxiously as I lead us past them making it loud enough for Ashlyn to hear clearly.

He looks at me like I'm insane, he knows how much I hate the nickname. I decide we're both going to need another drink if I'm going to make this work. Just glancing at Ashlyn makes me livid and reminds me of the time I walked in on her and Harry in her dorm. It makes me sick just thinking about it.

"Fine, dollface, I thought we were here because we didn't want people to-"

"Let's dance, come on, Louis and Sam are already out there." I say quickly, cutting him off.

I feel Lynette and Ashlyn's eyes on me as I drag him towards the dance floor. I shove him in Sam and Louis's direction and go back to the bar to order two double whiskey cokes. I bring the glass back to him and clink them together, both of us knocking our heads back and chugging them down. He's eyeing me warily; does he know what I'm up to or have I fully confused him?

I grab his hands in mine and tug him to me, turning around in his arms and placing his hands on my waist. I move my hips to the pulsating beat coming through the speakers around us and bump into countless sweaty bodies around me. He's rigid at first, continuing to spew questions of what I'm doing and why I think this is a good idea, but I don't care, I only pay attention to the awestruck faces of the two bimbos sat at the bar.

I can feel the whiskey hitting him as his movements get sloppy. Surely enough his hands are moving all over me and my vision is doubling. The world around me is moving like it's under a strobe light. I can hear my heavy breathing echoing in my ears and the bass from the speakers is thumping in my chest. His hands are like fire on my skin, holding me against him and occasionally reaching to rub the sweat off his forehead.

Suddenly his lips are pressed to the back of my neck and I'm gasping as every inch of my skin is covered in goosebumps. He blows cool air against the veil of sweat on my skin and causes a shiver to run down my spine before his lips continue moving down my neck and to my collar bone. I'm nearly shaking in his arms as the fiery feeling of his lips on my skin lingers. Suddenly Sam is standing in front of me and grabbing my hand to tug me towards the pool table. I'm ripped away from him and as soon as I'm no longer intoxicated by his touch I can think clearly. What the hell was I thinking? What just happened?

"Come on, there's a pool tournament, Louis and Harry should play." She slurs, tripping over her own feet as she drags me along with her.

Louis and Ashlyn are already leaning against the table with beers in one hand and pool sticks in the other. I look around for Harry and my eyes meet his across the room. He's chugging a glass of water, blinking his eyes rapidly and swallowing hard. I walk myself over to him and convince myself not to grab his face and kiss his swollen lips.

"I thought we were, I thought we weren't doing this." He says exasperatedly.

"Doing what? Surely I have no idea what you mean." I smirk, my words slurring as they pour from my mouth.

His eyes follow me, and I can sense the anger in his glare but the way he's eyeing me with his lip ring pulled between his teeth tells a different story.

"You make absolutely no sense, dollface." He groans.

"I know, now come on," I grin, grabbing his hand and tugging him, "You said you were going to teach me billiards and I'm holding you to it."

He reluctantly allows me to lead him to the now crowded pool table. He picks up the remaining pool sticks from the corner and passes one to me as Louis and Ashlyn walk around the table, blindly shooting at the billiard balls on the table.

"Have you ever played pool?" He asks, leaning on the table and lining up a shot into the right corner pocket.

"Maybe once or twice." I say but it comes out sounding more like a question.

He brings his arm back and shoots the pool stick forward quickly, causing the sharp snapping sound of pool balls hitting each other before he sinks two of them in the right corner pocket. I don't expect him to be as good when he's drunk but he stands up proudly, his usual smirk adorning his stupid face as he tosses his pool stick back to Louis.

"Alright, Lawson, bend over." He smirks, obviously buying into my challenge.

"Cute." I muse, rolling my eyes as I meet his glossy, drunken ones and he moves behind me with that slumped grin on his face.

He guides me to lean over the table just like he was and wraps his arms around me, holding my arms in the right position. He pulls my right arm backwards and prompts me to shoot it forward just like he did. Despite being worried that I'll somehow injure him with my elbow, I do as he says and hit the striped ball straight into the left middle pocket. I look over my shoulder to see him already staring, a huge grin covering his face.

I hear Ashlyn's huff of exasperation from across the room and my eyes just barely flicker to see her walking back towards the exit into the full bar. Just seeing her sauntering across the room makes my blood boil and my eyes instantly move back to Harry to make sure he's not watching her little show. When his eyes drift to her, I'm livid. I hate that he's staring at her the same way that he was staring at me only a few minutes ago.

I position myself against him, leaning even further down against the table and I feel his arms tense around me as he helps me line up for my next shot. He sucks in a breath, his body going rigid against me.

"Fuck, baby, what are you doing?" He grunts mindlessly.

His words make me shiver and instantly I want to do anything that will make him say it again. Suddenly Ashlyn and Lynette are nowhere in my mind, only images of his swollen pink lips and dangerously green eyes. I turn around in his arms and he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, that just came out-"

I cut him off, grabbing a hold of his shirt and tugging him down to me, connecting our lips. Our lips meet with a smack and several gasps can be heard around the room. He's surprised at first, his lips like statues as he tries to take a step away from me, obviously I caught him off guard.

"Jess, what are you doing?" He mumbles against my mouth.

"Shut up and kiss me." I huff, wrapping my arms around his neck and threading my fingers through his hair.

He smiles against my lips, that devious smirk of his, I can taste the liquor on his breath. His hands reach around my waist and pull me flush against him, causing my breath to nearly catch in my throat. He presses his mouth to mine, much more elegantly than I did. His hands reach down and grip my ass, pulling me upwards to straddle his waist before he sets me on the edge of the pool table and positions himself between my shaking legs.

Every nerve in my body is exploding with fireworks as his lips move against mine and Howlin' For You plays through the speakers above us. I can feel Ashlyn's eyes on us along with everyone else's, the surprise in the air is tangible. He pulls away from me and rips his denim jacket from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, his burning eyes never leaving mine. The curve to his lips and the severity of his gaze sends a chill through me and I'm shaking as he leans back into me and tugs my lip between his teeth, making me shudder.

Suddenly he pulls away from me all together, grabbing his jacket from the ground and shrugging it back up on his shoulders. He takes out a cigarette and lights it between his lips, running a hand through his now messy hair, while I'm sat on the edge of the pool table, frozen. Why did he stop?

"Why did you-" I mutter, my voice barely audible.

"Show's over, right?" He quips, cutting me off, "They all left." He smirks, gesturing to the empty space around us.

"What?" I huff for the second time tonight, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just didn't think you were the type." He shrugs thoughtfully, leaning against the wall and twirling one of the pool sticks in his hand while he takes a drag of his cigarette from the other.

"What type?"

"The jealous type." He laughs.

"I am not jealous." I argue, "I have nothing to be jealous of."

"Oh, whatever. Look me in the eye and tell me that kiss wasn't just a stunt because you want to prove something to Ashlyn." He says maliciously, stepping closer to me and leaving the pool stick leaning against the wall.

"I have nothing to prove to Ashlyn! Who cares what some whore thinks of me!"

"Exactly." He smirks, "So why does she get to you?"

It takes every fiber of my being not to scream in his face that it's the way he wraps his arm around her waist that makes my blood boil. That thinking of the day when I walked in on her in his room makes my skin crawl. Any thought of her is enough to bring on a rage I haven't felt in a long time and all I want to do is shock her to the point that her perfectly puckered lips hit the floor along with her gaping jaw. If he would have just left me alone with Kevin none of this would have happened, he could have gone home with Ashlyn and I wouldn't have batted an eye. I wouldn't have wanted to ruin his night just like he ruined mine. This is his fault.

"I can't believe you think I'm stupid enough to get caught up in this jealously bullshit." I sigh, turning away from him.

He reaches for me as I'm walking away and calls my name behind me, but I just keep going. I'm not jealous, there's no way I'm jealous. What do I have to be jealous of? Sure, Ashlyn has him along with every other slut on campus, what do I care? But why would he kiss me back like that if he thought it was all a show? Why did he play along?

My head hurts as I approach the crosswalk and try to decide where to go. If I could go back to hugging Miles in the drive way I would, I never would have walked into that bar. I made a mistake, that's all, it was nothing. The tingles from my fingertips to my toes, the exquisite feeling of his smirking mouth pressed to mine, it was nothing. It keeps replaying in my mind over and over and suddenly I realize it was something, it was everything, because now I'm sat at a cross walk at midnight, miles from anywhere with my trembling fingers pressed to my electric lips hoping that the feeling of him pressed against me never fades.

[synnefo-nefeli]

For the dribbles, klapollo, "I'm too sober for this"

So sorry I am late for this!!!  I didn’t forget! RL has been busy!

***

Apollo knew that eventually, he would have to deal with “that side of” Klavier.  It came with the territory of living in LA and dating a celebrity.  Apollo would have been okay with it, if Klavier’s celebrity remained solely on the side of the Law- kinda like Mr. Edgeworth.  At least Apollo had some common ground there and Apollo was making a name for himself too.

But no, Klavier was very much a celebrity in the “Razzle Dazzle LaLaLand” vein and Klavier remained in contact with his A-Lister friends and the Movers and Shakers of the Music and Entertainment Industry.  And while going to mansions out in the Hills, and rubbing elbows with the most beautiful people in the world, would be a dream for many, Apollo dreaded the idea despite him knowing that him being there for Klavier at these events was important/ things that came with the territory of being a good boyfriend.

“It’s going to be fine, Spatzi,” Klavier offered as he drove them past the security checkpoint at the mansion’s gatehouse, “It’s just a party.”

Apollo nervously chewed at his lip watching the scenery drive-by, “At one of the biggest director’s homes in the city.”

“He’s a normal person, Spatz-”

Apollo turned to shoot Klavier a look, “We’ve been on this driveway for like minutes, and the house is nowhere in sight, normal person, my ass Klav.”

To his credit Klavier only offered a gentle laugh and an “ah, ja, this is a little much” and kept driving.

Apollo sighed wishing he didn’t feel an impending sense of dread and social anxiety.  It wasn’t fair- Klavier went to all the things Apollo asked him to attend happily, but then again Klavier was a natural crowd-pleaser and an extrovert extraordinaire.  He made friends wherever he went.

“You never told me what the party was about,” Apollo offered as the house finally came into view, “or how you know this guy? I know the scenes intersect a lot, but you really don’t have a lot of dealings with Movie Bigwigs…”

“Ah, we know each other from a club.”

That was new. Apollo cycled through his information about Klavier before they started dating.  Was he talking about a Country Club?  Klavier never mentioned that he belonged or if the Label Record ever gave them access to one- was Klavier holding out on him? A country club would be nice…Apollo’s apartment complex’s gym was rather mediocre… 

But Klavier had that intense look on his face; the only he usually got whenever the man was ready to give as good as got in court; as much as Klavier didn’t participate in sports, the prosecutor was incredibly competitive. 

He was about to ask about what club Klavier was referring to, but they were pulling up to the valet and Apollo’s door swung open to reveal the attendant waiting for Apollo to exit the Mercedes.

There were a lot of people milling about, and Apollo picked up on the tense feeling that seemed to resonate within the crowd.  He wanted to mention it to his date, but Klavier was wearing his steel and cooled expression, not the usual easy-going one as Klavier took Apollo by the hand and lead them to the entrance.

“We’ll stay as long as I need to defend meine crown…we can leave as soon after if you’re not enjoying yourself-”

“Crown?” he asked bewildered, “what is this? What sort of thing are we-” but then they were being swept into the gargantuan house, and Apollo was being introduced to many people he was certain that he wasn’t going to remember their names in the morning.

For the most part it was a typical LA house party.  Many beautiful people, alcohol flowing freely and music playing a little too loudly.  Totally Klavier’s scene…so why was he acting so intensely…and passing up the alcohol?  

“Uhh, Babe?” Apollo offered trying to offer Klavier some of his cocktail, “are you okay?”  Was Klavier acting this way for Apollo’s sake? If so Apollo felt badly that Klavier would sacrifice his good time just because Apollo was being socially awkward.

But Klavier waved him off, his typical smile returning, “Later baby, I need meine wits and coordination about me…Ah there is our host. It’s about to begin!”

“What’s about to begin?!”

A large middle-aged man, one of Hollywood’s elite producers and directors wandered onto the stage that was set up between the large speakers,

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the 25th annual South California Alpha Delta Chapter, AIR GUITAR COMPETITION!  We have a roster tonight that is sure to thrill-”

The words drowned out as he looked over at Klavier, who was looking at their host with a look of excited anticipation.

“An Air Guitar Competition?  You’re a part of an Air Guitar Club?”

“Ja,” Klavier smiled, “And I’m the reigning champion four years running…und I want to make it five,” he was practically purring.

Apollo frowned, “Wait…this is a thing….how have we been dating and I don’t know this about you?!”

Klavier feigned wounded, “Ach, baby…how do you think I got so gut at it?”

Apollo groaned, “I don’t know…I figure you were good at it because you know, you play the ACTUAL guitar and you’re an ACTUAL rockstar?”

“Ah baby, you’re such a gut and supportive boyfriend. This is why I love you…you always think the best of me-”

“That’s not it, fop, and you know it-”

“Competitors please come to the back to receive your performance number and submit your set lists.”

“That’s mine cue, baby,” Klavier leaned over to kiss Apollo, “be meine lucky charm?”,

A thrill went up withing him, how could he say no to someone like Klavier, despite this most ridiculous scenario. Apollo blushed, “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean of course?”

Klavier gave him another kiss,”You’re the best, mein liebling,” then he disappeared into the crowd of the queuing competitors.

And then he was alone.

“There are seats over there, sir,” an attendant who was in charge of crowd control said and pointed  Apollo to sit at a table with people who were more than likely the unfortunate spouses and significant others who had been dragged to support the competitors.  

Apollo stood before the table looking bewildered looking between the stage and the new group of “friends for the evening”.

“First time?” a woman with several empty glasses in front of her. 

Apollo nodded.

“Let me guess,” another man, Apollo vaguely recognized from a celebrity rag sheet slurred, “he didn’t tell you until you were inside what this is?”

“Pretty much.”

The woman patted the spot beside her, “Come here and drink with us dear, you’re in for a long night. Your boyfriend is favored to win.”

So Apollo sat and found two more drinks set in front of him, “So how much do I have to drink to not have second-hand embarrassment.”

“A lot…just smile and maybe you’ll be cheerfully supportive by the time the costume round starts.”

“C-costume Round?!?”

“Yup, that’s house they get performance points on top of their technical points… so we don’t end up with ties…and stay here longer than needed.”

“There are points?!”

The lights dimmed and a hush went over the crowd as the first competitors took the stage.  Strains of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” struck up as the competitors began to guitar “duel”.

It was interesting he had to admit and the competitors seemed to be into their imaginary guitar battle…some of them definitely had the flare to make Apollo forget that they didn’t have actual instruments in their hands.  

But then his mind kept circling back to the point that at some point, Klavier was going to be on stage and he was going to have to be his Klavier’s supportive and loving boyfriend throughout this silly thing.

“Another sir?” A waiter asked offering a tray filled with several sugary cocktails, 

Apollo took one, “Yes, please.  I am still too sober for this-”

The waiter smiled and Apollo almost missed the, “you’re not the first to say that, sir” as the man walked away.

And so Apollo settled back to witness his very glimmerous boyfriend wow a crowd of Hollywood elites, with nothing but attitude, stage presence, and a guitar made of air.

When Klavier eventually took the stage in a dazzling purple sequined number, he was greeted with the cheers and applause as per usual whenever he was on a stage. However, the drunkenly enthusiastic shout of

“KNOCK THEM DEAD! GO ROCKSTAR BOYFRIEND!” 

was enough to spur Klavier to a certain and decisive victory.

[tisfan]

Two Ways to Make a Distraction

There were two ways, as women, to make a distraction, if they needed one. To get into a catfight, or to kiss.

For @captainskyson

Also on A03

Agent May sighed. She was an experienced agent, she had decades of training, both in martial combat and various insertion techniques. Dressing up to go to a party, having a pretend date, using their cover to make their way into various upper echelon businesses, the movers and shakers, get in, get the goods, get out. All that was easy, it was simple, she could do it in her sleep.

She knew how to dance, how to make small talk, how to sound like she was either smart, or stupid, whatever the role called for. She didn’t do stupid quite as well as she did smart, because men expected a stupid girl to also be smiling and charming, which really wasn’t her. Like ever.

But May knew what she was doing. She pulled on her uniform. Even if it was a glitzy dress that showed off her back practically down to her ass-crack, and who the fuck designed these things anyway? Dresses to be worn without bras, except that you couldn’t really go without a bra, unless you had like zero gravity boobs.

Absently, she wondered if that was a project she could interest Pepper Potts in; adapting some of Stark’s nano-tech for a comfortable, changeable, adaptable bra that actually functioned.

She was fine.

She wasn’t a bit nervous.

Even if she was having to play the role of Laura Liu, a supposed hotel heiress from China. Along with her American girlfriend.

“What the hell, Daisy, you couldn’t get Coulson in?”

“I’m working with what I have, and Coulson’s face is on every wanted poster in the world. Talk about FBI’s most wanted.”

“And mine isn’t?”

“If you smile, no one will recognize you,” Daisy said, and then ducked, instinctively.

They were the distraction, mostly to be on-hand while Daisy hacked into the system and got what they needed. To make an exit, if that was required. To be muscle, if things went completely down the tubes.

So, she was going with Agent Piper as her date. Which was fine, it was great, Piper was a good agent.

It certainly didn’t hurt that Piper was adorable, and even when she was fully confident, she did the nervous giggle, the shy smile, and it seemed like the woman could blush on command, all things that May did not do. So, Piper would probably smooth the way for them, like champagne. Those tickly little bubbles.

The fact that May couldn’t stop thinking about Piper wasn’t… anyone’s problem except her own. There were two ways, as women, to make a distraction, if they needed one. To get into a catfight, or to kiss.

May mashed her lips together a little harder than usual after putting on lipstick.

She would really much rather be attending with Coulson. She and Phil got along, they had enough we didn’t have sex and maybe we should havetension going to pull off a fake relationship without being awkward about it.

“You look great,” Piper said, as May got into the limo. Daisy and Fitz would follow along behind, keeping eyes and ears out.

“You… look fine.” May said. It wasn’t that Piper looked bad or anything. She looked lovely, her short hair sculpted into cute waves. She wore a men’s style jacket, with some alterations, like, the pants were tight around the ankle, loose in the thighs, and slit all the way up the sides so calves and knees and those thighs were all on display. And she wasn’t wearing a shirt under that jacket, just a black stylized lace and leather bra. She had the jacket closed at the waist, but the rest of her was on complete display.

And she seemed utterly unaware of how attractive she looked, a tantalizing present, just waiting to be unwrapped.

Piper just smiled, and looked out the window, not enjoying the amenities of the limo, or talking, or anything. Like May had offended her.

They approached the venue, and Piper was still not even looking at May, which was never going to work for pulling off the infiltration.

“You do look-- fine,” May said, again, then scooted a little closer, trying to time it just right. The limo pulled into the curve of the drive. “A little too fine.”

“Beg--”

May leaned in, kissed her, full mouth, full enthusiasm, one hand messing up that perfectly sculpted hair in the back, trading lipstick. Piper’s mouth dropped open, in shock or eagerness, May wasn’t sure, but she followed, licking inside Piper’s mouth, tasting her tongue, her teeth, feeling the velvet softness of the inside of her cheek.

Piper’s hand fluttered near May’s elaborate hairstyle for a moment, like a nervous butterfly. She didn’t appear to dare touch May’s hair, and settled for cupping the back of May’s neck, thumb brushing delicately across her cheek, tucking up near her ear.

“Woah,” Piper said, after they broke for air. “What was-- that for?”

Because I wanted to, May thought about saying. “You’re my girlfriend, darling,” she did say, taking another peck just as the driver opened the door. Which meant the people watching from the entryway saw May practically in Piper’s lap, their lips together. Piper’s hair messy and needing a quick finger combing to get it back into place. May applied her lipstick again before getting out of the limo, loftily ignoring the few catcalls and whistles and commentary.

Piper was almost stumbling by the time May took her arm, patted her wrist fondly. “Come along, dear,” she said, not looking around. Piper’s eyes were wide with shock, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and her mouth plump from being kissed.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Piper hissed, the sound barely reaching May’s ears.

“I never kiss someone accidentally,” May replied. “Do stop looking so adorable, or I might find a private corner and do it again.”

“I can’t decide now if I should be more adorable, or less,” Piper said.

“No hurry,” May said. “We’ve got all night, and there are quite a few private corners around here.”

“I can’t even tell if you’re flirting, or putting on a good show,” Daisy said in May’s earbud.

“Yeah, she’s not the only one,” Piper said, leading the way to the champagne fountain, snitching a dainty plate of hors d’oeuvres to share.

Or, at least, she would be sharing. May grabbed a glass of champagne and offered it to Piper. Watched as Piper swallowed. Turned the glass in her hand and put her mouth right over the lipstick mark to drain the rest of the bubbly.

“Oh,” Piper said, soft, her eyes flickering between the glass and the overlapping lipstick prints, and then up to May’s eyes.

“Find a corner,” May suggested.

“Should I remind you that you’re on a mission?”

“No,” May and Piper said, together.

There was plenty of time; they had all night to be there, while Daisy did her thing. First, May decided, they were going to establish their bona fides. And then they were going to be distracting.

And maybe, it didn’t have to be for the mission.

[notbecauseofvictories]

anything about thor that the newest movie may have ignited in you

It takes the combined strength of Thor, Loki, and Valkyrie to drag Hela onto the Grandmaster’s ship, though Loki gets a split lip for his trouble and Hela’s nails leave deep gouges in the leather of Thor’s vambraces. They barely have time to close the enormous bay doors before she manages to claw herself free, and hurls herself at the walls, howling. 

The steel groans under the assault. 

Valkyrie’s gaze lingers on the dents left by Hela’s increasingly desperate thrashing. When she glances at Thor, her eyebrows are raised.

“I agree,“ Loki grits out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. When he grins, there’s blood between his teeth. “What now, brother? I’ve never been on this side of the…misguided redemption effort.“

They all flinch away when Hela lets out an unearthly, undulating cry that eats up all the air in the room and rings the of the walls like the rattling of spears. It gouges its way through their skulls, and even Valkyrie turns away, her jaw tight.

(Thor is half-blind and still shedding sparks and yet a nameless grief wells up inside him, something ancient, vast and ugly—an agony that begins in blood and ends with it and comes to sorrow in between. It makes him think of the pulsing murals of Hela and Odin, ringed with red and worlds beneath the heels of Sleipnir. It makes him think of his father, gold dust on the wind over the sea. It makes him think of a song he might have heard once, long ago—)

The sound of it goes on forever, or seems to. It is an eternity later when Hela collapses to her hands and knees, keening softly. After a moment, Thor dares approach her—sidelong, giving her room to move away, if…But she allows herself to be led away to a makeshift cell, expressionless and still trembling.

“I need a drink,” Valkyrie says afterwards, glaring at a point over Thor’s shoulder. There’s something in her expression that kills any protest he might have made; Thor nods and steps aside.

Loki has already disappeared. Thor would not hazard a guess to where.

Later, Thor will look out at where the burning ashes of Asgard hang amid the stars. He almost doesn’t notice when Heimdall comes to stand beside him—he’s got a blind side now, he’ll have to start taking that into account. Still, suddenly there is a warmth at his shoulder and the deck feels more solid beneath his feet, and Thor smiles. 

“Asgard lives in her people, right?” Thor says, and Heimdall hums a thoughtful noise 

“As you say, my king.”

But Asgard was also somewhere just…there, where a constellation of stars that was once Thor’s home is burning out. He will never again walk the halls Frigga walked, or sit on the throne Odin built. He’ll never run through the corridors after Loki, or spar with the Warriors Three and Sif in the courtyard. Asgard is its people and he is Odin’s heir by right, but—

“It has been an age since Odin’s songs were sung,” Heimdall says suddenly, and Thor shudders back to himself. Heimdall is still staring out the vast window, expressionless. “I did not know he’d passed on those secrets to another.”

“What?”

“Your sister,” Heimdall says. At Thor’s blank look, he smiles slightly. “You were there. As Asgard died, she—”

“Do you mean the screaming? That was not like any song I’ve heard.”

Heimdall says nothing for too long; long enough that Thor shifts to look at him fully. The corner of his mouth quirks upward, but there’s no humor to it. “Asgard was once a very different place, my king. We sang different kinds of songs.”

Thor huffs, turning back to the window. “It was horrible.”

“Yes,” Heimdall says easily. “It was.”

Thor casts one last, longing look at the place where Asgard hung amid the stars, then turns to walk back to the bowels of the ship. He vaguely thinks of trying to find the Hulk—the Big Guy had disappeared during boarding, sneering at Hela before lumbering off into the depths of the Grandmaster’s ship. A thought occurs to him, and he turns back. 

Heimdall is outlined by fire and stars, and for the first time it strikes Thor that Heimdall said we, said we sang different songs. “She sang as Asgard died?” Thor asks quietly. There were no windows in the loading bay, how could she have known—

“Good night to you, my king,” Heimdall says. He does not turn from the window, and after a moment, Thor goes.

.

.

It takes sixteen days—more or less, the Grandmaster’s ship doesn’t seem to be programmed with any particular diurnal cycle—for the ashes of Asgard to burn themselves out. Or at least, to slip from the sight of any but Heimdall. (Space is vast and black, either way.)

Hela goes from keening to silence deep as the grave. She lies on her back on the bunk in the makeshift cell they have arranged for her; her eyes do not open, and if Thor did not come and watch closely for the rise and fall of her chest, he would think her dead.

“There was a story, my father told me once,” Thor says, squinting down at the glass full of purple liquid. The Grandmaster’s ship is not equipped to transport a nation away from its dead planet, not really, but where rations are scarce and the Asgardians are running the life support systems ragged, the alcohol store is excellent. “It was about a king of Alfheim, with three sons. How—”

“She slaughtered all my sisters, Thundergod,” Valkyrie says stiffly. “I don’t want to hear this story.” 

The hardness of Valkyrie’s expression does not hide how wounded her eyes can be. At least, not as well as she seems to think. 

(She has a bruise on her shoulder she’s also hiding badly, but that is not worth discussion—if anything, Thor has been grateful for her sparring matches with the Hulk. His people gather to watch them, and marvel at the strength and courage of the Last Valkyrie, even if there’s more showmanship than actual violence.

Once, though, he wandered into the great chamber to find the Valkyrie conducting combat lessons, correcting clumsy grips and awkward stances with sure hands and the occasional caustic aside. She’d met his gaze over the heads of the crowd and rolled her eyes, but Thor had seen the light she carried with her, after.)

“it was a good story,” Thor mutters, but he lets the matter drop.

.

.

Loki comes and watches Hela, sometimes. Not to—he’s woven half a dozen charms around the doorway, into the walls. No one will disturb her here, and no one with violent intent can cross the threshold. He’s not sure if the holding charms are enough to keep her contained, but they’ll slow her down if she does decide to try escaping.

Still. He comes, and keeps watch over her. Cloaks himself in illusion and simply stands, following the rise and fall of her breathing. (They have the same nose, almost the same brow. Loki wonders if that’s—he’s never been sure how much of his appearance is the Aesir disguise Odin wove for him, and now, watching her, he wonders if—)

Once, her mouth opens and she exhales, licks her lips.

“I know you’re there, little Odinson,” she says in a rasping voice. Her eyes do not open, but the corner of her lips quirks upwards. 

Loki turns on his heel, and flees.

.

.

The story goes: there was a King of Alfheim, and he was dying. 

Because he was dying, he summoned his three sons before him, and said, to each of you, I will give a share of what is mine. Ask for what you will of me.

Father, the eldest said, for he was warlike and strong, and thought most of the throne and the power he would wield from it. Father, I have bled for you and for Alfheim, leading your armies into battle. None of my brothers love our land and the glory of our dead as I do. Give to me your spear, so I may raise it as your firstborn, and truest heir.

(The King grieved to know this was true, for he had shaped his firstborn into a weapon with his own hands and loved him, even if it was meted with shame. The King had been called shield-shaker and bale-worker, king of the gallows and caller of ravens—how could he not love his son, conceived in blood?)

Father, the youngest said next, for he was full of terrible ambition and craving for glory, and believed his father’s crown the shortest distance to sating that hunger. Father, I am the cleverest and most subtle of my brothers, no less your heir for choosing the winding path of cunning. Grant to me your seat at the feast-table, where I might charm and flatter and bring Alfheim to new glory with riches and song.

(The King had not felt regret, though he knew his youngest son would bring his own share of grief to him. But even now the King was called Swift-in-Deceit, and Riddler, Maddener—his youngest son was not the first starving wolf welcomed into the court, and the King loved him for his hunger.)

Father…the second son said, though until now he had been silent. He too was a warlike creature, seeking glory from battles fought and won, but there was a streak of—something else in him, an undimmed brightness that the King could not find in himself. (The King loved him best for this, though he tried vainly to hide it from his other children.)

The second son looked upon his father, who was dying, and said: I want the sky.

And because the King loved his sons, and they had all spoken truly, he gave to each of them as they asked. The eldest son became keeper of the glorious dead and as long as he stood in Alfheim, none could defeat him. The youngest son was given the crown for a time, though in the end it was his hunger that swallowed Alfheim and brought it almost to ruin.

And the second son inherited the whole of the sky.

(”You’re not very subtle, O Wise One,” Frigga informed Odin after the telling was done, not looking up from her distaff. The seiðr shone as she worked it through her fingers, and Odin smiled, to look upon her weaving songs instead of dirges.

“It is only a story, my queen,” he said, and kissed her hair.)

.

.

“What do you plan to do with her?” Heimdall asks. “If she is loosed on Midgard, I fear it will not end well. For any involved.”

There’s no need to clarify who he means. Hela is the only ‘her’ aboard the Grandmaster’s ship, the only name no one seems to have the courage to say aloud. Thor knows some of the people have started calling her ‘Elder Sister’ out of sheer terror, as though her name will summon her—

(She isn’t much of an enemy of Asgard now, paler by the day and curled up on her side beneath a thin blanket, unmoving as a statute except for the breathing.)

“She is my sister, Heimdall,” Thor says. His voice sounds tight and unhappy even to his own ears, though he had been trying for kingly admonishment. She is his sister, he has a duty. He’s had a brother and a duty for so many years now it’s second nature, like breathing—he forgets sometimes, that it’s not, for anyone else.

“Yes, I know,” Heimdall says. His mouth thins. “That’s my concern.”

.

.

Loki is hard to find, these days, but Thor generally starts where people aren’t, and works backwards.

Nevertheless, Thor is surprised to find him on one of the lower levels, crouched at the center of the floor in an enormous storage room. Loki startles when Thor clears his throat, almost losing his balance. Thor grins, and lowers himself to sit a distance away, careful not to smudge—whatever it is Loki’s drawing in white chalk. It looks like some of the designs their mother used to embroider, all interlocking knots and unraveling spirals, trees and snakes and birds in flight.

The floor on this level is cold, too close to the outer hull, and Thor says as much. If only to break the silence. 

Loki’s smile is not a smile at all. “I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

Thor huffs. “Your fingers are practically blue.”

Loki does look up at that, fixing Thor with a pointed look. “Oh,” Thor says, wincing. “Oh, right. Does it…always do that?”

“Only if I’m not concentrating,” Loki mutters, and returns to his chalk drawings.

Thor watches him, settling back on his hands. Loki has chalk in his hair, and hums as he works; it’s a horrible, somehow-familiar melody that makes Thor’s skin crawl. “What is it you’re doing, anyway?”

“Our sister’s song,” Loki sighs, rising to his feet. He has chalk streaked across his knees, down one sleeve. “The one she…when we first brought her aboard. I’ve been working on the infernal thing for weeks, I can’t figure out…”

“Heimdall said it was Odin’s,” Thor offers, and Loki’s gaze suddenly snaps to him.

“What.”

Thor shrugs. “He said it had been ‘eons since anyone sang Odin’s songs,’ or something like that. Our father must have passed it on.”

Loki’s expression goes blank, and his gaze drops from Thor to the whorls of white chalk spread across the cold steel. He stands very still for such a long time that Thor clears his throat again. “Loki…?”

“Fuck our father,” Loki snarls with a naked viciousness. He walks back across the maze of white chalk dragging his feet, and leaving skid marks through the lines and cutting one chalk horse’s head off with a swipe his heel. It hurts Thor’s eyes to look at the design that way, all those gaping holes. Like knife wounds, slashes in a tapestry.

Loki marches past Thor without stopping. He has chalk streaked down his backside too.

Thor sighs. The sound reverberates in the empty storage room. “Good talk.”

.

.

“I can feel you lurking, little Odinson,” Hela says, though she does not raise her head or open her eyes. She’s pale, softer-looking—some of her armor has melted away, and the kohl around her eyes is smeared. There is a shadowed gauntness to her face that is worse, somehow, than the bloodlust and madness had been.

Loki shivers into being from nowhere. “I keep watch over you, Odinsdottir.”

“Hah,” Hela scoffs. She has their mother’s mouth, Loki thinks with a jolt, even though it looks strange set in beneath their father’s eyes. It makes him curiously bitter, knowing that—

“What, no rejoinder?” Hela asks, and he realizes too late that she has opened her eyes, and is staring at him from across the room. She does have Odin’s eyes; pale and blue as ice, searching as a Norn’s. It plucks on the vicious tangle of longing and hate in Loki’s chest. (It had been seven days and the sjaund had been drunk—well, it had been something golden and stickily alcoholic from the Grandmaster’s private reserve, but Loki had drunk it, so surely that was the same thing—and what did Loki Odinson have to inherit from his father?)

“He taught you the nine songs,” Loki says. It comes out bitter and accusatory, and he feels his neck grow hot when Hela laughs.

“The songs I know, king’s wives know not,” she sing-songs, enough music in it for Loki to feel the seiðr prickle across his skin. She laughs again, and the sound is worse, hollow. “While your power stinks of our mother. How nice, for Odin and Frigga to each fashion their own weapons.”

“Much good it did you, elder sister.”

Her face doesn’t fall, but it stumbles before smoothing out again. “What good has it done you, little brother?”

He—

He could hurt her. It might not even be difficult—she is pale and sick from going so long without food, and he can feel how weak her seiðr is without Asgard to anchor and feed it. He could unmake her, bury her under the earth or in the void, or unwrite her very existence. He could choke her with his hands, as his fingers itch to. She might even thank him, to be saved from her long, slow slide into nothingness.

(Loki had begged Odin to teach him the nine great songs that built Asgard; had thrown himself at his father’s feet and crawled on his knees and—They are not your inheritance, Odin had said, not unkindly. I intend them for another.

Loki had gone away and nursed his bitterness alone, for it seemed wasteful to spend such seiðr on Thor, who would not appreciate its intricacy nor its power.)

“If you intend to murder me, you will have to explain it to our brother, after,” Hela says, and Loki stiffens. At his look, she laughs again. “Oh, don’t be so offended. Odin looked exactly the same contemplating my death—you’re not special.”

“Thor would understand the necessity.”

Hela looks at Loki overlong, and Loki struggles to keep his expression still. “Would he, though?” she finally asks. “I admit our brother is still a stranger to me, but he does not strike me as a man who knows how to choose necessity over misplaced compassion. Particularly when it comes to his blood.”

Loki doesn’t have any answer to that.

“You could talk to him,” Loki finds himself saying, and even Hela looks surprised at it. “He worries.”

Hela looks away, and Loki almost misses her mutter, “He got that from mother,” under her breath. For some reason, it strikes Loki as impossibly funny.

She actually lifts her head when Loki laughs. Mostly to stare.

“He did,” Loki chuckles, unable to help it. The thought of Frigga’s inheritance is too wonderful and terrible to bear without laughing at it. Hela props herself up on her elbows, and Loki beams. “When we were very young, Odin used to call him Frigga’s second-best girdle, because he was always hanging off her waist. I haven’t thought about that in decades.”

Hela snorts, and then looks annoyed at herself for it. “I’m surprised you haven’t thought about it,” she says mildly. “His look of patient and loving disappointment is a mirror-image of hers. As much as your murderous look is Odin’s. Every time he gazes at me I feel the inexplicable need to apologize for getting blood on the weaving…”

Loki hums, oddly pleased by the comparison. Something to inherit from his father after all. “I cannot begin to count how many times he ran to her, crying over some harmless illusion or light stabbing—”

“As thought it were my fault every time I touched the threads they tore, or rotted under my fingers—”

“Oh, the wailing and tears, you’d think I’d run him through with Gungnir just because I’d ruined his favorite tunic—”

“Was it any wonder I preferred father’s songs, you can’t tear or get mud on a song—”

The silence that falls in the wake of this pronouncement is awkward, thick as snow and deafening. Loki cannot help watch Hela’s face, as her expression flickers from uncertain and then to stony stillness again. He turns away, before she can find him looking.

.

.

“Our sister says you remind her of mother,” Loki informs Thor cheerfully. He’s whistling the ugly song again, and Thor rolls his eyes as Loki breezes past.

It takes Thor a beat more, and then his head jerks up from the map he had been studying.

“Wait, what?”

.

.

Hela is sitting cross-legged on the pallet, when next Thor goes to her. She is still pale, but she looks up at his approach and arches an eyebrow. (She’s so like Loki in her mannerisms, which should be more than impossible. Thor suddenly wonders what father was like, when he was young.)

“Lightning-bringer,” Hela says coolly.

“Odinsdottir. You look—well.”

“I do not, but it’s good to see our mother taught you manners.”

Thor does not pretend the mention of Frigga does not pain him. Though his father’s death is fresher, that is a deeper wound. “I bring Asgard’s best wishes for your swift healing, Hela.”

“Well, now you’re just lying,” Hela scoffs, and even her smile is Loki’s, like a wolf baring her teeth.

“No, you’re right, everybody hates you,” Thor says, and Hela’s smile widens. “But I’m glad you’re…recovering.”

She snorts. “Yes, recovering. With Asgard gone, you and your brother would have little trouble restraining me now.”

“We would like not to have to, going forward.”

Hela’s gaze turns thoughtful. “You set a dangerous precedent, Odinson. Keeping one mad kinsman close to you is an indulgence, but two is a worrying trend.”

Thor is suddenly very tired. “You’re not mad, sister. A little unstable, maybe, but so is Loki and he’s only—” Thor doesn’t know how to finish that sentence well, in a way that won’t involve tolling the deaths Loki has to his name. He’s only slaughtered one of the nine realms and led attacks on two others, does not seem a persuasive argument.

Hela is looking at him with amusement. “How clarifying.”

Thor sighs. “Do you want to come drink the funeral mead or not?”

Something softens in her expression. “It has been more than seven days,” she says, unfolding her legs and coming to the edge of the bunk. Hela, Goddess of Death, rises to her feet uncertainly, and Thor moves closer out of instinct—he does not touch her, would not dare, but he is within reach if she needs a steadying hand.

She very briefly clutches at his wrist, her knuckles white, and then her touch is gone again

“I know,” Thor says lamely and too loud, when he realizes how thick the silence has become. “Heimdall’s already made that point, often. But we were very busy, with the whole—saving Asgard from yours and Sutur’s wrath thing. Didn’t get a chance to do it properly.”

Everyone is still there where Thor left them, when he went to fetch Hela. Valkyrie falls silent in the middle of a loud insult of Loki’s prowess on the battlefield, and Loki turns—

Heimdall had wanted the people of Asgard there, to witness the oaths given and the drinking of the mead. To use the sjaund to cement in the peoples’ minds that Thor was Odin’s successor, rightfully claiming his inheritance upon his father’s death. In a rare moment of consensus, Loki had agreed—had offered to stand beside Thor and drink only water, so that none would mistake who was King of Asgard.

Thor had refused, and invited only Heimdall and Valkyrie as witnesses.

Loki crosses the room, and stops just short of Hela. “Elder sister,” he says, and Hela smiles in a mirror-image of Loki’s own.

“Little brother,” she answers. “Shall we get this overwith, then?”

Valkyrie comes to the edge of the makeshift feast table—Thor thinks it was likely something else, under the Grandmaster’s ownership, but he scrubbed it clean and covered it with a length of silk, so hopefully that is sufficient.With the scrape of metal upon metal, Valkyrie draws her sword. Dragonfang gleams, unearthly, in the low light of the room. 

She takes up her guard, and looks to Thor. Nods.

“This is not how this should be done,” Heimdall says lowly. As though they are not just a few, all gathered around this not-quite-a-table—as though the others cannot hear.

“This is how I want it to be done,” Thor says. It is not mead in he goblet, but he tried to select something that tasted similar from the Grandmaster’s stores. It shines, a dull amber in the light.

Heimdall sighs. “Very well, my king.”

Thor picks up the cup, holds it out. After a moment, Loki’s hand curves over his. Hela’s touch is next and cool, hesitant. Her expression is difficult to read.

They all three of them have a slight curve to their first finger. Thor would not have noticed that, if it weren’t for their three hands, half-entwined the goblet.

If they were in Asgard, Thor thinks, there would have been songs. Great sagas of Odin’s bravery and strength recited to the accompaniment of drums and flutes. Thor would have presided, and all of the court would have drunk the finest mead, dined on roast beast and honey. And when the time came, Thor would have led the procession to the highest balcony, where he would have drunk Frigg’s mead from the bowl smithed by the Sons of Ivaldi. He would have drunk until he was full with it, and then his father would be free of all the duties that had burdened him in life, and come to rest in Valhalla as he deserved.

Instead, Thor is in a cold and empty storeroom in the belly of ship, drinking sickly-sweet alcohol from a copper cup. His siblings—both of whom have tried to kill him, now—watch him warily.

He is not sure whether it’s wrong to be glad of it.

“To Odin Allfather,” Heimdall intones. Loki is very pale, his mouth a thinned line, and Hela’s hand trembles where it holds the cup. “May we meet you again in the halls of Valhalla.”

“May we meet again, in Valhalla,” Thor murmurs. When he lifts the goblet to his lips, he can feel Loki’s hand against his chin, and Hela’s nails scrape his cheek.

They pass the cup between them, until it is empty.

[livingcorner]

42 Furniture and Fixtures in Your Kitchen + Amazing Kitchen Home Tours – Toot Sweet 4 Two

42 Furniture and Fixtures in Your Kitchen – is that even possible? After all, when you exclude all the things in the kitchen’s cabinets and drawers, such as kitchen utensils, tools, gadgets, cooking implements, supplies, equipment, accessories, pantry food, refrigerated food, etc., what’s left? Just a table, a few chairs, maybe a hanging light, and some decorations, right?

You're reading: 42 Furniture and Fixtures in Your Kitchen + Amazing Kitchen Home Tours – Toot Sweet 4 Two

Well, let’s look at the picture above of a beautiful white kitchen in a smaller L-shaped kitchen space.

Furniture and Fixtures in This Space

In that picture, this is what you see from left to right:

Kitchen chairs (similar but two different kinds; did you catch that?)

Kitchen table

Placemats

Dinner plates

Salt and pepper shaker

Vase with flowers

Three overhead hanging lights

White ceramic vase to the left of the sink

Window shades

Glass jar with kitchen tools to the right of the sink

Basket with different dried bouquets

Several canisters with dried pasta

Two hanging ledges/shelves

Wooden vase with eucalyptus leaves (top shelf)

Another basket with pinecones (top shelf)

Two more glass canisters (top shelf)

Three gray glass bottles (bottom shelf)

Two separate plants in two separate pots (bottom shelf)

Two small carafes – maybe oil & vinegar? (bottom shelf)

Stove/Oven

Range hood

Two wooden chopping boards

Two more glass canisters

Refrigerator

What you don’t see, but still in this kitchen area, are:

Drapes (they are off to the left; I cropped them out of this photo)

Hardware for the drapery and window shades

Light bulbs

And that’s just in this small kitchen!   27 things just in that one small area!

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This post is one of 55 lists of 42 household items in this series.  This endless, unremitting, ongoing series…

Let’s back up a minute…

If you are new to this blog, welcome!  I create lists of 42 for home inventory purposes.  I started this series of household inventory lists several years ago because I’d been working on my own personal household inventory list.  You see, I have a vested interest in knowing what is in our home, and documenting it, so that should an emergency occur again, we are not left relying on memory.

If you are a new reader to this blog, we lost our home in the 2007 Southern California wildfire known as the Witch Fire and we were sorely unprepared for the recovery process.  Since I’m doing this for myself, I decided to share on my blog so that if readers want to do the same, they have some basic tools with which to start!

Here’s another photo of this beautiful kitchen so that you can see the drapes and the amazing vaulted ceiling!  From this vantage point, this kitchen area isn’t small after all; it’s just limited on counter space and kitchen amenities.

Getting back to this list of 42…

This list of 42 furniture and fixtures in your kitchen is meant to include items that are moveable in your kitchen, i.e., not permanently attached to your home.  For example, kitchen cabinets are attached to your walls, but a free-standing kitchen hutch or buffet it not.  Why am I sharing this distinction with you?  If you are, indeed, creating a list of personal property for your homeowner’s insurance company for a loss you have suffered, items that are permanently attached to your home are usually covered under the “dwelling” portion of your policy.

Read more: What is the origin and meaning of the phrase “all day” when used in a commercial kitchen?

So, in the case of this beautiful white kitchen that I’m using as an example, the sink, oven/stove, range hood, and flooring would all be considered part of the “dwelling,” so you wouldn’t include them on your list of personal property.  But, always be sure to talk directly to your assigned insurance claims adjuster just to clarify these distinctions.

Discloser:  This post contains affiliate links for your convenience.  Click here to read my full disclosure policy.

Here’s more kitchen furniture and fixtures inspo for you… the photo above is a different beautiful white kitchen!  This one has more of an industrial vibe with a large center workspace island made of wood and steel and vintage-inspired industrial bar stools.  What a great space!

Are you working on your own home inventory project, whether for personal use or as the result of a homeowner’s insurance claim?  If you are struggling with this endless project (it took me 9 months of working nights and weekends to create our personal property inventory), I’ve created a tool to help you see it through.  The Complete Book of Lists: Room-by-Room Checklists for Your Household Inventory Project combines the 55 lists on this blog plus 20 new lists and rolls them up into one eBook with 75 different home inventory checklists – all for the low price of $9.99!

Check out the complete book!

Here’s a great panorama view of a different loft kitchen.  This one is both black and white with lots of cool industrial details, including similar vintage-inspired rustic kitchen stools, that make this kitchen a standout!  I guess I’m attracted to these loft-type spaces.  In my mind, that’s been a dream of mine – to live downtown in a loft apartment with an amazing view.

Wait…I’ve already been there, done part of that!  I did live downtown in an apartment with an amazing view!  It just wasn’t a loft.  And I’ll let you in on a little secret…living downtown in a busy city, even in a high rise building, can be very noisy!

We lived there for 13 months while we rebuilt our home after the wildfire.  While our apartment, located on the 8th floor of a 9-story building, had an amazing view of San Diego Bay and the city to the west, it was incredibly noisy.  Sirens going by day and night!  There was a hospital located about a mile from us and all I can assume is that more than half of those sirens were ambulances heading towards the hospital.  When you romanticize about living is a great downtown space, that’s one of the things you don’t think about – noise.

This beautiful country farmhouse kitchen features a rustic kitchen island that’s the definition of a working table and an equally rustic hanging pot rack.  There’s even a vintage radio next to the sleeping kitty.  Full of country charm with light streaming through the windows, who wouldn’t want to wake up and watch the sunrise in this charming kitchen?

One more panorama photo of another beautiful industrial-style kitchen space to inspire you before we move on to the list of 42, this one with a cool brick wall.  These rustic bar stools are sure popular, aren’t they?  By the way, in the kitchen space above, the kitchen island is not permanently attached to the floor (see the “crawl” space?).  This leads me to  believe this particular kitchen island would not be part of the “dwelling,” but rather “personal property.”

42 Furniture and Fixtures in Your Kitchen

Your kitchen isn’t just about what you can stuff into your cabinets, drawers, and pantry, but also includes the furniture, fixtures, decorations, dinnerware, and other tools of the trade needed to make the most used room in your home an enjoyable retreat.  Check out this list of 42 Furniture and Fixtures in Your Kitchen to make sure that nothing is forgotten!

Kitchen table

Kitchen chairs

Area rugs

Draperies, rods, brackets, valances, curtains, shutters

Blinds or window shades

Lighting – overhead, lamps, sconces and light bulbs

Kitchen hutch, kitchen buffet

Kitchen bar stools, counter stools

Stepstool

Bench or benches

Decorative knick-knacks

Pictures, prints, photos, posters & frames

Plants and plant containers

Hanging pot rack

Refrigerator, freezer

Microwave, microwave cart/stand

Stove and/or cooktop

Oven – single or double

Range hood

Dinner plates, salad plates, dessert plates

Pasta bowls, cereal bowls, fruit bowls, dessert bowls

Cookbooks

Bookends, cookbook holder

Bookshelves, ledges

Water glasses,  tumblers, juice glasses

Cups and saucers, mugs, travel mugs

Wine goblets, champagne flutes, cocktail glasses

Dessert, parfait, mini glasses

Flatware set; butter knives

Serving spoons, serving forks, gravy ladles

Ice tea spoons, mini spoons & forks

Candles and candleholders

Vases

Lazy Susan

Chalkboard, chalk, clipboard, pens

Grocery bags and totes

Serving bowls and platters

Baskets and trays

Pitchers, carafes, decanters

Gravy boat, candy/nut dishes

Canisters

Free-standing kitchen island, kitchen island cart

Whew!  Did I leave anything out?  Let me know – I’ll add it to a future list!

What furniture do you need in your kitchen?

So, what furniture do you need in your kitchen?  Obviously, answering that question starts with evaluating your space.  Depending on the size of your space, the actual “furniture” in the space is contingent upon your available space.   I’m linking to a couple of decor bloggers for some great kitchen decoration and decor inspiration.

The above photo is of Karianne’s gorgeous farmhouse-style kitchen at Thistlewood Farms.  The actual furniture in this kitchen space includes the two kitchen counter stools, a freestanding kitchen island, and a kitchen hutch to the right displaying all her dishes.  What you can barely see peeking over the end of the other counter are four more white counter stools.

And her kitchen fixtures include that gorgeous chandelier, a beautiful range hood, rug, and other things you can’t see off camera range.  Karianne’s home is stunning – I encourage you to visit her beautiful blog for more design and decor inspiration!

The side-by-side photos above are of Taryn Whiteaker’s contemporary kitchen from her blog by the same name.  The actual furniture pieces in her beautiful kitchen are the “live-edge table,” kitchen chairs, kitchen counter chairs, area rug, and two amazing industrial-style open shelves.

That live-edge table truly elevates the space to fine kitchen dining, doesn’t it?  The kitchen fixtures that we can see in these photos include the great lights she’s selected hanging over the kitchen island and above the open shelves.  Be sure to visit Taryn’s blog for more great decor ideas and lots of beautiful tablescapes!

This amazing French country kitchen belongs to Karen at Sanctuary Home Decor.  Even though the only actual “furniture” pieces in this space are the kitchen counter stools, I had to share this gorgeous kitchen with readers!  Isn’t that range hood amazing?  And the beams in her kitchen…no words!  Karen has two homes; be sure to stop by her blog to see even more amazingly beautiful home decor.

This beautiful white modern transitional kitchen space belongs to Tana at Your Marketing BFF.  In this photo, you’ll notice the following pieces of kitchen furniture:  chairs, kitchen table, bench, kitchen counter stools, and hanging lights. Did I mention that Tana is my website’s designer?  We met many years ago at a blogging conference and became fast friends.  Not only is she an amazing website designer, but she’s a great teacher about all things blog.  Be sure to visit her site not only for decor inspiration but for help with all your blogging questions, too.

Read more: The Best Way to Clean Every Type of Kitchen Flooring

And Randi’s kitchen from her blog, Randi Garrett Design, is the ultimate in feminine glam!  Gold lighting fixtures, gold drawer and cabinet pulls, gold faucet on the sink, and gold controls on the stove, elevate her kitchen to rock star status!  Check out her blog for gorgeous design inspiration not only for the kitchen but for the rest of the house, too.  Oh, by the way, her site, too, was designed by Tana at Your Marketing BFF!

Last on the kitchen home tour is a beachy vibe with a modern twist.  This colorful kitchen breakfast nook started with a modern simple round pedestal table.  Adding the casual wooden wishbone armchairs painted aqua transform this nook to beachy casual and the aqua chevron-striped window shades add to the contemporary look.  The drama is added by hanging two identical paintings sideways, one upside down.

These two paintings flipped sideways are called Delta Dream and were created by my father, Chuck.  He was an Air Force pilot whose hobby was art; he passed away after a long life of creativity in 2013.  I miss him every day but I’m fortunate to be surrounded by his amazing talent displayed in my home.  He created many beautiful works of art throughout his life (both paintings and sculptures) and I’m thrilled to be able to share the paintings with the world.  Reproductions are available on Great Big Canvas.

Will you do me a favor?  Would you share my post on social media?  The pinnable images at the top of this post and the one below are for your Pinterest boards so that you can bookmark this post and come back to it later.  Thanks for sharing!

And don’t forget to sign up to receive my newsletter in your inbox.  As a thank you, I’ll send you a freebie!  Look for the sign-up boxes near the top of this post and again at the bottom of this post.  Thanks so much!

Tootles,

Related Posts from Toot Sweet 4 Two’s Archives:

42 Must-Have Kitchen Utensils

42 Pantry Foods to Stock for Emergencies

42 Things in Your Living Room, Family Room, and/or Great Room

You Might Also Like:

The Forest Modern: Our Chic Black Butler’s Pantry from Shauna at The House of Silver Lining

Kitchen Stalking – The Most Incredible Kitchens Around from Coco at Coco Cozy

Our Best Tips for Styling Open Shelves in the Kitchen from Cathy and Garrett at The Grit and Polish

Clean Your Messy House Like a Total Boss

Ever wondered what’s the best and fastest way to clean a messy house?

These simple, yet actionable tips will refine your routine leaving more time for you!

Sign up today and download your FREE checklist – How to Clean a Messy House Fast Like a Total Boss.

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Kitchen

source https://livingcorner.com.au/42-furniture-and-fixtures-in-your-kitchen-amazing-kitchen-home-tours-toot-sweet-4-two/

[marypsue]

Imbalance, 3 / ?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / ?

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The sun sets over the park.

As the light bleeds out of the sky, it bathes the world in red. The treetops, just beginning to turn, burn brilliant autumn colours in the low light, their shadows lying long and black and unnaturally stretched across the grass, striping it with darkness.

The shadow of the hill enfolds the place where, earlier that day, a man had died.

The sounds of traffic from the streets surrounding the park filter through the trees, but otherwise, the only sound is the soft soughing of the slightest of breezes through the tops of the trees. If you listen too long, it can start to sound like a voice.

In the grass, at the very top of the hill, a purple plastic gem glints in the last glorious rays of sunset. Behind it, in a perfect circle about six inches across, the grass is withered and yellow.

As the sun sinks, the circle of yellowed grass creeps, ever so slowly, almost imperceptibly, outwards. And for a moment, the still air around the hill smells faintly of smoke.

...

Usually, Liliana only lights incense out of habit, or because she likes the smell. Tonight, though, she mumbles a blessing she only remembers half the words to as she lights a stick of Full Moon and then, as an afterthought, every candle she owns. It’s not a small number.

Liliana’s never gone in much for actual witchcraft. Heck, she’s even on the fence about the Goddess the others seem to think is the biggest deal since Simon Cowell. But there’s definitely something in nature that’s more powerful and stranger than anything she can understand, and right now, she’s feeling pretty willing to try anything that might get her on its good side.

The room around her slowly fills with warm light and the soothing, thickly sweet smell of the incense. Liliana can feel the tension starting to bleed out of her shoulders as she sinks onto the couch, tucking her feet up beside her.

“What a fucking day,” she says, to the cat who jumps up beside her. Mavis opens her mouth and yawns agreement, her tiny sharp fangs snapping shut before she butts her head against Liliana’s ankle. Liliana leans over, gives Mavis a scritch behind the ears. “You ever accidentally kill a guy by dropping an el cheapo decorative knife almost on your own foot? Of course you haven’t, you’re a cat. You don’t even have opposable thumbs.”

Mavis prpts in acknowledgment and twists her head into Liliana’s scratching fingers. Across the condo, there’s a series of whines, and then a scrabbling, clicking sound and a thunk as Mookie hurls himself headfirst at the baby gate keeping him locked in the kitchen.

Liliana huffs out half a laugh, pushing herself up off the couch. “All right, all right, little guy,” she says, padding over to the kitchen entryway to give the labradoodle a pat. Mookie nearly loses his mind when he sees her smiling over the gate, barking wildly and then spinning around in smaller and smaller circles until he trips over his own two hind legs and falls over in a heap. He looks up at Liliana, panting happily, and she can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, you’re a good boy,” she says, leaning over to give him a good scratch on the neck. Mookie’s eyes slide closed, his tongue hanging out of his mouth in sheer, canine joy as Liliana ruffles the fur under his collar. “You’re my very best boy. And if I let you in here with the candles you and the condo would both be on fire in a microsecond.”

The hiss starts quiet, almost too quiet for her to notice, but it grows. Liliana turns around, opening her mouth to tell Mavis to wait her turn, she’ll get more ear scritches, but stops.

Mavis’ ears are back, one paw up and batting at the air with a fistful of needle claws, her mouth wide and lips curled back to show off her teeth as she hisses at - nothing. A patch of shadow in the corner, over the shelf with the succulents and Liliana's resin dragon-and-fairy figurine collection (not to be mistaken for the resin fairy figurine collection or the resin dragon figurine collection, which are scattered all around the condo). Where Liliana hadn’t lit any candles.

On an ordinary day, Liliana might chalk it up to Mavis being stir-crazy and try to find her mouse on a string where she’d almost definitely batted it under the couch. Today, though, Liliana takes one look at that patch of darker shadow, and nearly trips over her own feet running over to scoop Mavis up off the couch, ignoring the chunk Mavis takes out of her arm as she backs away towards the kitchen.

“I gotta warn you,” she calls, feeling equal parts ridiculous and terrified, Mavis spitting and squirming in her arms, “I’m a very powerful witch! And I’m not scared to whip up some magic and go all Joaquin on your ass!”

The shadow hangs in the corner, like shadows generally do.

“Shoo!” Liliana shouts. “In the name of the Goddess I banish thee! Scat!”

The shadow doesn’t shift, doesn’t grow lighter, doesn’t actually change at all. But Liliana could swear she hears something, just on the edge of hearing - a soft, resigned sigh, and a dry whispering, like dead leaves rubbing against each other, or fabric rustling.

Mavis chills the fuck out, flopping forward in Liliana’s arms. Behind her, Mookie lets out a confused whine.

Liliana lets out a long breath of her own, finally realising that the warmth on her arm is blood dripping from the checkerboard of scratches Mavis decorated her forearm with.

“Shit,” she mutters, dropping the cat to the floor. Mavis makes a little indignant sound and stalks over to the couch, flopping down right in the middle of it with a little cat huff and a floof of dark fur.

...

Rowan briefly looks up from the Book of Shadows when a shadow flickers across the light from his desk lamp. Seeing nothing that might have cast it, he snaps the book closed and heads over to the kitchen. Moments later, his apartment is filled with the smell of burning sage.

The shadow moves on.

...

Indigo is changing the set for her insulin pump when the kitchen lights all flicker, then dim, like a brownout. She very carefully finishes placing her set on her thigh, tucks the cord under her skirt and up through her waistband, and clips the pump in place onto the skirt's waistband before reaching for the salt shaker sitting on the table beside her.

The lights return to normal. Indigo stands for a moment anyway, with the salt shaker at the ready, before concluding that whatever just happened is over.

Her hands shake only slightly as she grabs her phone.

...

Storm is lying on his bed, blankly rewatching the raw footage for the next video in his most recent Let's Play, when his phone lights up and buzzes itself nearly off the bed beside him, throwing an eerie blue light onto the stippled popcorn ceiling above his head.

For the briefest of instants, a shadowy figure is visible there, haloed in the blue light.

Storm grabs his phone, reads Indigo's warning, and taps out a few characters, a string of emojis that would mean nothing to anyone not already familiar with banishing charms. He fires them back at Indigo.

The bedroom's darkness loses some of its inexplicable menace. The shadow is gone. Storm is, once more, alone.

...

Joaquin's shift ends late. Well, actually, Carlos' shift ends late. But it's Joaquin who's left to lock up the truck and trundle it home in the gathering dark. Which just figures, honestly. That jerk just needs to get a different job if he really hates working at the food truck so much. Or at least start letting Joaquin know ahead of time if he has to skip a shift! Joaquin gets it, shit happens, and honestly he didn't feel much like going to work after this afternoon either, but he's beyond sick of this.

He does kind of get why Carlos keeps coming back to work at the food truck, though. Joaquin'd really have liked to apply for a game design internship this summer, but - it's not like you can just look your dad in the eye and say 'I'm gonna let your dream fall apart so I can go after mine'. Especially not when school's so expensive to start with, and you really need that summer job, and the truck has to be open as many hours as possible to make enough to pay for all the repairs after Joaquin and Taako accidentally blew it up, and...

On the other hand, if their dad ever actually tasted Carlos' cooking, he'd probably kick him out of the truck himself. Joaquin loves his bro, really does, but he's never met anybody else who can make authentic street food that's less appealing than Taco Bell. Maybe if he spent less time showing off and more on the actual food - 

Joaquin shakes his head, and slams the utensil drawer.

The streets are weirdly empty tonight, and the setting sun casts long, creeping shadows from the buildings across the cracked asphalt. The sunset through the haze drips bloody down the tall glass buildings of downtown. Joaquin slides the metal shutter closed over the order window with an uneasy feeling he can’t quite put his finger on. It might just be the changing wind - autumn’s sweeping in with a rattle of dead leaves - but he can’t shake the jittery feeling that he should be preparing for something. That something big’s coming.

He glances back over his shoulder once, as he’s climbing up into the cab, and that’s when he sees it. Stretched out along the middle of the street, stark in the red light, is the shadow of a person.

But there’s no one there to cast it.

Joaquin throws himself into the driver’s seat, and slams the door behind him, breathing hard. He glances back behind him again, but the shadow is gone.

...

Marial shuts down her laptop and blinks in the sudden dark. 

When the afterimages start to clear, she squeezes her eyes shut and flicks on her desk lamp, wincing at the light leaking through her eyelids. She’s really stayed up too late this time, but she managed to hack through a thousand words of essay and she’s actually starting to see the shape of what she’s trying to say, now. 

It’s definitely time for bed, though, or she’s going to be a zombie in the morning. Well, more of a zombie than she already technically is. One day maybe she’ll get tired of making jokes about how she’s (very, very technically) already come back from the dead once, but today is not that day.

...tonight? Does two AM count as day or night, anyway?

Marial sighs, decides she’s given her eyes long enough to adjust to the ambient light, and opens them. 

The dead guy is sitting on her desk.

Marial doesn’t scream. She smacks both hands over her mouth, swallowing down the shriek that threatens to spill out. Everyone else on the floor is asleep - okay, every other sane, organized person on the floor is asleep - and if she screams and wakes them up, she’s not going to have a lot of friends around here. 

By the time she swallows down her shout, though, the dead guy is already gone, the neon of his tracksuit fading into the afterimages still flashing when Marial blinks. Dimly, she thinks she hears a voice, whispery and faint just on the edge of hearing, mutter, “Shit.”

It’s two in the morning and the world doesn’t feel quite real anyway. It’s two in the morning and the poltergeists in those shitty ‘inspired by true events’ movies never vanish and mutter ‘shit’ when the protagonist opens their eyes to see them inches away. It’s two in the morning and nothing makes a lick of goddamn sense and a guy just died in front of her this afternoon for no apparent reason and Marial’s pretty sure she almost died too and why the fuck not.

“Hello?” she asks the empty air above her laptop and a little to the right. “Hey, are you a ghost? Is there some Beetlejuice shit going on up in here?”

The only response is the whirr of her computer’s fan suddenly clicking off, the light that shows it’s charging coming on with a sudden burst of blue.

“Look, this is twice now,” Marial says, sounding bolder than she feels. She pushes her chair out from the desk and stands, slowly, still half-expecting some burn-scarred claw-handed freakazoid to pop out of nowhere and start making terrible puns at her. The dorm stays still and silent. “If you’re trying to get my attention, could you like leave a note or something, instead of popping up right in front of me? I’m trying to not have another heart attack.”

The silence is deafening.

Marial turns in a slow circle, in case the dead guy has popped up behind her while she’s been talking, but there’s no sign of ugly 80s neon. “Is that what this is about?” she asks the thin air, the shadows that cling to the corners of the room. “Some Final Destination baloney or something? Are you here to reap my ass? Because I gotta tell you, if that’s what you’re here for, you better get used to disappointment, because I’m not going fucking anywhere until I get my degree!”

She realises too late that her voice has been rising. She’s almost yelling. 

There’s still no sound and no movement in her room.

“Fuck it,” Marial mutters under her breath, and throws the door open. The kitchenette is just on the other side of the shared living space. To get there, she has to walk past the dead guy sitting on the couch. “Oh, fuck off! That’s it, tomorrow I’m getting some sage.”

The dead guy blinks out of existence as soon as she opens the door, with a sound that, if she didn’t know it was probably coming from a ghost, Marial would call a frustrated huff.

“Yeah, and don’t come back!” Marial says, and one of the other three doors leading into the common area creaks open, Sylvie’s head poking out around it with an accusing glare.

“Who the fuck are you yelling at at two in the fucking morning,” Sylvie demands.

Marial blinks.

“I have no idea,” she admits. 

Sylvie’s glare narrows. 

“Go to bed,” she snaps, before yanking her head back into her room and slamming the door behind her.

Marial sighs, running a hand through her hair as she pads barefoot over to the kitchenette and rummages in the spice cabinet until she finds the salt shaker. 

The line of salt she draws across the threshold and the windowsill of her bedroom doesn’t actually make her feel any safer, but she pretends it does anyway as she bundles into bed. It takes everything in her not to pull the covers up over her head.

...

Refuge is somehow both exactly and not at all as Lucretia pictured it. 

There’s something ironically fitting about her coming here, to a place with a name that means ‘a place to shelter’. A place to hide. 

Not that she’s hiding. There isn’t a single person at the Bureau of Benevolence who doesn’t know exactly where Lucretia is. But - her friends, her family, have gone their separate ways, finally settling into their lives on this plane as they never truly did under the influence of the voidfish. 

They’re finally making this place their home.

And Lucretia? She can’t stand another moment hovering in the skies above this world, making decisions about how best to help its people, save its people, without being part of it. She needs her feet on the ground, for once. She needs to touch this world that she helped save, that she’s helping to build.

Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll find a place there for herself. One that isn’t so remote. So distant.

There are all kinds of reasons to start here, in this town that time forgot, and no reasons at all. But something that Merle had mentioned when the boys had told her about how they’d reclaimed the Chalice has wedged itself sideways in Lucretia’s mind. And now, a little over a year since the Hunger’s defeat, she’s finally starting to feel like she can breathe again. Like the world won’t fall to pieces if she isn’t up there watching over it, stitching it haphazardly back together. 

Lucretia finds her old travelling clothes packed neatly in her trunk from the Starblaster, too worn and utilitarian for Madame Director to be caught dead in. They don’t quite fit the same as she remembers - though it’s been so long, she lost so many years to Wonderland and to her own stubbornness, can she really be surprised?

Her old red robe is stuffed in the bottom of the trunk. She pulls the red cloak free from the trunk and holds it out in front of her, at arm’s length, for just a moment too long.

Then she folds it carefully and returns it to the trunk where she found it.

She packs a bag, and takes her staff (no magic within it now but what she channels through it, though any vagabond who thinks that makes six feet of solid oak harmless will quickly learn their mistake), and gives Avi the coordinates, and for the first time since the moonbase was created, she rides a cannonball down to Faerun.

And that's how Lucretia finds herself standing in front of the sign welcoming her to the mining town of Refuge. It's changed some from what the boys had described, she notes, with a flicker of pride - the sign now bears the legend BY THEIR SACRIFICE WE ARE MADE FREE.

She stops only long enough to pay her respects to Mayor Cassidy before making her way to the place she came to see. One of the brothers is sweeping red dirt from the steps of the temple when she approaches. He looks up as Lucretia climbs the steps, and smiles.

The temple doors swing open under her touch.

The light inside the temple is...different, somehow. Softer, paler, and yet also brighter, making it hard to see. When Lucretia looks out the windows that line the temple's main room, all she can see is a perfect, even white.

The woman seated on the altar at the far end of the room looks up as Lucretia approaches, brushing long, silvery hair back behind her ear and laying the knitting she'd been working on down into her lap. Lucretia draws herself up to her full height as she reaches the altar, holds her shoulders back and her head high.

"Lady Istus," she says, and the woman seated on the altar smiles.

"Lucretia," she says in response. "I wondered if I'd be seeing you. Won't you sit down?"

...

"I have a question."

"Yeah Dad, shoot."

"When does Magn- no, Merle. When does Merle get to play?"

"Well, because you just asked that question, probably - probably in the next mini-arc."

[mbpendragon]

Icarus

It was late October as I walked over the bridge that connected the residential side to the academic. The moon was high in the sky and the night air cool, dressed in just a leather jacket, skinny jeans and a t-shirt I shivered as I walked into the building. I continued down the short hallway and knocked on the door of room 3B. A familiar face opened the door and ushered me in.

“Hello Calvin”

“Jace,” replied the director as he shut the door behind me. Being the last to arrive he quickly introduced me to the other director and my fellow actors.

To my right, sat a boy with curly black hair, eyes a dark amber, and skin the color of toasted almonds, and a body built like a Greek statue. To top it off his name was Apollo, named after the Greek Sun God. He was charismatic and very aware of his own attractiveness and warmth.

So you can imagine my excitement when I realized I would have to kiss him on screen. The film we were starring in was about a night out between two couples. The twist was that Apollo’s character was trying to seduce mine while his counterpart Jess was trying to get my on-screen boyfriend Massimo to sign over the rights of some book for her publishing company.

The next few weeks passed in a wave of daydreams until the day of shooting arrived. The first few scenes went flawlessly though I forgot how long and tedious the process of making a movie is. Every line gets shot and reshot from multiple angles. It was exhausting. But soon it was the time for our scene.

They had turned the back alley of the space to resemble the outside area of the bar our characters had been drinking at. Leaning against the brick wall, Apollo lit a cigarette looking as charming as ever, and like a moth to the flame, he called me. I knew it was all acting, but it felt so real. He shone like the sun tempting my character to act on his carnal urges.

His words were a warm knife cutting through my defenses like butter, until my cues came, calling me to kiss him. His lips were soft and he tasted of cherry and cigarettes. I could feel his strong arms beneath his shirt as he pulled me against his chest pushing me against the brick wall before making his way down my neck. I almost wanted to kill the director when he called cut. We ran through the scene a few more times than for any non-touch deprived queer would have been enough. But not for me.

After the crew wrapped up for the night we found ourselves at a nearby bar, toasting the great day of shooting. But as I sipped on the blue long island in my hand I wanted nothing else but to be back in the sunlight. I wanted to feel the warmth of his light on his face as he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me with those soft lips that I craved. But that was never meant to be, for my Sun wound up going home with someone else.

I pushed my way to the bar swallowing my emotions as I signaled the bartender. I ordered the only cure for heartbreak I knew, a double shot of gold tequila. Minutes later, he placed the glass of pale gold liquid in front of me along with a salt shaker and lime wedge.

I closed out the tab before proceeding to shake salt onto the back of my left hand. With my right hand, I picked up the shot glass and raised it to the air and quoted the immortal words of Cristina Yang, “He is very dreamy but he is not the sun, you are.”

I proceeded to lick the salt, down the shot, and bite into the wedge of lime. The tequila burned all the way down reminding me of the fire that was inside me.“I am the Sun! And he can go Suck It!”