#three strangers complimented my clown !!

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i cough like an asphyxiated seven-year-old

[mitsutakas]

Can I have tanjiro and Mikey with a fashionable girlfriend? Always dressed up no matter what. Sometimes dressed a bit strangely tbh. Gets comments from strangers both good and bad. If she can’t afford a piece of clothing she likes she sews it herself. Ect thank you 💕

✧  01.   —   A LA MODE!

hi nonny! this is soo me-coded. we love a fashionable y/n! this insert is female. hope you enjoy!

summary mikey and tanjiro with a SLAY reader....i needed this in my life i needed to materialize this thought

content fluff, maybe mention of cat-calling in both, but not very graphic. safe to read!

✧ 1.1 —   MANJIRO 'MIKEY' SANO

It’s no secret that Mikey ‘I put on whatever I see’ Sano has little to no idea on what fashion entails. He’s always been simple in that regard - whatever is clean works, the only criteria he has followed all his life is for his clothes not to be too stuffy in case he needs to fight.

That is why you form such a funny antithesis. You, with your chunky high heels and matching bags, razor-sharp color choice and flashy outfits, and him; plain old sweater and skinny jeans (much to your dismay!) with maybe an acceptable choice on shoes. (you can’t really go that wrong with them)

It has never bothered Mikey. He likes watching you transform every day, he’s excited to see if you’ll be dressed like a supermodel or a library worker, and never fails to let you know that he loves every version of your wardrobe. In his own, ignorant way: He tries. If you want proper fashion advice, he’d redirect you to Mitsuya.

Speaking of, it’s not rare for you to have a three-person meetup. You and Mitsuya share a passion for clothes, and also for lightening the money load, so sewing your own pieces is more a mutual hobby than it is a nuisance.

+++ Still, on days where your friend can’t come, you always have Mikey to keep you company while you tatter away on your sewing machine. In between naps and curious questions (‘half-loop stitch? what's that?’, ‘what are you ironing the collar for?’) making that silk shirt you saw on Pinterest became a fun date with him.

You are a fashionista, and you accept the attention your title may bring. It’s not shocking for you to be the target of both compliments and remarks, and whether they slide off your back or not, there’s no need to even think about it. Your boyfriend will jump at the slightest affront, and then fix their mistake by telling you how that neon top does, in fact, not make you look like a clown, but like ‘that one super cool protagonist from the manga I’m reading with Takemitchy that I showed you last week’.

—   —   —   —   —  

‘’s pretty cool.’ He mumbles it with no regard. Mikey’s already waiting, leaning by the door while you put on your gloss. You look back at him absent-mindedly. ‘What is?’ 

He raises his hands to gesture vaguely around his eyes. ‘the red thing on your eyes. makes them pop out, like, bam!” You infer he’s talking about your eyeshadow. 

‘It’s a reference to you.’ It was his favorite color, fitting for his birthday. You suppressed a smile for the sake of applying your gloss correctly. 

He gleamed a boyish smile as you stood up, and you could feel him move immediately, like a dog that’s been sitting still for too long. With a last look at your vanity (fringe is in place, mascara’s dry and ready), you walk with him to the door. You can only think whether the Babu's helmet will ruin your braid or not. You miss his mumbling in the process. 

‘That’s why it looks so nice.’

✧ 1.2 —   TANJIRO KAMADO

As opposed to the blonde, Tanjiro does have a slightly more refined sense of style - maybe Nezuko’s influence, or because he’s got a proper head on his shoulders most of the time. He doesn’t apply it to himself (his haori is ravaged from use), but it serves as nice reassurance whenever you decide to change it up.

From your color choice to the tailoring in the sleeves - Tanjiro has an eye for your fits alone. He doesn’t think of how this raindrop pattern would look good on Zenitsu or Shinobu: He only thinks about how it makes your eyes pop, or how it subtly enhances your waist. In that sense, he only has a fashion sense when it comes to you. 

More often than not, the comments you receive as a (rare and revered) Demon Slayer are thirsty at best and predatory at worst. ‘Come ‘ere, pretty!’ is as common as your name, low whistles sound like the bark of a dog. No matter, though; even if you know you could roundhouse them at any moment, there’s a warm comfort in knowing that your boyfriend is sending them a vicious glare their way. 

+++ Hate is more common from the Corps itself. ‘How will you fight in such heels? Won’t that skirt fly up quickly? It looks a little too tight.’ You can’t do anything but fight it, but you always seem to prove them wrong. Your high status is more than enough proof of your skill! 

Sewing is actually an incredibly sought-after skill in the Slayer Corps. Whether you patch people’s uniforms up for a quick coin, or do it only for your own pleasure, be aware that Tanjiro will be absolutely smitten with your ability.

+++ Don’t even think of making him or Nezuko a replacement haori. He might actually cry on the spot - I headcanon him as a very ‘acts of service’ kind of partner, so anything to lighten the burden softens him quickly. (Especially if his sister or friends are involved!)

—   —   —   —   —  

‘Look in the basket, Tanjiro!’ Your excitement betrays all secretism, and the red-head smiles with a sliver of anticipation. He reaches for it rather quickly, and you can’t help but gear yourself to offer your reasoning the moment the gift is revealed.

Tanjiro opens the basket. A haori pours out, silky and indigo in color, with an excellent stitch that can belong only to you. (in the distance, you are talking about how you think matching haoris for you two would look cute, and how you had leftover materials, and-) For a moment, his world stops, and there are only three things he can feel: the softness of the fabric, a distant stream of words, and an overwhelming, suffocating love for you. 

You are still talking, by the way. ‘It may have been a little invasive. But I- Well, this color really suits you, with your hair color and eyes and all, and, I don’t know. I just wanted to make you something ni- Oof.’

A hug freezes you in place. You can feel the callousness of Tanjiro’s hand in the back of your head, tight, steady, like he’s holding a dream. It feels good. ‘Thank you so much, y/n. I’ll treasure it.’ Until death. Until it’s over. Until it’s just us.

[bettyfrommars]

so i haven’t even watched enough stranger things to see eddie and I’m over here dying at gigolo!eddie. it was amazing and I’m so impatient for part three!!

what a sweet compliment 🥹Thank you 🥹

I'm still tripping out a bit at the reach this version of Eddie has had (compared to my other versions, because my page is tiny) and it makes me happy that so many would like such a sweet version of him.

The whole wedding part (I almost said episode) will be so much fun because I am down like a clown to give out some intense 90's wedding vibes.

Hopefully it will be a satisfying closure for all ❤️

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

An Enchanting Encounter With a Gay God

We had parked in the parking garage beneath the grocery store in our handy dandy disabled spot close to the elevators. Two of us went to summon the lift whilst the other three made their way out of the car. As we were keeping the door open in wait, an older chap, maybe in his late sixties-ish, entered with his service dog. He told us both that we looked fabulous. Now, we immediately jumped to the assumption that this was a creepy older man complimenting what he saw was two younger women. And, that because he had a service dog, we wouldn’t call him out because he’s a clearly struggling person. We awkwardly chuckled as the rest of our crew joined us. They apologized for keeping him waiting, not realizing we were inconveniencing a stranger. He told us not to worry about it and just wanted to say, “as a gay man you guys, theys, look fabulous!” 

No longer was anyone creeped out, instead it was the opposite. Our days were instantly made. This man saw the five of us in our distinct getups and in a second, clocked us as rainbow mafia, alphabet soup, one of them queers. He didn’t have to think twice about it. All but one of us had dyed or bleached hair and that one was getting his hair dyed the moment we got back to my house. We were so absurdly obviously part of the LGBTQ+ bunch and it made his day as much as his compliment made ours. 

We left that elevator in high spirits, buzzing with glee. We loved this guy, this swell fellow with his well groomed beard and fancy moustache and his curly little dog. We walked into our grocery store wanting to run into him again because that interaction was so wonderful. Me and another friend somewhat subtly glanced down each aisle until we spotted him, but we didn’t do anything about it. Instead, we went about our snack grabbing, talking about how wholesome and lovely it was that this older gay man was so open about his gayness and his appreciation of our gayness. How this man had to fight tooth and nail so that we could look ridiculous so freely. It made our hearts happy. We were going on about it as we made our way to the self checkouts, when this glorious god of a guy approached us. 

He wanted to reiterate just how ecstatic he was about us being able to be so violently ourselves in public places because back in the day it was shameful. To which we responded, “that’s what we were just saying!” He continued about his joy over the evolution of queer acceptance and told us that he came out of the closet in the sixties and how it was significantly different back then for people like him. He got misty eyed, this beautiful man had to remove his glasses to wipe a tear because this encounter was living proof that things are getting better. The rest of our eyes started getting watery in response, I could feel my throat close up the way it does when I’m about to cry. I was spared total weeping when he said how the attempted assassination of the cursed Trump person was staged. 

To rewind the day slightly so this makes sense, hours ago we were talking about the shooting that occurred at a Trump rally the day before. We went off about how the aftermath seemed unlikely, the missed shots seemed false, and there was something fishy about the entire thing.

Fast forward to the current time, as this man spoke those words, we responded with, “that’s also what we were saying earlier!” This was becoming a quick catchphrase. We chatted a bit about the bleak state of our neighbouring country and the clown that should have died. We then decided to ask his opinion regarding the color of dye used for our friend’s hair since that was our evening plan. He gave us his answer, a very ambitious, but very appreciated salon grade look. He followed it with a humorous comment about his lack of hair. 

After complimenting and thanking each other a thousand times back and forth, we eventually parted ways. Holding back tears of sheer happiness, we rang through our goods, gushing over this graced interaction with this gay god. This ethereal, pure, entirely wholesome being. A wondrous, sweet, perfect individual. We ran into the counterbalance of all our curses. We wanted to invite this man into our group, to tea, back to my house to join our dying party. We wanted to adopt him and his dog and his imagined, but absolutely deserved to be had, husband. We didn’t want to say goodbye or for this chapter of the day to end. We felt like changed people, like the world was brighter, like we had all the answers to life somehow. 

And then we saw this bright red Jeep as we were pulling onto the main road and the entire side was a decal of baby Groot from Guardians of the Galaxy with his headphones, presumably jamming out to a great tune, and a muted-pallet rainbow in the background. The day was already perfect, but this somehow made it even more perfect. It was a cherry on top of a cherry on top of an infinity cake of bliss. And this highlight of our day, our lives, was not overshadowed by undesired tomfoolery. We ended that Saturday on a high note. Satan, Cthulhu, rotten luck, all gave us a break that day. As much as we expected something horrible to happen immediately afterwards because that’s usually what happens, all was well. We were in the presence of a god, and his essence protected us through to the next sunrise.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Please please a continuation to the harem reader request, featuring Mid-fight Masses and VS Whitty?

I can do a few mod continuations (this'll be it though, sorry there's simply too many...this list could go on forever XD)

.........

Mid-Fight Masses

"Oh? Have my prayers been answered?? Because an angel must have arrived!" Sarvente gushes upon seeing you enter her church.

She gets a bit snobby when Keith and Cherry follow you, questioning their reasons for being here and offering to let them join.

You just watch Keith and the nun have two sing-offs, before Ruv steps in to teach him a lesson.

But after noticing you he...now understands how Sarvente felt, though he tries ignoring the strange emotions so he can drive out Keith and his "little friend".

Poor guy nearly collapses after Zavodila and you gave Ruv quite a scolding for that. The Russian man is suddenly stumbling over his words as he tries explaining his duties.

Once Sarvente returns in her demon form to challenge Keith in Gospel, she does feel some shame upon realizing you were still around, worried about what you'd think of her deception.

You believe she's still good and kind, thanking her for welcoming you to the church.

Whitty

As he turns around to glare at the three strangers, for a moment he freezes when he sees you.

'A human who's..too pretty for her own good. Damn it, what're you doing Whitty?!' He snaps out of his daze before expressing his desires to be alone.

Least to say...Keith's goading sends him over the edge and into a ballistic rage. He's practically freaking out and begging you all to leave.

But you bravely step forward to calm him down, apologizing for intruding before he could explode.

By some miracle it works. You let him rest his hands in yours (even though he's been avoidant of touch) and help him take deep breaths.

You, Keith, and Cherry walk away completely unscathed afterwards..and Whitty remains confused but flustered.

Hex

"W oa h, who's this babe you're with?"

His systems go a little crazy when he sees you, his screen briefly flashing a pixel heart.

Though he does want a rap battle with Keith, so they both go at it. Yet Hex briefly glances to you for approval whenever it's Keith's turn.

When the virus tries taking over, you're scared and concerned for his safety.

Fortunately, Keith saves him, and you help him find a place to fully recover.

Before he shuts down to repair himself, Hex offers to teach you basketball another time. And much to his happiness, you said you'll take the offer.

Zardy

"You know it's dangerous for a pretty mortal like yourself to be wandering alone in the dark."

The living scarecrow immediately tries hitting you up, being all suave and shit while ignoring Keith and Cherry.

Of course you're amused and ignorant of their seething rage, and just chill on the speakers, feeling the breeze and listening to crows in the distance.

Ngl his song is quite catchy and once the rap battle is over, you compliment him.

Cue Zardy trying to hide his face with the hat (even tho there's no sign of blush whatsoever on him).

Keith gets reaaaaal jealous now but when you accidentally fluster him too he ends up doing the same thing.

Tricky

Tricky noticed you first when you three arrived in "Nevada", but seeing Keith try to protect you pissed him off for some reason.

He got furious to the point of screaming into the mic. You swore you were gonna go deaf but somehow kept your hearing.

It didn't help that Hank and the Auditor kept interrupting, destroying his mask and making him even more enraged--to where he transformed into his demonic forms.

When he lost the final time, he kidnapped you and...brought you to a hotdog stand?

Turns out he just wanted to share a snack with you (though you didn't take kindly to him trying to destroy reality and your simps friends).

Only now you think 'huh...am I really so pretty-looking that...even an evil zombie clown refuses to hurt me?'.

iPhone Lemon Demon (iLemon)

Meeting this other Lemon was...quite unusual. You were just concerned about him placing his worth as a person on an electronic device.

Keith seemed confused, too, but didn't know how to handle it.

So after the rap battle, you told the one-eyed demon there was more to life than just iPhones. He didn't need one to be cool or popular or loved.

But if it made him happy, you'll take him out shopping sometime so he could pick out an iPhone.

Least to say he ends up crying into your shoulder, grateful and willing to rethink his life.

Keith and Cherry are lowkey jealous but say nothing and wait till you're ready to go.

[shirtlesssammy]

4x17: It's a Terrible Life

How have we not recapped this yet? Man, this one holds a special place in Boris’s heart -- even if it’s a Cas-less episode. (Natasha: I LITERALLY said the same thing.)

Then:

This is just gratuitous

Now:

Okay, by this point we know the premise of this episode. I’m just going to list all the Well Respected Man things Dean Smith does. 

He wakes up at 6:00am to an iPod. 

He steams his rice milk.

He wears suspenders and cufflinks. 

He drives a Prius.

He turns off the hard rock for NPR. 

Dean Smith is the Director of Sales and Marketing at Sandover Bridge and Iron. 

He types memos in Word.

He uses a headset to talk on the phone. 

He plays office mini-golf while schmoozing on said headset. 

He watches Project Runway (Ok, Dean Winchester totally watches that too, lbr.)

HE EATS SALAD.

He says the word ‘vis-a-vis’.

His boss Mr. Adler is very impressed with him. Good stuff!

He works late.

He is thinking of doing the Master Cleanse. 

He leaves at 5:30 (or really a couple minutes before, rebel!)

On the elevator ride out of the building, another passenger asks if he knows Dean. Dean, focused on his Blackberry, does not recognize the dude. The other dude won’t let it go and Dean tells him to “save it for the health club” before leaving. 

Sam Wesson works in the Tech Support section of Sandover. He mainly tells people to turn it off and back on again. Works every time! Sam and another buddy, Ian, head for coffee. They ask Paul, another worker, if he wants to join them. He’s busy working! Okay, okay, wait one moment. Paul got caught surfing porn on company computers and he still has a job!? WOW. 

Ian grabs some office pencils in the break room. (And we get a nice little intro shot from within the microwave….very nice easter egg for us second (and beyond) viewers.) He then asks Sam about the dreams he’s been having. Sam tells Ian that he dreamed that he saved a grim reaper named Tessa from demons. Ian finds that HILARIOUS. 

At his clown car sized cubicle later, Sam drifts off, only to have vivid visions of murder and monsters --and Dean’s in them. He bolts awake, and looks around disconcerted. 

Sam takes a walk and ends up in the same elevator as Dean again. They eye each other warily. Sam asks Dean what he thinks of ghosts. TOTALLY NORMAL ELEVATOR TALK. Dean hasn’t really given them much thought. Vampires either. Sam decides now is a good time to corner a perfect stranger and tell him about his CRAZY dreams. That’s what a journal is for, Sam! Dean dismisses this crazy man and exits the elevator. 

Sam starts researching (AW BABY) the monsters he’s been dreaming about. Ian interrupts him and tells him that he got an email telling him to report to HR. He’s not too worried as he heads off to his fate. Sam then hears Paul freaking out because he just lost a whole day’s work. 

Paul stays way past closing time trying to find his lost files to no avail. His breath puffs. They must turn the temp down after hours at Sandover. He heads to the breakroom, sticks a plastic fork in the door of the microwave and sticks his head in the microwave, and hits cook. GOOD STUFF. 

The next day, as Paul’s body gets carted away, the entire office looks on, including Sam Wesson and Dean Smith. Dean thinks there’s something weird going on. He looks up Paul’s personnel file (um, like whoa, how did he get access to that?) and learns that he was set to retire in two weeks. Curious. 

Sam is curious as well, but Ian is too busy working to engage. Dean calls Ian up to his office. Dean points out that there were just a few errors in a form he filled out yesterday. Ian is very remorseful. Dean doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. He just wants him to fix the errors. Very un-Ian-like, Ian starts freaking out over his mistakes. Ian runs to the bathroom and Dean follows. He finds Ian staring at himself in the mirror. His breath frosts just before all the water and soap turn on. He insists Ian leave with him. Ian turns to look at Dean, and stabs himself with a pencil. GUH. Dean sees the reflection of an old man in the bathroom stall door as Ian dies. Dean calls for help. 

Dean is relaying the events to the authorities when he sees Sam looking on. Later, he calls Sam to his office. 

For Thirst Science:

Sam and Dean learn that they both started working at Sandover three weeks prior. (Dean! You picked a hell of a week to start the Master Cleanse!) Sam asks Dean if he saw something when Ian died. Dean doesn’t quite admit it but he saw a ghost! Sam wonders about the suicides. “What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something not natural?” 

Sam brings up his dreams again. “So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions and you're some kind of psychic?” Lololololol. No, OF COURSE NOT. Sam shows Dean emails that Ian and Paul got that sent them to HR on the 14th floor --the HR office is on the 7th floor. Hmm. They decide to head to the 14th floor and room 1444. 

Mr. Blandface McBlanderson heads there first. It’s an old storage room. The air gets frosty, electronics buzz on. Sam and Dean rush down the hallway after hearing the man’s cries. The door is locked but Sam Fucking Wesson just busts it open. Dean is duly impressed. Sam is too. 

The ghost old man attacks Sam and Dean but Dean smashes him away with a wrench (an IRON wrench).

Decompressing back at Dean’s place, Sam longs for beer. “I’m on a cleanse,” Dean explains as he gets him a water. “I got rid of all the carbs in the house.” Oh DEAN.

At the end of this cleanse you chalk a pentagram on the floor, light a black candle, and barter your soul to get rid of those last five pounds

They compliment each other on their ghost fighting prowess. Sam “Boy Wonder” Wesson briefly tells Dean about how he feels out of place in his life. That’s SO MUCH oversharing, Sam! They decide to hit the research track. Dean finds………..the GHOSTFACERS. 

We montage our way through Smith & Wesson’s research, interspersed with Ghostfacer tips. A guy named Sandover turns out to be the ghost - a workaholic who lived for his company. Turns out he’ll kill for it too. They trace a number of historical deaths to Sandover employees. It turns out that the room with the ghost attack was Sandover’s office. 

The Ghostfacers continue to educate Sam and Dean on the finer points of ghost hunting: SALT. IRON. GUN.

Dean absorbs this, then wonders where one might even purchase a gun. Isn’t there a waiting period? Oh, sweet summer child. This here is the United States of America and it’s far too easy to get a gun. The Ghostfacers lesson continues...

Ed: The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains.

Harry: Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry.

Ed: It's illegal in some states.

Harry: All states.

Ed: Possibly all states.

Smith and Wesson return to the office to search for pieces of non-cremated Sandover. Sam gets cornered by a baby-faced security guard, leaving Dean alone to continue the hunt. In Sam’s elevator, electronics start to glitch. It’s probably nothing! The guard pries open the elevator door and crawls out onto the next floor.

The elevator slips and the guard falls victim to the blood cannon. Sam adds this incident to his list of Terrible Things That Happen in Elevators.

Sam and Dean reconnect by a historical display which includes Sandover’s gloves. Those gloves seem like likely candidates for remnant DNA...and in short order the ghost proves them right. Old Man Sandover zaps in as they break the glass. They fight!

Sandover looks like he’s got the upper hand, lowering his brain-zapping fingers to Dean, when Sam lights the gloves on fire. Sandover goes up like a torch.

Smith and Wesson are amped up after the fight! Sam wants to hunt ghosts full time. Dean scoffs at this. “How would we get by? Stolen credit cards, eating diner food drenched in saturated fats, sharing a crap motel room every night...You don’t want to go fighting ghosts without any health insurance!” Wise words. 

For Look at this Well-Prepared Sunshine Science:

Sam confesses that his hunting dreams featured Dean as well. “What if that’s who we really are?” Sam wonders. 

Dean defends the reality of his life. HE WENT TO STANFORD. His father’s name is Bob, his mother’s name is Ellen, and his sister is Jo. Excuse me. I’m just going to….stand outside my door and HOWL MOURNFULLY about this with the local coyotes. 

“We’re supposed to be someone else.” Sam tells Dean that he started at Sandover because he broke up with Madison - but now her number leads to an animal hospital. (I swear to god, I’m gonna chew off my own arm at this show.) Sam says that Dean’s more than just a corporate suit. Dean shoos Sam from his office. 

The next morning, Sam’s back at the daily grind. He steps back from his phone and then swings a crowbar at it, Office Space style. 

Upstairs, Zachariah smarms his way into Dean’s office and clucks that he looks tired. He’s heard good things about Dean and offers him a generous bonus.

Zachariah hints that a big promotion could happen in 8-10 short years of constant work and sacrifice. The joy in Dean’s eyes fades. Dean turns it down and tells Zachariah that he plans to quit. “I have some other work I have to do,” Dean tells him. “This - it’s not who I’m supposed to be.” Zachariah smiles and zaps Dean’s brain. The camera desaturates.

“My god am I hungry,” a confused Dean observes as Zachariah chuckles. (Stop reading Goop, Dean! Get off that cleanse!) Zachariah explains that he’s Castiel’s boss, and he’s on Earth to ensure that the Winchesters fulfill their destiny - as hunters! 

“You’re a hunter,” Zachariah explains. It’s in Dean’s blood. (I hiss at this.) And if Dean works hard enough, he’ll do everything he’s “destined to do. All of it.” GUH. Zachariah urges Dean to embrace his life. It could be worse, after all!

Semi-quote Kinda Life, Baby:

Good stuff

Did you try turning it off and then on? 

Look, man, I don't know you, okay? But I'm gonna do a public service and let you know that you overshare

How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?

I don’t believe in destiny. I believe in dealing with what’s right in front of us 

Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things

 Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[gummygowon]

the nutcracker | hwang hyunjin

word count: 1.1k

genre: fluff

strangers to lovers!

warnings: none

a/n: if i opened up requests (if i can figure out how to do that) would anyone request because i kinda want to do it but i don't want to disappoint any of you guys

hwang hyunjin shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the lights dimmed down in the theater. he still didn't know how felix and jisung had successfully dragged him into a showing of the nutcracker.

his expectations were low in terms of entertainment. the black haired boy expected to be barely awake after twenty minutes because how can you have a whole ass dance performance to music with no words?

he would rather much be at home watching netflix or just cuddling with his dog. but no, his friends had convinced him to seeing a ballet performance since felix's little sister was apart in it. hyunjin had zero clue about what this (play?) was about, let alone knowing what part felix's sister is playing. but for the sake of being a good friend he agreed to come and suffer in silence.

"felix, who is your sister playing?" jisung asked, as if reading his mind.

"clara, she's like the main girl or something." the freckled boy answered, shrugging his shoulders.

hyunjin couldn't help but chuckle at his friend, "you don't know what she's playing and yet you still dragged me here."

"hey, i'm getting you dinner after this so it's fair. and i'm pretty sure she's playing clara at least. she kept nagging me about her role and costumes." felix defended.

hyunjin was about to retort something back but music began to play and the theater was completely dark.

at first, he was mildly amazed at the costumes and everything else until he saw you.

you were playing the role of the sugar plum fairy so you showed up quite a lot during the show which was great for hyunjin.

he was completely entranced at the sight of you. the way the stage lights made you glow along with the gemstones on your costume and the way you moved so elegantly and gracefully made his heart flutter a little bit.

hyunjin didn't have any knowledge of ballet but to him you looked like a professional. the way your facial expressions mirrored the music and the way your body moved was fascinating to him. he was in total awe of you, his mouth hanging open.

jisung had taken great notice over his smitten friend and nudged felix who gave him a questioning look. jisung merely trailed his eyes back to their friend who still had his mouthing hanging slightly open.

felix was trying his absolute best to not laugh at his friend and looked away from him. poor hyunjin hadn't even realized his friends were clowning on him since he was too amazed by you.

once the show had ended with the all the actors coming out to do their curtain call, the three boys stood up and clapped loudly.

you had accidentally made eye contact with a certain black haired boy which sent a bright blush onto your cheeks. you had looked away feeling flustered but you mentally thanked the makeup crew for caking so much blush on your face that it barely made a difference.

afterwards, the three boys went to the front of the theater with felix's parent to wait for their daughter. while waiting, felix and jisung thought of a brilliant idea to tease hyunjin about his new crush.

"that actually wasn't as boring as i thought it was." hyunjin confessed to his friends.

jisung and felix gave each other a look.

"i know right? who's your favorite character?" jisung asked quickly.

"mine's the sugar plum fairy, she was just so mwah" felix playfully answered, kissing his fingers like a chef.

"huh?" the poor boy asked, feeling confused.

"hyunjin, sweetie, we know you have a crush on the girl who played the sugar plum fairy." jisung stated.

flustered, hyunjin merely scoffed, "no i don't."

"yeah, uh huh." felix teased.

just then, felix's sister came out wearing a thick, long jacket over her costume. thank god. hyunjin mentally thought to himself.

felix and his parents quickly swarmed her congratulating her on a job well done. jisung and hyunjin complimented her on her amazing performance and fell into a conversation about what to eat afterwards.

hyunjin was barely listening to their convo anymore and was instead casually looking for you. his eyes carefully landed on you, not too far away.

you were with your friends who had came to support you. you were also wearing a long, black jacket over your beautiful costume.

to hyunjin's surprise or maybe embarrassment, the two of you made eye contact. you gave him a soft smile which sent the boy's heart into a frenzy but nonetheless he smiled back.

"you're not slick." felix's little sister scoffed at him, crossing her arms.

"huh, what do you mean?" the boy asked, pretending to play dumb.

"you know what, i'm talking about. you keep staring at y/n." felix's sister pointed out.

"yeah, she's right dude. you were literally drooling over her whenever she came out." jisung added.

"i was not." hyunjin huffed in disagreement but the blush on his face was telling another story.

the little girl rolled her eyes and stalked over to where you were.

slightly panicking, hyunjin began to mentally prepare himself for whatever was going to come. he snuck a glance at you two and saw felix's little sister pointing at his group. you then made eye contact again with him, sending a blush to both of your cheeks. the black haired boy gulped down his nerves as he saw the two of you walk towards him.

"guys, this is y/n. she was the sugar plum fairy." the girl introduced you.

"hi, thank you guys so much for coming to the show." you beamed at the group. your smile was sending hyunjin's heart beating so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it.

"of course, if it wasn't for my buddy hyunjin here, we wouldn't have came." jisung responded sending a wink towards his friend.

you turned to look at the boy. he was much more prettier up close you thought to yourself. "is that so?"

the latter didn't answer not until felix jabbed his side with his elbow, "ow- i mean yes." he blushed, rubbing the side felix hit.

you chuckled at him sending a soft smile towards him.

"anyways, y/n do you want to come eat dinner with us? we're getting hotpot!" felix's sister asked with her puppy dog eyes.

"sure, why not. i'll ask my parents." you answered, feeling excited because you get to spend more time with the cute boy.

you turned to leave and waved back at the group, "i'll text you!"

and just like that, that was how you met your boyfriend of two years. and you bet jisung and felix forced you guys to sit together at the hotpot restaurant that night which ended up being the best thing to ever happen to you.

nowadays, hyunjin had come to every single show he could possibly make and afterwards the two of you would always get hotpot.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/7/2020

I missed THE GOLDEN GLOVE at Fantastic Fest last year. It was one of my only regrets of the whole experience, but it was basically mandatory since the available screenings were opposite the much-hyped PARASITE. As annoying as that sounds, it was actually a major compliment, since what could possibly serve as a consolation prize for the most hotly anticipated movie of the year? Needless to say, I heard great things, but I could never have imagined what it was actually like. I'm still wrapping my mind around it.

Between 1970 and 1975, an exceptionally depraved serial killer named Fritz Honka murdered at least four prostitutes in Hamburg's red light district. Today, we tend to think of the archetypal serial killer in terms of ironic contradictions: The public is attracted by Ted Bundy's dashing looks and suave manner, and John Wayne Gayce's dual careers as politician and party clown. Lacking anything so remarkable, we associate psychopathy with Norman Bates' boy-next-door charm, and repeat "It's always the quiet ones" with a smirk whenever a new Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nilsen is exposed to the public. The popular conception of a bloodthirsty maniac is not the fairytale monster of yore, but a wolf in sheep's clothing, whose hygienic appearance and lifestyle belie his twisted desires. In our post-everything world, the ironic surprise has become the rule. In this light, THE GOLDEN GLOVE represents a refreshing return to naked truth.

To say that writer-director Fatih Akin's version of the Fritz Honka story is shocking, repulsive, and utterly degenerated would be a gross understatement. We first meet the killer frantically trying to dispose of a corpse in his filthy flat, wallpapered with porno pinups, strewn with broken toys, and virtually projecting smell lines off of the screen. One's sense of embodiment is oppressive, even claustrophobic, as the petite Honka tries and fails to collapse the full dead weight of a human corpse into a garbage bag, before giving up and dismembering it, with nearly equal difficulty. The scene is appalling, utterly debased, and yet nothing is as shocking as the killer's visage. When he finally turns to look into the camera, it's hard to believe he's even human: the rolling glass eye, the smashed and inflated nose, the tombstone teeth and cratered skin, are almost too extreme to bear. Actually, suffering from a touch of facial blindness, I had to stare intently at Honka's face for nearly half the movie before I could fully convince myself that I was, in fact, looking at an elaborate prosthetic operation used to transform 23 year old boy band candidate Jonas Dassler into the disfigured 35 year old serial murderer.

Though West Germany remained on a steady economic upturn beginning in the 1950s and throughout the 1970s, you wouldn't know it from THE GOLDEN GLOVE. If Honka's outsides match his insides, they are further matched by his stomping grounds in the Reeperbahn, a dirty, violent, booze-soaked repository for the dregs of humanity. Though its denizens may come from different walks of life, one thing is certain: Whoever winds up there, belongs there. Honka was the child of a communist and grew up in a concentration camp, yet he swills vodka side by side with an ex-SS officer, among other societal rejects, in a crumbling dive called The Golden Glove. The scene is an excellent source of hopeless prostitutes at the end of their career, who are Honka's prime victims, as he is too frightful-looking to ensnare an attractive young girl. These pitiful women all display a peculiarly hypnotic willingness to go along with Honka, no matter how sadistic he becomes; this seems to have less to do with money, which rarely comes up, and more to do with their shared awareness that for them, and for Honka too, it's been all over, for a long time.

Not to reduce someone’s performance to their physical appearance, but ???

To call Dassler's portrayal of Honka "sympathetic" would be a bridge too far, but it is undeniably compelling. He supports the startling impact of his facial prostheses with a performance of rare intensity, a full-body transformation into a person in so much pain that a normal life will never become an option. His physical vocabulary reminded me of the stage version of The Elephant Man, in which the lead actor wears no makeup, but conveys John Merrick's deformities using his body alone. Although there is an abundance of makeup in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, Dassler's silhouette and agonized movements would be recognizable from a mile away. In spite of his near-constant screaming rage, the actor manages to craft a rich and convincing persona. During a chapter in which Honka experiments with sobriety, we find a stunning image of him hunched in the corner of his ordinarily chaotic flat, now deathly still, his eyes gazing at nothing as cigarette smoke seeps from his pores, having no idea what to do with himself when he isn't in a rolling alcoholic rampage. The moment is brief but haunting in its contrast to the rest of the film, having everything to do with Dassler's quietly vibrating anxiety.

Performances are roundly excellent here, not that least of which are from Honka's victims. The cast of middle-aged actresses looking their most disastrous is hugely responsible for the film's impact. These are the kinds of performances people call "brave", which is a euphemism for making audiences uncomfortable with an uncompromising presentation of one's own self, unvarnished by any masturbatory solicitation. Among these women is Margarete Tiesel, herself no stranger to difficult cinema: She was the star of 2012's PARADISE: LOVE, a harrowing drama about a woman who copes with her midlife crisis by pursuing sex tourism in Kenya. Her brilliant, instinctive performance as one of Honka's only survivors--though she nearly meets a fate worse than death--makes her the leading lady of a movie that was never meant to have one.

So, what does all this unpleasantness add up to, you might be asking? It's hard to say. THE GOLDEN GLOVE is a film of enormous power, but it can be difficult to explain what the point of it is, in a world where most people feel that the purpose of art is to produce some form of pleasure. This is the challenge faced by difficult movies throughout history, like THE GOLDEN GLOVE's obvious ancestors, HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER, MANIAC and THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE. Describing unremitting cruelty with relentless realism is not considered a worthy endeavor by many, even if there is real artistry in your execution; some people will even mistake you for advocating and enjoying violence and despair, as we live in a world where huge amount of movie and TV production is devoted to aspirational subjects. (The fact that people won't turn away from the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, no matter how monotonous and condescending they become, should tell you something) How do you justify to such people, that you want to make or see work that portrays ugliness and evil with as much commitment as other movies seek to portray love, beauty, and family values? Why isn't it enough to say that these things exist, and their existence alone makes them worth contemplation?

A rare, perhaps exclusive “beautiful image” in THE GOLDEN GLOVE, from Fritz Honka’s absurd fantasies.

You may detect that I have attempted to have this frustrating conversation with many people, strangers, enemies, and friends I love and respect. I find that for some, it is simply too hard to divorce themselves from the pleasure principle. I don't say this to demean them; some hold the philosophy that art be reserved for beauty, and others have a more literary feeling that it's ok to show characters in grim circumstances, as long as the ultimate goal is to uplift the human spirit. Even I draw the line somewhere; I appreciate the punk rebellion of Troma movies as a cultural force, but I do not enjoy watching them, because I dislike what I perceive as contempt for the audience and the aestheticization of laziness--making something shitty more or less on purpose. A step or three up from that, you land in Todd Solondz territory, where you find materially gorgeous movies whose explicit statement is that our collective reverence for a quality called "humanity" is based on nothing. I like some of those movies, and sometimes I even like them when I don't like them, because I'm entranced by Solondz's technical proficiency...and maybe, deep down, I'm not completely convinced about "humanity", either. However, I don't fight very hard in arguments about him; I understand the objections. Still, I've been surprised by peers who I think of as bright and tasteful, who absolutely hated movies I thought were unassailable, like OLDBOY and WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN. In both cases, the ultimate objection was that they accuse humans of being pretentious and self-deceptive, aspiring to heroism or bemoaning their victimhood while wallowing in their own cowardice and perversity. Ok, I get it...but, not really. Why isn't it ever wholly acceptable to discuss, honestly, what we do not like about ourselves?

The beguiling thing about THE GOLDEN GLOVE is that, although it is instantly horrifying, is it also an impeccable production. The director can't help showing you crime scene photos during the ending credits, and I can't really blame him, when his crew worked so hard to bring us a vision of Fritz Honka's world that approaches virtual reality. But it isn't just slavishly realistic; it is vivid, immersive, an experience of total sensory overload. Not a square inch of this movie has been left to chance, and the product of all this graceful control is totally spellbinding. I started to think to myself that, when you've achieved this level of artifice, what really differentiates a movie like THE GOLDEN GLOVE from something like THE RED SHOES? I mean, aside from their obvious narrative differences. Both films plunge the viewer into a world that is complete beyond imagination, crafted with a rigor and sincerity that is rarely paralleled. And, I will dare to say, both films penetrate to the depths of the human soul. What Fatih Akin finds there is not the same as what Powell and Pressburger found, of course, but I don't think that makes it any less real. Akin's film is adapted from a novel by Heinz Strunk, and apparently, some critics have accused Akin of leaving behind the depth and nuance of the book, to focus instead on all that is gruesome about it. This may be true, on some level; I wouldn't know. For now, I can only insist that on watching THE GOLDEN GLOVE, for all its grotesquerie, I still got the message.

[inknopewetrust]

Hey, can I request a pairing for game of thrones? You can totally delete this ask if you don't want to answer it! I'm 5'8, she/her, slightly chubby, and caucasion. My preferred name is Minne. I come from a rough family life and can be broody because of it. I've seen some stuff and it's left psychological damage, but I'm healing and moving on. I'm not much of a physical fighter so when I'm angry I dig into insecurities that people have. My passion is for reading, learning, and music. I can be snappy if I don't listen to music once a day. I'm extremely good at reading people to the point where my friends are a little scared of me. I love debating politics and I could argue for hours to prove a point. I'm quiet around strangers but once there's a mutual interest I go off into a conversation. Everything has been a struggle for me so when things go wrong I take it in stride and adjust to the circumstances "it be like that sometimes" "in order to take one step forward, we end up taking three steps back" I'm fiercely loyal to the few friends I have and will do anything for them. I'd say I'm a weird mix between the class clown, tired college student, and the mom friend.

Thanks so much for requesting a ship and I am so sorry for the long wait! I didn’t intend to take this long, but I got all caught up in writing a new fic! I hope you enjoy this and that it was at least a little bit worth the time spend sitting in my inbox!!

Reminder: I am currently NOT accepting new requests for ships!

Your GoT pairing is...

Jaime Lannister! I know, I know... his character isn’t redeemable after the last season, but let’s pretend that didn’t happen and this is your own fictional world with Jaime, shall we? This normally would be a classic case of opposites attracted to one another, except you and Jaime share many similarities that connect you both on a much deeper level. Trauma and the reconciliation of it can leave many scars in many different fashions, and while the two of you deal with your pasts in very different ways, you can lean on one another for support. If anyone knows what you're dealing with, frequent feelings, and struggles with recovery, it's Jaime. He is also scared that you can read him like a book, but it is worth it because in a way, you are helping him become a better man than he was. You both have a loyalty toward one another that trumps all, and the unity you share is much deeper than a trivial relationship. While Jaime falls into the brooding, snarky, anti-father figure, he compliments your qualities nicely and is more than willing to jump out of his own comfort zone to join you on the adventure called life.

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 4)

I wanted not to publish this part until I had reached at least a dozen notes on the third, but I’m a clown and I wanted to share this so bad, so, here we are. Hope someone is still interested, hope someone could enjoy something so silly in this trying times. 

Tag list: @lilyharvord

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Words: 2456

The day passed practically as the previous one: Miss Samos and Lady Haven spent a few hours with Wren, whose health continued, albeit slowly, to improve, and in the evening Mare joined the others in the living room. The table game, however, hadn’t been organized and the General was writing to his grandmother while Miss Samos, sitting next to him, controlled the progress of the letter, of a considerable length, and continually diverted his attention with messages for the recipient and congratulations for her friend’s handwriting and the regularity of the lines which, together with the complete disinterest with which they were received, formed a curious dialogue, in perfect coincidence with the opinion she had of both.

“You write at an extraordinary speed.”

"I'm sorry to admit you're wrong, in fact, I write rather slowly."

"How many letters do you have the opportunity to write in the course of a year?" she asked, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. "Many will be about business. I guess you’ll find them hateful. I certainly would."

"Your guesses are becoming less and less correct day by day, my dear Evangeline," he replied, sardonically, and although she didn't seem particularly pleased with the answer, she asked him to tell her grandmother that she wished to see her again as soon as possible, which she must have already done, given his reaction. A brief period of time passed, in which all three were silent, when she started again , this time asking him if she should fix his pen, but the General replied he was fine and that it was anyway a job he always did by himself. The more time passed, the more Mare could understand that young man, whose pride was gradually diminishing, revealing he was actually unable to converse or stay in a company, a sign he must’ve had a cold and rigorous childhood, without friends or confidants, full of mentors and teachers, books and lessons.

"You always write her letters so long and beautiful?” she asked, and just then her brother walked in, accompanied by Lady Haven, which annoyed Mare a little, since she still hoped he and Wren could soon begin an official courtship.

"They are generally long, but as for always being beautiful, it’s not my job to judge,” replied the General who, although he had registered the newcomers, didn’t lift his head from the sheet.

"For me, it’s a certainty: a person capable of writing a long letter can't easily misspell," interjected Lady Haven, who had quickly rushed to snoop in turn. Mare didn’t agree with her, anyone could write long letters, even with a not particularly large vocabulary and a bad grammar, yet she said nothing, determined not to draw further attention to herself and too interested in the conversation, which had shifted to the General's use of extremely refined terms, evidently also in the letters addressed to his friends, something in sharp contrast with the writing style of Mr. Samos, which his sister defined as a set of sloppy scribbles.

"My ideas flow so quickly that I don't have the time to express them, hence sometimes my correspondents can't understand practically anything."

"It means that you let your heart write and not your mind," Mare commented, "and this does you credit, because you show yourself vulnerable to the people you love, something in stark contrast to your character with the rest of your acquaintances."

Mr. Samos seemed surprised by the compliment, while the General didn’t seem to like it, but Mare wasn’t in the mood to endure his malevolent comments, which always showed an ill-concealed wickedness and a stubborn decision to contradict her, so, before he could reply, she asked him if he didn't care about the influence of friendship and affection.

"The respect for the writer often leads me to overlook possible errors of little importance, but I would do better, perhaps, to wait for Mr. Samos to write something for my eyes before judging."

"It wouldn’t be advisable, before pursuing this topic, to agree with a little more precision on the degree of importance to be attached to this letter, as well as on the degree of intimacy existing between the parties?" the General asked, and before Mare could reply, it was the person directly interested who interrupted the discussion, which almost resembled a quarrel, with a joke, bringing his friend to end his task , while the three young ladies devoted themselves to analyzing the music sheets placed on the grand piano that dominated the right side of the room. Lady Haven sang with her friend, and while the two were busy, Mare couldn’t help but notice how the General's gaze stopped very often on her. She certainly couldn't suppose to be the object of the admiration of such a great man and that he looked at her because he disliked her would be even stranger. Eventually, she could only imagine that he turned his attention to her because there was nothing more out of place and reprehensible, according to his ideas of correctness, in any other person present. The hypothesis didn’t bother her: she liked him too little to hold on to his approval. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Samos started something more lively, and soon after General Calore, approaching Mare, asked her if she didn’t feel the strong desire to take the opportunity to dance. She smiled, but didn't answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised from what could be interpreted as a shy reaction. The truth was that she had heard him the first time, but had found herself undecided on what to answer, as she was sure that her interlocutor hoped for her assent, so he could denigrate her good taste, but for her it was always pleasant to upset these kinds of plans and deprive people of their premeditated contempt, so she replied negatively, with the sole purpose of offending him just as she had been offended by his comment when he called her not beautiful enough to tempt him. He, however, was incredibly gallant and found himself thinking that if it weren't for her humble origins, he would’ve found himself in serious danger because that young woman had bewitched him like no one before. Though she seemed too busy at first to notice, Miss Samos saw everything, and her strong impatience for Wren's recovery was somewhat reinforced by a desire to get rid of Mare, which risked to seriously jeopardize her plan. In this regard, she tried to instil in Cal a dislike for her own guest, talking to him about the alleged marriage and offering him a glimpse of the happiness that would follow such a union.

"I hope," she said, as they were walking in the grove next day, "that you’ll give your mother-in-law some advice, when this desirable event takes place, about the advantages of holding her tongue, and that you can limit the younger girl’s desire to run after officers, not to mention the delicate subject of your lady’s presumption and impertinence.”

"Do you have anything else to propose for my domestic happiness?" he asked, but before Evangeline could answer they ran into Lady Haven and Mare herself, coming from another path.

“I didn’t know you were going to take a walk,” she noted, a little embarrassed for fear of having been heard.

"You treated us horribly," Lady Haven replied, glaring at her, "running away without telling us you were going out."

Then, taking the General's free arm, she left Mare to walk alone. The path had room only for three and when the young man realized the rudeness he immediately proposed to move to the avenue, but Mare, who had no intention of staying with them, replied laughingly, before walking away with a brief farewell, that they formed a charming group and that a fourth person would ruined the picturesque appearance. From the window, Wren, who had felt strong enough to get up, saw everything and decided that she would come downstairs for a couple of hours that night. Making sure she was well protected from the cold, Mare accompanied her into the living room, where she was greeted by her two friends with many manifestations of joy; she had never found them more pleasant as in the hour that passed before the gentlemen’s appearance, and the demonstration that their remarkable ability to converse weren’t limited only to describing precisely the receptions they had attended but it was also extended to reporting anecdotes with a sense of humour and laughing at their acquaintances made her feel invigorated nearly as much as Ptolemus’ attentions who, on his arrival, spent the first half hour poking the fire and made sure she sat on the side of the fireplace farthest from the door. When he finally sat down next to her, he barely spoke to the others, which Mare noted with great pleasure. Once they had tea, Lucas Samos reminded his cousin of the game table, but in vain: Lady Haven had learned, in a completely confidential way, that the General hated cards and the few times he had played it had been only to not offend them, so suddenly everyone had lost interest in it, and seemed much more determined to devote themselves to reading, although Miss Samos's attention was much more concerned with checking the progress of the one she wished to make her husband soon than to read her own book; she never stopped asking him questions or peeking the pages, but she couldn't draw him into the conversation as he just answered her questions and kept on reading.  Finally, completely exhausted from her attempts to amuse herself with her own tome, which she had chosen only because it was the second volume of his, she gave a loud yawn and said: "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I feel like saying that basically there is no entertainment like reading! How quickly one gets tired of anything other than a book! When I have my own home, I would feel really miserable not to have an excellent library. "

No one replied, then she yawned again, put aside what, in her words, should’ve been her new favourite pastime, and glanced around the room for some amusement when, hearing that her brother was talking to Miss Skonos about a dance, she immediately turned to him, reminding him that for some of those present a dance would be nothing but torture. It was evident that the dig was thrown at the General, but he let his friend answer for him and raised his head only when Mare joined Miss Samos, by invitation, to stretch her legs. The platinum-haired young woman invited him too but he refused, noting that he could only imagine two reasons for that choice to walk back and forth in the room, both of which his participation would interfere. Miss Samos was dying to know what he meant, and as Mare was of no help to her, she insisted on her childhood friend, who replied that the first reason was that the two women had suddenly become intimate and had private affairs to discuss, and the second was to be admired, which he would’ve been able to do much better while sitting.

"I've never heard something so disgusting!” exclaimed Miss Samos. “How will we punish him for such a speech?”

"Nothing easier, if only you feel like it," Mare said, perplexed by the fact that her interlocutor had taken her by the arm, as if they were great friends. "We are always able to torment and punish each other. Tease him, laugh at him. As intimate as you are, you sure know how to."

"On my honour, I don't know. I assure you that intimacy still hasn’t taught me to tease such a quiet temperament without losing in the attempt, and as for laughing, we shouldn’t expose ourselves for laughing for no reason. I suppose he can congratulate himself.”

"Miss Samos gives me more credit than how much is due. The wisest and best of men, or better, the wisest and best of his deeds, can be made ridiculous by a person whose main purpose in life is to joke."

"Sure," Mare replied, "there are people like that, but I hope I'm not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Extravagance and nonsense, tantrums and absurdities amuse me, I admit, and I laugh at it every time I can. But these things, I suppose, are just the ones from which you are immune."

"Maybe this isn’t possible for anyone, but in life I’ve always tried to avoid those weaknesses which often expose even a remarkable intelligence to ridicule," he replied, and it soon became apparent that a conversation of that rank would only take place between the two of them, though it also attracted Lucas and Elane’s attention.

"Even vanity and pride, then."

"Yes, vanity is undoubtedly a weakness. But pride... where there is real superiority of intellect, pride will always be under careful control."

Mare had to hid a smile, and Evangeline, who hadn’t understood what had just happened, asked her what the outcome of her study was.

"I am perfectly convinced that General Calore doesn’t have flaws. He himself admits it without a doubt."

"I've never demanded such a thing," he corrected her. "I have several flaws, but they don’t concern, I hope, the intellect, even if I certainly cannot vouch for my character, which I believe is very little accommodating, certainly too little in the eyes of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as much as I should, nor the offenses done to me. My feelings don't shift at each attempt to move them, my character could perhaps be called touchy and my respect once lost is lost forever."

"This is a real flaw!" Mare exclaimed. "A relentless grudge is a stain in a character, but as a flaw it’s chosen well, so I can't really laugh at it. In mine opinion, you’re safe."

"In every temperament there is, I believe, a tendency to some particular sin, a natural imperfection that not even the better education can defeat,” he went on, "and if in my case it may seem that I hate everyone, which isn’t true, in yours it certainly is obstinacy in misunderstand them."

Mare would’ve liked to continue that conversation, but Miss Samos, tired of hre inability to take part in it, proposed to make some music and after a brief moment of reflection, Cal decided that it wasn’t a bad idea: he was beginning to clearly feel the danger of giving Miss Barrow too much attention.

[bravomckenzie]

fluff alphabet: bobby mckenzie

i must admit that i haven’t written anything fic-ish since i was a teenager in the midst of my 1d stan days so i’m kinda nervous to post this lol. thank you to @ravena-dottir and @therealityofthematteris for being supportive and saying i should go ahead and go for it and post this. 🥺 also i’m sorry if it’s bad!! be gentle with me!!! it’s also pretty long and whether that’s a good or bad thing is up to you hahahah.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Bobby loves the way you light up a room. He loves the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. How your laughter is loud and unapologetic - it’s music to his ears. As for your body, he loves every inch of it but if he had to pick, your thighs & butt.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Bobby can’t wait to have kids, especially with you. He’s excited to send them special baked treats in their lunches and to wave them off as they get on the bus each morning. He hopes they look like you.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

We been knew Bobby loves to be little spoon, so besides that - He loves to face each other in an embrace. His arms wrapped around your neck and yours around his waist while you scratch his back & chat until you both drift asleep.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Despite waking up beside you every morning, Bobby never stops trying to woo you. He still flirts with you the way he did on the first day in the villa. He feels like the luckiest man alive to have you, and he’ll do anything to keep you. The romance is still alive, no matter where you are or what you do. From wearing your nicest clothes in a fancy restaurant, all the way to your pajamas on the couch for a movie night. He never fails to impress you.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

You are my home. Bobby had never known someone who felt like home... at least until he met you. Home is wherever he is with you. You’re his comfort and home base, where he goes when he needs a soft place to fall.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Bobby knew he was in for it the second he laid eyes on you. He felt a spark before you even spoke. He knew you were special from the moment he met you. You slowly became the only thing he thought about. He found himself just staring at you, lost in your beauty. Your laughter became his favorite song. He wasn’t joking around and being funny for everyone anymore, he was doing it for you. After you left for Casa Amour, he realized that. He realized you were all he wanted. He missed just the sound of your voice. He had never felt that way in his life. He knew then that you were the love of his life. Bobby didn’t come to the villa with the intentions of finding forever, but he realized he had found it with you.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Bobby’s gentle touch was something you quickly noticed about him. The way his hand would gently rest on the small of your back. How he would softly tuck your hair behind your ear before he kissed you. But sometimes, he gets lost in you and the kisses become harder, the grips become tighter. He’s the best of both worlds.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

If Bobby is able to be touching you, he will be. (That’s one of my headcannons for him. I imagine that touch is his love language.) He rarely lets go of your hand in public. He loves for everyone to see that you’re with him. He finds comfort in your fingers intertwined. He loves the way your hand looks in his.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When you walked out in front of him on that first day in the villa, he assumed he was your last choice. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen and he was just him. He didn’t know that he instantly caught your eye and sometimes, he still doesn’t believe you when you tell him that. You’re not just the girl of his dreams, but the girl of his wildest dreams. He thought that girls like you didn’t like guys like him. He was just the class clown and you were the head cheerleader. But at the same time, he wasn’t going to let any of that stand in his way. He knew then that he was going to spend that summer with you, and if he didn’t, he would’ve spent the whole summer trying.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Not at all. Bobby enjoys other guys looking at you. He knows that every eye is on you when you walk in a room and he loves it. He wants them to see that he’s the one you’re with. Other guys flirting with you boosts his ego. He takes it as a compliment himself. When the two of you are out at a bar together and guys send you drinks, he looks their way and raises the glass with a smile to say thanks before drinking it himself. When they compliment you, he tells them they have good taste while he wraps his arm around you as a subtle hint to back off. It amuses him. Any guy would love for you to be their girl, but you’re not. You’re his and he knows that... and he loves for them to know it too.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

You initiated your first kiss, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was scared of messing up. He didn’t want to screw it up before he got a real chance at impressing you. He was surprised when you kissed him, in the best way possible. Your confidence and boldness impressed him. He had always been in control and setting the pace for the relationships he had in the past, it was new and foreign to him, but above all, it was exciting.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He did. Bobby is the kind of person who is all or nothing. He dives in deep. He gives everything his all. He also sees no reason to ever not be 100% open and honest with the important people in his life. He had to tell you that he loved you. He needed you to know, no matter how nervous he was to finally tell you.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

In the villa, Bobby’s favorite memory with you is your trip to the grocery store. He was so excited to be in the real world with you. He cherishes that first taste of life outside the villa. It was when he really knew that this wasn’t just a summer fling.

Outside the villa, the day you met his family. He had never seen his parents welcome anyone the way they did you. Bobby had only ever brought one other girl home to meet his parents and it didn’t go well. You both were a little nervous (not that he let you see it) considering that and some of your....shenanigans they had to watch on national television. You weren’t sure what they’d think of you. The way they wrapped you in their arms made you feel silly for ever thinking that though. He’ll never forget the pride he felt when his dad commented that you were even better in person than you were on TV or the sound of his mom’s voice telling him that she knew you were the one from the very first day in the villa.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Bobby isn’t concerned with material things, neither are you. Your love languages are far from gifts. You both tend to show your love through touch, but especially Bobby. A hand on your thigh in the car means more to both of you than a bracelet. But when it is time for gifts, the both of you go all out. Neither of you have to tell the other what you want as gifts because you both just know.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Bobby if he could only pick one, he would say the color yellow because to him, it’s the happiest color. But there isn’t anything in this world that doesn’t make him think of you. You’re every color.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Lass, of course. There’s an occasional sprinkling in of things like baby/babe, beautiful, darling, etc.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

If he’s not building blanket forts in the living room with you, you’re cuddled up on the couch watching something together while you wait for whatever he’s got baking in the kitchen to be ready.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Bobby firmly believes that laughter is the best medicine. When you’re down, he’s quick to find something to make you laugh. You do the same for him. You both always forget what it was that upset you in the first place.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Bobby wants to talk about anything and everything. He wants to know your opinion on everything under the sun (and you’ll give it to him!). He asks you random questions seemingly out of the blue. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. He loves hearing your stories as much as you do his.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Cooking and baking! You can always find him in the kitchen at the end of a stressful day. Those previously mentioned shenanigans help too.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

You. you, you, you... a million times you. You’re his proudest achievement. He’s no stranger to PDA. Like I said, he wants everyone to know that you’re his. He knows they want what he has. Besides that, he loves to show off his baking skills. He’s always doing the most and being extra about his creations, just because he can.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

That next summer after the villa, you and the other islanders planned a group vacation. You wanted to spend at least part of the summer with them again for old times’ sake. He knew he wanted to do it then, in front of all the people who had become like your family in that one summer. They were the people who watched the two of you fall in love and he felt it was only right that they be there when he proclaimed his eternal love for you.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur & New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

bonus: Creep - Radiohead always makes him think of you! also shameless self promo of my bobby playlist which includes all three of these songs lol

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

You and Bobby talk about your wedding constantly, planning long before he technically proposed.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

A rescue dog! A medium to large sized pup. You’re definitely dog people. I imagine it would be a cute and scruffy mixed breed.

[featherymalignancy]

CHAPTER THREE—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

“In wine lies the truth”

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

Check out the masterlist for In Vino Veritas here!

Chapter Three: Bollinger

This time, Nesta didn’t bother lying to herself; she’d made the trip to Merchant because she wanted to see Cash.

It was perfectly innocent, though. She’d had a good day was all, and the truth was she didn’t have an over-abundance of friends in San Francisco. It would just be nice to see a familiar face. Besides, Tomás was out of town, which made this...easier than it might have ordinarily been. 

The old bell chimed as she strode in, and Cash—who’d be pouring over what looked like an inventory report behind the bar—grinned when he saw her, eyes glittering. His hair was tied up in its usual style at its crown, but today he also wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him look more distinguished, if no less roguish. She found it vaguely irritating  that he seemed to get more handsome every time she saw him. 

“Let me guess,” he said in greeting. “Another dinner party.”

“No,” she said primly, setting her bag down and perching on a stool. “Today we’re celebrating.”

He grinned, teeth bright against his bronze skin.

“Are we?”

“We are,” she said. “I just won a huge case.”

“Congratulations. Unless—” he narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t defending a murderer, were you? Tell me he didn’t do it.”

“It was a civil case. Police brutality.”

Cash’s eyes softened. 

“Not just a supermodel, then. A superhero, too.”

Nesta let the comment glance off of her, unsure the sort of damage it could do her if she let it sink in. Instead she pursed her lips.

“The officer broke my client’s back during a rough ride. A man who’d done so little wrong that he was never even charged for the supposed crime he was arrested for. He was only in police custody so long because he ended up in surgery.” She shook her head. “Fifteen hours on the table, and he’ll still never walk again. I pushed for criminal charges but couldn’t get the government to prosecute, so I took the case to civil court instead.” 

She flashed a dour smile.

“I made sure there wasn’t a cent left on the table.”

Cash let out a low whistle.

“You sort of scare me, you know?”

Nesta shrugged, feeling oddly pleased by this observation. 

“Normally I only take on criminal defense cases pro-bono, but this wasn’t one I was going to let slide.”

“You fascinate me,” Cash admitted, and Nesta huffed, not wanting to let that sink in, either. 

Unfortunately, it was harder to ignore, and Nesta felt her cheeks warming.

“Maybe you just need to get out more.”

Cash laughed, eyes glittering from behind his frames.

“I’ve been out plenty, trust me.”

“Gross,” she sniped, and he laughed again.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just determined to make me a philanderer, aren’t you?”

She glanced at her watch to give herself something to do.

“You’ve yet to prove you aren’t one.”

“I can’t prove a lack of something. As for proving the opposite—“ he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“I don’t care for surprises,” she said, needing to change the subject.

It felt too much like they were flirting again, and it was a line she knew she couldn’t cross. Tomás would be beside himself if he ever found out.

“Alright,” Cash said, seeming to read her body language. “Enough witty banter. What kind of champagne do you like?”

“Bollinger,” she said. “If you have it.”

Cash grinned, the gold in his ears winking at her as he propped his chin on a fist. 

“Are you sure you’re not a international super spy? That’s James Bond’s favorite, too.”

She couldn’t stifle a short laugh.

“How do you even know that?”

“When are you going to accept that when it comes to wine, there’s nothing I don’t know?”

“Never,” she said in challenge. “Because someday you’re going to make a mistake, and I vow to be there to roast you for it when you do.”

Cash raised his eyebrows, leaning in slightly.

“Then I’ll be sure to make said mistake in the shower.”

“Cash,” she warned, even as she fended off another laugh.

“You’re the one making threats!” He said, holding up his hands. “I can’t help it if you occasionally fall victim to your own hubris.”

“I—“ she began, still trying to avoid imagining what Cash looked like in the shower. His thick hair slicked back, skin glistening as water ran down the arched grooves of his Adonis belt towards his thick—

She cleared her throat.

“Fine. You win this round.”

“Part of me is afraid that you’re only giving ground as some sort of tactic, but I’ll take my wins where I can get them.”

“Then I have you just where I want you,” she said, glad to have made her way back to more familiar terrority.

He laughed, going to get the champagne.

“You can have me wherever you want, Archeron,” he called, but before she could censure him for it, he’d disappeared into the back.

He came back carrying the Bollinger and two antique glasses that reminded her of Downton Abbey. 

“Nice touch,” she said, gesturing to them.

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Thought you’d like these. Be gentle with them, these are Dev’s babies.”

He popped the bottle with a expert kiss of sound before pouring a measure for each of them and pushing one of the glasses to her. 

He held his up to her.

“To the justice we can get.”

She raised hers in answer. 

“Even if it isn’t the justice that’s deserved.”

Their glasses sang as they touched, and Nesta paused before taking a sip so she could watch him take his. As always, his reaction didn’t disappoint. 

His brows drew together as he gave a hum of appreciation, biting his lip as he let the flavor linger. She hurriedly took a sip herself, not wanting to get caught admiring him. She could feel him studying her in return as she did.

She let her eyes flutter shut as the satiny bubbles caressed her tongue. 

“What do you taste?”

Her eyes snapped open to find he was still watching her, head cocked slightly to the side.

“You’re the expert,” she said archly. “You tell me.”

He laughed.

“I already know the profile. I want to hear what you think.”

“Is this your way of putting me in my place after all my dress-downs?”

His grin faded, something she couldn’t quite name softening his hazel eyes. 

“Never. I just—“ some of the tension melted from his shoulder as he gave a laugh that didn’t feel entirely genuine. “You obviously have a great palette. I just want to know what it is you like about this vintage in particular. Think of it as—market research, if you want.”

She considered this, and him, because taking another sip. 

“I’d know it was champagnois even if I’d never had it before. It’s nuttier than a Prosecco or a Cava. Not as finely-edged. And the fruit in it is lightly spiced. Apple, definitely. And...pear, maybe? It reminds me of Christmas.”

She glanced up to find him looking at her. 

“Well?” she said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “How did I do?”

“Spot on,” he said. “Though no surprises there. You would have made a great sommelier. A big part of the job is painting a picture that makes people fall in love with the wine. That description was painfully charming.”

“Don’t be obsequious,” she warned, even as she felt herself preening a little from the compliment.

“No idea what that means,” he said with a grin. “But I will do my best. How did things turn out with your sister and the Riesling?”

Nesta flashed a feline smirk, one she knew sent most men running for the hills. 

“Better than I could have hoped,” she said “Graysen’s mother wouldn’t stop raving about it. Her new favorite, she said. Even better than the bottle Graysen got here for her birthday last year.”

Her smirk widened as he shook his head, laughing. 

“You’re gonna put this poor kid in therapy.”

Nesta sniffed, taking another sip.

“He’s made Ellie cry more than once; he can burn in Hell for all I care. Besides, he couldn’t be less worthy of her if he were were a clown car mechanic. I’m going to throw a gala they day they break up for good.”

“If you could invent a perfect man for Elain, what would he be like?”

“Quiet,” Nesta said immediately, and when Cash laughed, she added, “I’m serious! Graysen is constantly talking, and she can never get a word in when they’re together. She has so many interesting things to say; she deserves a guy who wants nothing more than to listen to her all day.”

“A wallflower, roger that. What else?”

Nesta considered. 

“Someone who does sweet things for her. Elain’s love language is acts of service. Men always want to buy her expensive things or spouts odes to her beauty. What she really wants is someone who will pack her a sack lunch or get her car washed. Also dark-haired. Grown men shouldn’t be blonde.”

Cash grinned, eyes slight. 

“He sounds like a dreamboat. Maybe I should let you find me someone, too.”

Nesta was surprised at how much the comment ached. Not that she begrudged Cash meeting a woman; he certainly deserved it. She just—didn’t want to have to imagine it. 

“I don’t know you well enough to make an accurate assessment,” she sniffed, trying not to seem too desperate as she poured herself more champagne. 

Cash opened his arms in invitation. 

“What would you like to know?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she considered. 

“How do you feel about Beyoncé?”

Cash laughed.

“Is this a trick?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“The Lemonade album deserves a permanent exhibit at the Smithsonian as a pillar of human achievement.”

She nodded in approval.

“Good. At least I know I can trust you now.”

“That’s your litmus rest?” He laughed. “What were you going to say if I say no?”

“Leave and never come back, obviously,” she said. 

“Fair enough,” Cash allowed. “What else?”

“Best Hogwarts house?”

“Alright, this one is too easy. Gryffindor.”

Nesta feigned a gag. 

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Daring and chivalrous! Those aren’t favorable traits to you?”

Nesta sniffed imperiously. 

“Self-important and braggadocious, you mean. Besides, there’s nothing more dangerous that a person who’s convinced they’re right.”

He shook his head, chuckling. 

“I feel so foolish. Everything about you screams Slytherin; I should have seen that question for the trap is was.”

“You know why I’ve been so successful in the courtroom?”

“Because you’re brilliant?”

She dismissed the compliment with a flick, even as it warmed her from the inside out.

“Because most of the time I’m going up against self-righteous prosecutors who’d rather waste their time beating their chest and  waxing dramatically to the jury about my client’s character, instead of arguing the facts. It makes mounting a defense and tearing them to ribbons almost comically easy.”

“Like I said,” Cash offered, studying her with unchecked appreciation. “Fascinating.”

“I’ll change your mind before this is all over,” she said. “Mark my words.”

He leaned in slightly, enough that she could smell his clean scent again. 

“Looking forward to it.”

They studied each other for a moment, and this time it was Cash who looked away, chuckling quietly to himself. 

“What else?”

“Tell me secret. Something no one else knows about you.”

He considered this before turning over his forearms to show her his tattoos.

“I cried like a baby when I got these.”

She put her chin in her hand, if only to resist the urge to trace the slightly-ridged ribbons of ink. The designs were exquisitely tendered; whoever the artist was, they’d known what they were doing.

“Why?” she asked finally. 

He laughed. 

“Because they fucking hurt!”

She pursed her lips to indicate she wasn’t buying it, and he laughed again, glancing down at his forearms. 

“Growing up, I just always felt like—I don’t know—a mongrel. When you’re a kid all you want to do is fit in, and being mixed, I never really felt like I did. I was—weirdly resentful I couldn’t just be like everyone else. I had my gran in my ear always spouting all this Māori stuff, but I just wanted to be Hawaiian. It wasn’t until she took me back to Waitomo when I was in high school that I got to see my culture for what it was—mine. I wanted to wear that pride on my skin.”

“So when you got the tattoos...”

He nodded.

“When I got the tattoos, I felt like I was reclaiming something I’d lost. Not just a sense of belonging, but a connection to my dad, who I never got to meet. It was—really emotional.”

“Did you take anyone with you?”

“My friend Ro. He was the only other Māori kid in my neighborhood growing up, so our families were always close.”

Cash laughed, adjusting his glasses. 

“You should see him. His tats cover almost the whole left side of his damn body. If he hadn’t wanted to be a cop, I’m pretty sure he’d have gotten them on his face. We had to convince him to stop mid-neck.”

Cash glanced down at his own again, and Nesta couldn’t resist. Gingerly she reached out to follow the band on diamonds that studded along his wrist. She watched his skin pebble under her touch, and she pulled her hand back, knowing she was being unfair. 

“That sounds—intimidating,” she said instead, trying to shift the conversation back.

Cash shrugged.

“He’s a sweet dude underneath all the gruffness, but yeah, he’s pretty terrifying with all that ink. I suppose it doesn’t help that he’s also 6’6 and looks like a jacked Anderson Cooper.”

She had to laugh. 

“What does that even mean?”

“He started going grey when we were still in high school, and now he’s completely silver. It’s annoyingly dashing.“

Nesta snorted. 

“The silver fox trope is such a double standard. If I was completely gray, no one would be gushing over it.”

Cash considered. 

“I feel like you would be very striking as a silver vixen. Besides, I thought women dying their hair gray was a thing now?”

“How do you even know that?”

Cash laughed. 

“My friend Rhys is a...great lover of females.He loves to opine on all the various trends.”

“Is that your polite way of saying he’s a playboy?”

Cash shrugged.

“His dad’s a billionaire. Az and I think he didn’t hear the word ‘no’ enough as a kid, and it’s made him restless and hedonistic. When he meets the right girl, though, it’s going to be game-set-match. I know it.”

“Thats...charming, I suppose.”

“You’d like him,” Cash said before pausing to laugh. “...I think. His cousin I think you’d definitely like. In fact, I’m having a friend from Paris in next week to host a tasting, and Mor will be there. You should come and meet her.”

Nesta’s heart leapt at the opportunity. She loved getting dressed and going out, and she was in rather desperate need of female friends. Still, there was Tomás to consider.

“I know that look,” Cash said. “So let me beat you to the punch: you can bring your boyfriend, and whoever else you want.” 

“Elain would love it,” Nesta said, not wanting to admit that Tomás wouldn’t, especially when he saw Cash.

Still, she was reasonably confident she could convince him. 

“Maybe I’ll tell her to bring Graysen, and your friend can embarrass him in front of everyone.”

Cash shook his head, giving a resigned chuckle. 

“You are terrible.”

Nesta admired her long nails self-importantly. 

“Please, you love it.”

She immediately regretted saying it. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Cash sometimes looked at her, and she didn’t want to blur any lines by being over-flirtatious. It wasn’t fair to him, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Tomás. And if he ever found out she’d been saying things like that to another guy behind his back, he’d never let her step foot in the Merchant again.

“I admit I’m morbidly curious about this guy,” Cash admitted. “Though I don’t want your sister to hate me for humiliating her boyfriend.”

“She’ll love you,” Nesta blurted, and realizing her misstep, forced herself to add, “maybe I’ll set you two up once she gives Graysen the boot.”

The idea made her stomach roil, especially when Cash smirked.

“First you accuse me of philandering, and now you want to set me up with your precious baby sitter? Pick a lane, Archeron.”

Nesta shrugged mechanically.

“At least I’d know she was being treated the way she deserves.”

Cash laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the bar.

“I don’t want to date your sister, Nes.”

Nesta ignored the way something in her black heart fluttered at the declaration, pursing her lips in feigned annoyance instead.

“Why not? Gorgeous and brilliant aren’t your type?”

Cash laughed.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that gorgeous and brilliant are every guy’s type.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Nesta had no idea why she was pushing the issue. She had less than zero desire to see Cash pursue Elain.

Cash only laughed again, an edge of exasperation souring the otherwise rich sound.

“Maybe I’m too afraid of you. I can only imagine what kind of cruel and unusual torture you’d cook up for me if things didn’t work out.”

“I’d flay and barbecue you at a low heat,” Nesta affirmed, and Cash grinned, his expression easing slightly.

“Exactly. Besides,” he paused, eyes glittering from behind his frames as he studied her again. “I wouldn’t want to risking messing up our friendship.”

She sniffed to disguise the way that touched her.

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends. We hardly know each other.”

“I know you better than you think, my thorny Slytherin queen. And we are friends, so don’t be like that.”

“Fine,” she said. “I admit I find your company enjoyable in an...annoying sort of way.”

“Please,” Cash said, grinning. “You love it.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, and he only grinned wider.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So about next weekend: are you in? I’m trying to firm up the guest list for my friend Hélion.”

Nesta felt her cheeks warming as she admitted, “I...have to discuss it with Tomás. He���s been out of town.”

Cash looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he said, “Well if you do decide to come, I have only one request—“

“That I don’t bring my friend Claire,” Nesta finished for him, and he laughed. 

“She was in again last week and left me her number on a receipt. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Call her?” Nesta made herself suggest.

Cash frowned.

 “I told you: not my type. Everything I said, she agreed with. I don’t want a woman who only ever tells me what she thinks I want to hear.”

Nesta couldn’t help herself.

“What do you want, then?”

Cash sank his teeth into his plush lower lip as if he were trying to suppress a smile before finally glancing at her.

“Someone who’s quick on the draw, and who isn’t afraid to dish it back. I don’t want a admirer; I want an equal. Besides,” he paused, biting his lip again. “I prefer brunettes.”

Nesta felt her heart beating in her throat as he studied her—her dark hair—before meeting her gaze again. 

“If you know anyone like that, then...”

“I don’t,” Nesta said automatically before adding, “sorry.”

Cash continued watching her for a second before shrugging. 

“Being single isn’t all bad.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Nesta admitted in a soft voice. “It’s been a while.”

Cash nodded, adjusting his frames as he looked down into his glass.

“How long have you two been together?”

“Six years.”

“That’s—a long time.”

“It is,” she agreed, wishing they could change the subject.

“No ring yet?”

Her eyes snapped up, he shook his head. 

“Sorry. None of my business.”

She thought about biting out that no, it most certainly wasn’t, before realizing she didn’t want to sour things with an unduly harsh retort. Instead she shrugged. 

“If he had his way, we’d be married already. I’m the one who’s insisted on waiting.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know why she answered. She knew she really shouldn’t, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Cash was so easy to talk to, and the fact he didn’t know Tomás personally somehow made it feel like less of a violation of their privacy. 

“We’ve been through a lot together, but I don’t know—I’m not ready. I guess I’m just waiting for a sign to show me that I am.”

“Didn’t have you down as a person who believed in signs,” Cash admitted. 

Nesta fidgeted in her seat, looking down at her bare left hand. 

“I’m not usually. But this is...too important not to be completely sure.”

Cash nodded but didn’t push for clarification, even though she could tell he wanted to.

“I’m happy, though,” Nesta added, needing to hear herself say it out loud. “He makes me very happy.”

Cash gave her a smile that was warm, even if it didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“You deserve that,” he said. 

“How would you know?”

At this Cash’s smile widened to show pearly teeth. 

“Because I’m an excellent judge of character. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve that? Someone who makes them happy?”

“You do,” she blurted, and her cheeks caught fire as she realized she’d said it out loud. 

She’d clearly drank more champagne than she’d thought; she was being embarrassingly loosed-lipped. Cash only smiled again, politely ignoring her insidious blush. 

“You think?”

“Per your logic, everyone does,” she pointed out, drumming her nails on the oak bar top. When he dimmed a bit, she softened. 

“But yes, I think you deserve it more than most.”

Cash gave a sheepish laugh as he looked down at the scuffed chukka boots her wore, and Nesta found herself adding, “She’s a lucky girl, Cash. The woman you end up with.”

It was truer than he even knew, and harder to bear than she’d expected. She had a sudden image of Cash in the arms of some unknown brunette beauty, and she felt her hands curling to fists. 

She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she hadn’t retreated to safer territory yet. 

“I should get home,” she said, draining her glass. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

He grinned. 

“Thank you for an excuse to drink champagne on a Tuesday. And before you embarrass us both by trying to pay for this bottle, let me make a proposition instead.”

Nesta huffed and made to protest, but he cut her off. 

“You know it’s nothing like that, so don’t get shirty with me. Just—come next Saturday. Tastings go much easier when there are people there who know what they’re looking for in a good wine, and I promised Leo I would give him something to work with. He’s French, so he gets fussy like that. And if you come, I can just put the bottle on his company’s tab. He works for one of the biggest distributors in France, so they won’t mind.”

“How long have you been cooking this scheme up?” She asked, and he grinned.

“Since about the word ‘celebrating’. Do we have a deal?”

He even extended a hand, and she bit her lip as she considered. 

“I still have to talk it over with Tomás. But yes, I will—tentatively be there.”

She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed gently as his smile returned. 

“But you have to let me pay for the bottle if I don’t end up making it.”

Cash rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll add it to your tab, I promise.”

“Fair enough,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll will let you know on Tuesday when Tomás gets back into town.”

Cash laughed, though the sound was a bit hollow. 

“How? You don’t have my number.”

Nesta bit her lip, resisting the urge to shift on her feet. She and Tomás had given each other permission into their respective phones, and though it wasn’t a privilege he often exercised, she knew that if he did and saw Cash’s number, he’d freak. It would certainly be the end to their coming to the tasting.  

“I’ll—call the shop.”

All the playfulness melted from Cash’s expression as his mouth tightened. 

“Are you serious, Nes?”

“What does it matter?” She shot back, needing to go on the defensive. “You’re always here anyways.”

“That’s not what concerns me.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

He crossed his bruising arms across his chest, his tone brittle in a way that belied he usual ease. 

“Oh really? Then look me in the eye and tell me that—as your friend—I have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She turned to the door and heard him swear under his breath.

“Nesta.“

She tightened her grip on the leather strap of her handbag, fighting the urge to turn back to him as she left the shop.

————————————————-

“What’s going on with you?” Hélion asked from where he lounged on the sofa, watching as Cash straightened the collar of a fresh button-down in the mirror. 

They were currently in in the apartment above the shop, which Devlon had bought when such things were still possible to afford in North Beach. He’d agreed to let Cash stay there while he was in Hawaii, provided Cash didn’t change anything. 

So far, he’d  had the place painted, replaced the dated backsplash in the kitchen, and bought a new couch. A contractor was coming the following week to talk about taking down a wall in the living room and gutting the master bath.

“What do you mean?” Cash said, shrugging into the burgundy blazer slung over a nearby armchair.

Hélion eyed him critically for another moment.

“That’s the third time you’ve changed your shirt.”

Hélion continued his brazen assessment before snapping his fingers in realization.

“There’s someone coming you want to impress. Who is it? Investor for your mythical vineyard?”

Cash cleared his throat.

“No, I’m—still working on that.”

Hélion smirked.

“Ah, okay. Who is she, then?”

Cash fought not to tense. This wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have right now. Despite the voicemail he’d gotten from Nesta on Thursday at the shop informing him she’d be coming with two guests, he was terrified to get his hopes up knowing it was still entirely possible she wouldn’t show. 

“Who is who?” 

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“The woman you’re clearly trying to impress. And if you don’t tell me, know that I can get it out of Mor when she arrives.”

Cash felt his palms beginning to sweat. 

“It’s—not like that.”

Hélion smirked.

“No? Certainly seems like ‘that’ to me.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend.” 

“A boyfriend isn’t a husband, Cashish,” Hélion said in a coo. “Besides, who could resist all this devilish charm?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Cash warned.

“Me?” Hélion said in mock offront. “Never! Come on, tell me more about her. She must be something if she’s caught your picky eye.”

“I’m not—“ Cash shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “You like her. You’re smitten, I can tell. What’s her name?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not? I only want to know who I need to charm tonight. I will help make her yours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Leo,” Cash said, unsure whether to be exasperated or warmed by his friend’s meddling. “She’s bringing her boyfriend.”

Hélion bubbled his lips and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“I hate him already. He’s a swine! A wretch! Totally unworthy of her!”

“I actually think he might be,” Cash admitted, and at his tone Hélion straightened, setting down his glass.

“What do you mean?”

Cash blew out a breath, trying to keep his anger in check as he remembered the look on Nesta’s face when he’d suggested she take his number. Normally he might have taken it as a sign that she was more interested in him than she let on, but it hadn’t been guilt he’d seen in her eyes; it’d been fear.

“Allô!” Hélion said, snapping his fingers to get Cash’s attention again. “What does that mean?”

“He’s totally controlling; demanding to know where she is all the time, I think going through her phone—I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Have you met him?”

“No,” Cash admitted. “But Dev has, and he said the same. He said that he’s very territorial over Nesta, and that I should keep my distance.”

“Nesta,” Hélion said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s very pretty.”

Cash flipped him a foul hand gesture before turning back to the mirror. He sighed before continuing.

“I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t get her out of my head. And it would be bad enough knowing she’s got a boyfriend, but this prick—“ Cash shook his head. “I hate thinking of her in a bad relationship.”

“Maybe she just needs someone to show her there’s a better way,” Hélion said, and Cash huffed.

“Don’t tease me. This sucks enough as-is.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “No teasing. She clearly likes you, Cash, or else she wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

“She’s coming with him.”

“Then she must like you very much, to risk upsetting him just to see you.”

“I don’t want to put her in a bad spot.”

“But...?” Hélion prompted.

“But what?”

“But you do want her.”

Cash groaned, slumping down on the arm of the sofa.

“How could I not? She’s brilliant, and thoughtful, and witty. And God—so fucking gorgeous. She might honestly be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hélion gave an amused snort.

“The man’s in love.”

“I’m not in love,” Cash protested before pausing. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s got her sod of a boyfriend, and I just got her to admit we’re friends; I can’t mess things up.”

“Okay,” Hélion said, holding up his hands in submission. “I won’t say anything to her.”

Cash let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

“But say the word, and I will seduce the boyfriend and clear the path for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cash muttered, and Hélion smirked.

“So far as I know, you’re the only man who’s been able to successfully to resist me, straight or otherwise.”

“Az,” Cash pointed out, turning to the mirror to pull his hair back. 

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“He’s just being obstinate to spite me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re onto him.”

Hélion smirked and settled back into his seat. 

“Can you imagine what he must look like naked?”

“As his friend, I try not to. Shall we?”

Hélion rose, straightening his immaculate heather gray slacks as he did. Cash shook his head.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing that sweater. It’s bloody August.”

Hélion straightened the collar of the turtleneck self-importantly. 

“I’m French,” Hélion sniffed. “The laws of nature don’t apply to me.”

“That’s not at all how that works,” Cash pointed out. “But suit yourself.”

They descended the stairs to find the servers Cash had hired readying the place at Mor’s direction. The dining table had been set with the appropriate glasses, and flutes were arranged neatly on trays, waiting for champagne. 

“Looks good,” Cash told her in greeting, coming over to kiss her cheek. “Almost good enough to justify flying you all the way out here from London.”

“Please,” Mor said, batting his cheek. “I flew myself out here, you ungrateful plant pot.” She spotted Hélion and shoved Cash back. “Leo, there you are! Come give me a kiss.”

Cash only barely managed to get out of the way as Hélion slid a hand around Mor’s waist and pulled her to him. She draped her arms over his shoulders and pecked him on the lips. Cash only barely managed to fend off a groan of disgust, and Mor only flashed him a quick hand gesture before her eyes settled back into Hélion, who still had a possessive hand pressed to her low back.

“How are you, mon cœur?” She purred, and Hélion gave her an appreciative up-down.

“Better, now you’re here. Oh, and Cash has a woman coming tonight.”

Cash snarled.

“What part of ‘be cool’ did you not understand?”

“You are?” Mor demanded, turning to punch him in the arm. “Who?”

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Cash said, feeling sour for having to repeat it out loud. 

“So? Never seen a defender you couldn’t score on. What’s her name?”

“None of your—“

“Nesta.”

Cash screwed his eyes up, rubbing his temple. 

“Leo, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked. “This is so exciting! I haven’t seen you interested in someone in—“ she paused to think. “I honestly can’t remember the last time.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend,” Cash said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “And she’s my friend, so please don’t scare her off with your meddling.”

Mor toss her blonde waves off her shoulder. 

“I don’t meddle.”

Cash pursed his lips. 

“Tell that to Az’s love life.”

“That’s different. Without my help, poor lamb’s going to die alone.”

“I can think of someone I know who could make him feel properly loved up,” Hélion said with a smirk, and Cash rolled his eyes. 

“Leave him alone, both of you. Leo, if you want someone to flirt with, go back to London and bother Rhys. He’ll be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Tempting,” Hélion admitted. “But he’ll flirt with anyone. Besides, there’s just something about that pouty mouth of Azriel’s that drives me crazy.”

“Let’s just get the champagne opened,”  Cash said, not wanting to discuss his friends’ love lives anymore. 

He gestured to the servers, and Hélion glanced at the label of the nearest bottle and frowned.

“Bollinger? I thought we’d agreed on Moët.”

Cash shrugged. 

“I changed my mind.”

Hélion narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine,” Hélion sniffed. “But no more changes. I made these selections for a reason.”

Cash grinned. 

“You’re afraid I’ll pull something something you don’t know, you mean.”

Hélion gave him a dirty look, and Cash laughed. 

“I haven’t changed anything else,” he promised. 

At this the door chimed, and Cash’s heart rate picked up. Forcing himself not the react in a way his friends might notice, he nodded towards the door. 

“Go, minions. Be charming, make people feel welcome.” He grabbed Hélion by the elbow as he made to strut off. 

“Not too friendly. This is an elegant tasting, not a live sex show.”

Helion grinned, teeth bright against his dark skin. 

“Afraid I’ll meet your Nesta and win her away from you?”

“No, because you lay even one line on her and she’s probably punch your lights out. Get out of here.”

Hélion laughed, clapping Cash in the shoulder even as his eye snagged on fetching red head who was already smiling at him. 

Cash found as people trickled in that he was too wound up to mingle, so he busied himself in the back instead, helping pull bottles and making sure the hor d’euorvers looked the way he wanted. 

When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out to find a text from Hélion.

Come to the front. 

Swearing under his breath, Cash did as a instructed to find Hélion waiting for him at the bar. 

“What is it?”

Hélion shrugged. 

“Nothing. But you need to be out here. It’s strange for your to lurk in the back like the hunchback in his tower. Have a glass of champagne and relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“That’s exactly what a tense person would say,” Hélion said. “Go talk to people.”

“I will as soon as—“

He broke off as he watched Hélion eyes skate over his shoulder and light up. 

“What?” he demanded.

Helion smiled, eyes flicking back to Cash. 

“I think your Nesta just walked in.”

Cash’s throat went dry. His first instinct was to whip around, and he forced himself to relax his posture. 

“Merde, you weren’t joking,” Hélion said, gaze going over Cash’s shoulder. “She’s—fetching. Who’s the woman with her?”

“Her younger sister, I think.”

Hélion’s grin grew sleepy and slightly wicked, and Cash shook his head.

“Nesta will flay you alive.”

Hélion only shrugged before looking back and cocking his head slightly. 

“C'est intéressant...” he mused, tapping his fingers against his lips in mock bemusement. 

Cash grit his teeth. 

“What’s interesting?” 

Hélion’s smile was a feral thing, one that reminded Cash of a fox.

“I don’t see a gentleman with her,” Hélion finished. 

Unable to resist any longer, Cash turned, his pulse drumming a lulling beat in his belly as he drank Nesta in. 

She was dressed more provocatively then he’d ever seen her, and it made his mouth dry as he took her in. The slinky navy cocktail dress she wore hung off her body as if it had been made  for her, highlighting her gorgeous small breasts and lean legs. 

She’s yet to see him, but his heart sped up as the woman next to her, who was undoubtedly Elain, turned her head in his direction. Elain gave him a delightfully unsubtle up-down before she leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

Something warm began to pool in Cash stomach as Nesta’s gaze snapped to him and she flushed. 

He smiled in greeting, feeling pleased when she took Elain’s hand and started towards him.

“Go away,” Cash hissed to Hélion. 

“But—“

“I’ll introduce you later. Buzz off.”

Hélion huffed before retreating, and Cash fought not to fidget or look too eager as Nesta approached. She dark hair fell in a satiny curtain down her back, and he imagined bunching it is hands as he kissed her neck, peeling off that dress so he could...

“Cash, hi.”

He flashed what he hoped as an easy smile. He wanted to kiss her cheek the way he might have with someone like Mor, but given everything, he doubted she’d appreciate it. 

“Nesta,” he said, taking in the hint of her cool, sharp perfume as she came closer. “Glad you could make it.” 

She smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. He admired the elegant line of her wrist as she did, marveling that wrists could even be attractive. Hers were, though. They were gorgeous. 

“Thank you for inviting us.”

At this she put a hand on her sister’s back. 

“This is my sister, Elain. Ellie, this is my friend Cassian.”

Hearing her said the word “friend” had giddy delight crashing through him, and he forced himself to look at Elain instead. 

She gave him a bright, easy smile, and he immediately liked her. 

“Lovely to finally meet you, Cassian,” she said as they shook hands

“Cash, please. Honestly, I feel like I know you already. Nesta’s always bragging about you.”

Elain gave a sheepish laugh, doe brown eyes sparkling. Like her sister, Elain was beautiful, though hers was a much softer, more angelic thing: the fresh-faced Disney heroine to Nesta sultry villainess. She was of a curvier build as well, her figure voluptuous where Nesta’s was willowy. 

If Az was here, he’d be drooling all over the floor. He was a sucker for big tits and brown eyes, even if he was too much of a gentleman to ever admit as much out loud. 

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Elain said. “It’s not like I’m going to cure cancer or something.”

“No it’s not,” Nesta said. “You deserve it. You’re brilliant, El.”

Elain blushed before turning back to Cash. 

“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you, too.” Elain continued. “It’s good to put a name to the face.”

Cash grinned at Nesta, whose mouth has pinched into a pert frown. 

“You been bragging about me too, Archeron?”

Nesta sniffed in a way Cash now knew signified she’d been caught off balance. 

“Hardly. It’s Claire who can’t shut up about you.”

Elain gave a delicate laugh. 

“It’s true,” she admitted. “I think she’s got a crush on you. She still hasn’t stopped talking about that red Nesta served at her dinner party. No one could; did Nes tell you?”

Cash laughed when Nesta rolled her eyes. 

“Your sister isn’t in the habit of giving me compliments, unfortunately. But thank you, it’s nice to know you liked it.”

“I loved it,”Elain corrected. “You should come to the next party and listen to everyone fawn yourself.”

Cash glanced to Nesta to gauge her reaction, afraid to find her expression disapproving. She wore a sardonic smile instead. 

“Before you say yes, please keep in mind that Claire will be there, and there won’t be a bar or a stock room to shield you from her attentions.”

Cash grinned. 

“You’re not going to protect my virtue?”

Nesta pursed her lips to hide a smirk. 

“As if there’s any left to protect.”

“I will,” Elain assured him, grinning as she touched his arm. “We’ve known Claire for ages, but she can get a little—predatory.”

“Yes, a scrawny thing like you, who knows what she might do if she caught you alone,” Nesta added dryly. 

Cash laughed, and unable to resist showing off a little, he crossed his arms across his chest and said, “Archeron, I’m pretty sure I could bench your weight about five times over.”

“Doubtful,” Nesta shot back, eyes glittering with the challenge. “I weigh over 300 pounds.”

“What a coincidence; I bench 1,500.”

“Well congratulations on setting a world record, then. The last I heard, it was 1,075.”

Elain watched them, a grin on her face before she cut in, “Will you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nesta said immediately, and Elain gave her a hard look. 

“Don’t need any help, thanks.” She brushed a friendly hand down Cash’s arm. “Nice to meet you again.”

With that she slipped away, leaving them alone. 

“She’s cute,” Cash said when she’d gone. 

Nesta smiled, eyes softening in a way they only ever did for her sisters. 

“Isn’t she?” 

They watched in silence as Elain sauntered off before Nesta turned to give him a thorough once-over.

“You look—nice.”

Cash laughed, basking under her careful attention as her eyes swept from his blazer to his caramel dress shoes.

“Do I not usually?”

She flushed before pursing her lips.

“The joggers certainly gave me pause.”

He grinned, wanting to see if he could make her blush again. 

“I try to avoid them in mixed company. It’s unfair to the women present. Too distracting.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“I managed them just fine.”

“Or so you claim. But you easily could have been checking me out when my back was turned.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Get over yourself. Your ass is not as cute as you clearly think it is.”

He flashed her a smirk, seeing the opportunity her comment presented and finding himself unable to resist. 

“And how would you know?”

She flushed, and he felt his belly tighten, even as he grinned.

“Gotcha.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t offer a retort, and the realization she had been checking him left him feeling giddy. That was, until he remembered who’d she was supposed to have with her that evening. 

“So,” he said. “No Tomás?”

He tried to keep the hopefulness from his tone, unsure if he’d succeeded as Nesta straightened.

“He’s running late. But he’ll be here, don’t worry.”

Cash felt his heart sink.

“I can’t say that I was,” he admitted quietly. 

“Was what?” She said, tone flatter than before.  

“Worried he’d be here.”

He hated the way her face pinched at that, the light in hey eyes dimming. 

“Don’t start, Cash.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her expression darkened. 

“You didn’t have to. Please, promise me you’ll play nice. I think you two might really hit it off.”

Cash knew he would never like this prick and that the feeling was certain to be mutual, but afraid of pushing her away, he only smiled. 

“I’m sure we will. You look lovely, by the way.”

Nesta looked down under the guise of smoothing her skirt, but he suspected it was really to hide another blush. God, she was killing him tonight. He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. 

“Thank you,” she said finally. “It’s new. I don’t usually like this color, but—“

“It suits you,” he said, and though he wanted to push the issue, he knew he’d gone as far as he’d dared.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed a forgotten tray of champagne, passing her a flute and taking one for himself.

They were silent a moment as they both took a sip, and Nesta nodded in approval.

“Bollinger,” she said. “Should I be flattered?”

He shrugged, sure she was seeing through him.

“I’d forgotten just how good it was until you reminded me. I figured I’d help remind everyone else, too.”

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “I would hate to think you were just trying to impress me again; you know I’m immune to your charm.”

“But you do admit I’m charming,” he said with a grin. “I’ll take it.”

She considered this, eyes sparkling.

“I admit nothing,” she sniffed, taking another sip.

He laughed.

“Of course you don’t. It’s fine, my ego can take it.”

She snorted.

“That I don’t doubt.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence as Nesta turned to survey the room. Cash watched her in profile, admiring the narrow bridge of her nose and the dusting of freckles she’d clearly tried to conceal under her makeup. She was so lovely it made his chest ache.

Knowing he had to stop staring before she caught him, Cash turned to watch the crowd milling around instead.

“So no Graysen either, huh? I’m oddly disappointed.”

Nesta huffed. 

“Elain was going to bring him, but they got in a tiff earlier and now they aren’t speaking.”

“Why don’t you seem happier about that?”

“Because this happens all the time. I can’t emotionally invest in the hope they’re actually break up; the disappointment is too bitter. Please just tell me there’s someone here to distract her. What about your friend Azriel? Vanity Fair seems to think he’s single.”

Cash laughed.

“Az is still in LA; he generally avoids mingling with strangers, even for my sake. And my friend Leo was practically foaming at the mouth when she walked in, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you want dating your baby sister. He’s something of a...philanderer.”

“I’m not concerned,” Nesta said. “One thing I will say for Elain: she’s not easily wooed. I think she honestly gets hit on so much it doesn’t phase her anymore. Besides, she’s annoyingly loyal to Graysen. Tell your friend to do his worst; he’s not going to win her over.”

“Why do I get the sense that pleases you?”

She flashed him her Disney Villainess smirk again, and he felt his skin prickle in arousal.

“Because it makes me feel like I raised her right; weird blind spot for Graysen aside, Elain knows who she is, and doesn’t let others try and tell her different—especially men.”

“What about Feyre?”

Nesta expression grew more devilish. 

“Fey’s more like me. She didn’t need to be taught how to shred men to ribbons. It’s instinct for her, and she’s damn good at it.” Nesta pursed her lips. “I just wish she’d use it a bit more often.”

“She’ll get tired of kissing frogs eventually,” Cash offered. “You remember what it was like at 19.”

“I didn’t date until I was 19.”

Cash smiled.

“What was your first boyfriend like? I’m imagining either a geeky engineering major or an uptight Shakespeare nerd.”

“Neither,” she said, taking another sip of champagne. “He was a gorgeous Portuguese exchange student.” 

He chuckled, even if some of his amusement had soured.

“You really have a type, don’t you?”

When she gave him a pointed look, he felt his heart sink. 

“Tomás was your first boyfriend?”

It explained a lot. The blind loyalty, the way she seemed to capitulate to him when she didn’t for others. 

“Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

“In what way?”

She shrugged.

“To get it right on the first try.”

It hurt—physically hurt—to hear her say it, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting something petulant.  Instead he forced himself to shrug.

“I guess I wouldn’t know. My first girlfriend’s name was Becky, and she was the actual worst.”

“The fact she chose to go by Becky didn’t tip you off?”

“Looking back, it was the first of many warning signs.”

Nesta laughed, and Cash felt some of his bitterness fading. They were friends, he reminded himself. She’d claimed him as her friend, and as far as he was concerned, that made him the luckiest guy in the world. Her relationship with Tomás wasn’t any of his business. If she was happy, he’d be happy for her. 

Over Nesta’s shoulder, Cash spotted Hélion trying to get his attention by tapping his watch.

“I should probably start getting people settled,” he said. “Do you want us to wait for Tomás?”

Nesta bit her lip. He knew she hated when people did her favors, and he suspected she was embarrassed that it was her boyfriend holding things up. 

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’m sure he’ll be here soo—“

The doorbell chimed, and Cash didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He fought down a searing stab of annoyance as Nesta raised her hand in greeting, choosing to glance at his own watch instead. 

“Querida,” a smooth voice called. “There you are.”

Cash thought about trying to use the opportunity to make his escape, but he knew Nesta would see that for the cowardice it was and be annoyed he wasn’t playing nice like he’d promised. 

Instead he turned, watching the well-dressed man making his way towards them. He was of rather average height and build, Cash noticed with satisfaction, though his face was classically handsome. Between the way his dark hair was pomaded away from his face and the fact he wore no socks in his Armani loafers—despite being dressed in slacks and a blazer—Cash thought he probably worked at a hedge fund. 

Of course he did, the little prick. 

The minute he was close enough, Tomás caught Nesta by the elbow and hugged her into him for a wanton kiss. 

Cash bristled at seeing Nesta stiffen, clearly embarrassed. She should be, he thought sourly. It was like the beginning of a bad porno. 

After a second Nesta pulled away, flushing a little as she dabbed at her lips. Tomás kept a proprietary hand on her low back. 

“Where’s your phone?” Tomás said in Portuguese, ignoring Cash entirely. “I called you twice.”

“It’s on silent,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry.”

Tomás pursed his lips in unveiled irritation before finally seeming to take note they weren’t alone. Cash felt a grim satisfaction when Tomás had to tilt his chin up to meet Cash’s eye. 

“Tomás, this is Cassian. He owns the shop.”

Not friends anymore, Cash noted with disappointment. Acquaintances, if best. The fact she wasn’t willing to admit to any degree of familiarity in front of Tomás was monstrously telling, and it made him hate the asshole even more.

Tomás tossed a casual glance in Cash’s direction, and though his smile was placid, his gaze was cold. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shifting Nesta in his arms so he could extend a hand. 

Cash could tell she was uncomfortable that he hadn’t released her, and he fought the urge to break Tomás’s fingers as they shook hands.

“I suppose I have you to thank for all the exquisite wine I’ve been drinking lately,” Tomás  said, smiling down at Nesta before letting his eyes drift back to Cash. 

Cash shrugged. If Nesta wanted or needed to downplay their interaction for the sake of her relationship then he’d oblige her. 

“I guess. Though Nesta’s got great taste on her own. She doesn’t need my help.”

“She doesn’t need anyone’s help. Right, querida?”

Nesta’s laugh was tinny and hollow as she finally extricated herself from Tomas’s grip until the pretense of looking around. 

“I’m going to go find Elain,” she said, leaning over to peck Tomás again. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Tomás said, and Cash wanted to punch him for the tone he used, as if he were granting her permission. “Come right back.”

Nesta nodded her agreement and headed off, and though Cash expected Tomás to follow, he stayed, flashing a much cooler look as he took Nesta’s abandoned glass from the bar. 

He raised it, and when Cash raised his, Tomás said in Portuguese, his tone light as if he were making an actual toast, “I don’t like you.”

Fucking coward. 

Cash only flashed a grim smile, clinking his glass to Tomás’s and replying in English, “I don’t really give a shit.”

Tomás’s oily, self-satisfied smirk curled into a sneer, and Cash found himself bracing his feet a little farther apart on the floor. He guessed they were really doing this, then.

“Stay away from Nesta,” Tomás spit out. “She’s none of your concern.”

“And she’s not your property,” Cash shot back. “So why don’t you try treating her with a little respect?”

“Fuck you.”

Cash let out a bitter laugh. 

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“Stay out of our business, bugre.”

Cash took a step in Tomás’s direction, teeth bared. 

“What did you just call me?”

It was a slur Cash hadn’t heard since he’d left Brazil, but it wasn’t one he could ever forget. It had gotten him into more than one fight growing up, and even now, it still made some part of him burn.  

Tomás had the good sense to take a step back, even as he bared his own teeth. 

“Stay away from Nesta,” he said again. “Or I will make you very sorry.”

Cash snarled.

“First you insult me, and now you’re threatening me? Tread lightly, caralho. You don’t want to fuck with me.”

“What’s going on?”

Both men looked up to see Nesta approaching, brows drawn. 

“We’re leaving,” Tomás said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Leave? You just got here.” 

Nesta spared Cash the briefest glance as Tomás tried to pull her along behind him.

“I have a headache,” Tomás said curtly. “Get your things.” 

“I have Elain with me—“

“Give her your keys; she can bring your car home.”

People had begun looking now, and Nesta tugged her hand from Tomás’s, flushing.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she said quietly.

“I have a headache,” he said more forcefully. “Are you expecting me sit here and suffer?”

“No, but—“

“Good, then let’s go.”

Unable to stand by any longer, Cash intervened. 

“Nesta—“

“Stay out of this,” Tomás snarled. He turned to Nesta. “Let’s go. Now, please.”

Nesta looked rather helplessly towards Elain, who was trying to make her way over to them. 

“I need to—“ she gestured to her sister, and Tomás mouth tightened. 

“Do what you need to and let’s go. I’ll be waiting in the car. Two minutes, querida.”

With a final sour look he stormed off, slamming the door as he left. 

“Prick,” Cash muttered, and Nesta whirled on him. 

He expected her to snap at him, but instead she pursed her lips, looking down at her feet for a moment before glancing back up at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said tightly, and he realized what he’d been interpreting as annoyance was  actually her attempting not to cry. “I have to go.”

“No,” Cash said, touching her chin gently to win her gaze back from the floor. “You don’t.”

She brushed him off immediately. 

“Yes, I do. Have a nice evening, and please make sure my sister gets home safe.”

“Nesta—“

By now Elain has arrived beside them, and Nesta pulled out her keys and stuffed them into her sister’s hand. 

“Don’t drive if you feel like you’ve had to much to drink. I can come get the car tomorrow if need be.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elain offered, but Nesta was already shaking her head. 

“No, you stay. Tomás just isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to take him home.”

“For fuck’s said, Nes. You don’t have to do this!”

Nesta flashed Cash a searing look. 

“Please don’t make this worse. Ellie, I’ll see you back at the house. Have a good time.”

She brushed a hurried kiss to Elain’s cheek, and before Cash could protest again, she was striding for the door. 

“I’m sorry,” he called, and she only raised a hand in salutation before disappearing. 

“It’s not your fault,” Elain said from his side. Her voice was quiet but bitter. “It’s always like this. I’m going to try and smooth things over. He’s—less harsh when I’m there.”

Cash could hear his heart beating in his ears, every instinct roaring at him to go to the parking lot and beat Tomás bloody. Nesta might hate him for it, but at least then he’d know she’d be safe.

“Is she going to be alright with him?” He asked Elain, and she pursed her lips. 

She knew what he was asking, and she nodded. 

“I’ll make sure she is.”

“Will you call me?” He asked, knowing he sounded desperate and not caring. “And let me know everything’s—okay?”

She nodded, handing her his phone so he could enter his number. When he handed it back, she gave her another soft smile, this one edged in a sadness and regret and broke his heart. 

“It really was nice meeting you, Cassian. I hope I—see you again sometime. ” 

She patted his arm before she too was leaving. 

He swore until his breath when they’d both gone, furious and terrified in equal measure. Furious at Tomás for the slur, and for dragging Nesta out like a rag doll, and terrified that despite Elain’s reassurance, something bad might happen to her because of him.  

More selfishly than that, he was terrified that he’d never see her again. She’d been lying to Tomás about coming to the Merchant before he even knew Cash existed. Now he’d be watching her even more closely. The thought made him sick, as did his powerlessness to help her. 

“What the hell was that?”

Cash turned to find Mor behind him, brows drawn. Hélion, he noted gratefully, had corralled the other attendees and was beginning a speech about the history of the Bollinger and it’s flavor profile. 

“Her boyfriend is an abusive prick,” Cash grit out. “And I just lost my cool.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?”

“And make things worse? I’m sure sure she hates me enough already.”

“Are you worried about her? Maybe you should call Ro, have him send over some unis for a wellness check?”

“I thought about it, but her sister said she’d call me. If I don’t hear from her in the next fifteen minutes, I will.”

His and Nesta’s friendship, he feared, was already destroyed. The least he could do now was make sure she’s alright.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mor breathed, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I can tell you really like her. If it helps, she likes you, too. That’s why her boyfriend hated you so much.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t think it matters, anyway. I doubt she’ll be back after that.”

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. 

Hi, it’s Elain Archeron. I just got to Nesta’s, and Tomás is gone already. Guess his “headache” worse than we thought. 

Cash let out a breath. 

I’m glad. Please tell her—

He paused. Tell her what? That despite the fact he hardly knew her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her? That hearing her laugh was like hearing the voice of God, and seeing her with Tomás had been like a knife to the gut?

He backspaced before trying again.

Thanks for letting me know. xx

Elain’s response came at once.

Thank you for caring about her. She deserves that. ❤️ 

Cash blew out a breath as he read it, something tightening in his chest.

“How can I help?” Mor asked.

Cash straightened his blazer, forcing a broad smile as Hélion introduced him and he waved.

“Scout the talent,” he said, scanning the bevy of beautiful, eligible women who were now smiling in his direction. “I need someone to make me forget, at least for tonight.”

“Forget what? Her, or the fight?”

Cash sighed.

“All of it.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER              NEXT CHAPTER 

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[aforrestofstuff]

3, 4, 9, 11, 12, 16, 19, 23 👀✨

3. How would you describe your sense of style?

I don’t really give a shit what I look like as long as I’m comfy. I absolutely hate wearing jeans (or any pants, really). So I’ve got a ton of dresses and skirts and flowy things that make me feel like a pretty princess. I don’t really get shit for being a m a n and wearing women’s clothes out in public Aksjsns y’all just have so many pretty things!! but yeah I’ve got a lot of flower prints and overalls and just a lot of things that your grandma would wear lol. I guess my style is vintage stuff.

4. What’s your guilty pleasure?

I don’t really know honestly. I pride myself on being a clown so I’m not really guilty about anything I do anshddnk. I guess uhm, writing fanfiction?

9. What new (to you) music are you listening to?

Lately I’ve been getting pretty into Megadeth and Def Leppard. Idk what the genre is called. Like, old rock or something? Idk. My brother collects records and he bought me the Hysteria album a few weeks ago so I’ve just been playing that shit on repeat and driving him crazy. It’s great tho.

11. What would be the best compliment a friend could give you? A family member? A stranger?

I guess complimenting my sense of humor. I’ve been called a handsome boy many times but when someone says I’m funny or sweet then I just kind of melt. I don’t know how to take compliments to begin with so I’m just always like AAAAAAAAAAA

12. Name three things you like about yourself.

I’ve got a cool mustache going on.

My eyelashes are freakishly long and byootiful

I’ve got chubby hands perfect for heat resistance while flipping shit on the grill shdhdn

16. What controversial food combination do you like?

I’ve already answered this so I’m gonna copy and paste it here: Oh my god, I can’t name just one. I eat Frankenstein food all the damn time at work. I guess my favorite would be pickled jalapeños in spaghetti with radishes, tomato, and raw onion. It’s uh, it’s an experience.

19. Sweet or savory?

Sweet. I fucking love sweets.

23. What would your ideal day look like?

It’s a Monday, the local movie theater is playing a Ghibli movie. I wake up at 5 AM to go to work. Boss calls me just as I’m getting ready and tells me I’ve got the day off. I go to sleep, wake up at around 9, and take my ass to that movie. Afterwards, I buy myself and my mom something to eat. We go to the mall, and then to Barnes and Noble so I can pick up some comics. Later on, I come home and my brother asks me to replay the Halo 2 campaign with him for the 7000th time. That night, I go to sleep at 3 AM talking to my friends over the phone, and I’ve got a day off the next day. I’m getting teary-eyed just thinking about it.

[purplesurveys]

799

When was the last time you saw a doctor? Sunday. Angela’s mom advised me to get a blood test, urinalysis, and a chest X-ray after she called me to ask how I’ve been feeling, so my parents took me out to have two out of three of those procedures. There weren’t any X-ray services available then. Which internet browser do you use? I’ve always used Chrome. Have you ever lived on a university campus? I’ve never had to, but I’ve always wanted to. :( The university is close enough for me to drive to and from home everyday so there’s been no need to live in a dorm inside the campus. Do you know anyone who is a firefighter? I don’t think so. What was the last wedding you went to? My mom’s brother, so uncle, and my now-aunt. That was 13 years ago though. For weddings that came after that, only my parents got invited.

What’s your favourite alcoholic beverage? For mixed drinks, Zombie is the best to order with friends; Long Island Iced Tea is my choice if I wanna go solo. Tequila for hard drinks. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? Uh right now. I have my phone on at the moment to my Messenger thread with Gab so I can see her profile photo, and she was my ex at some point. Do you have any piercings besides your earlobes? Nope. How many push-ups can you do? 40-50, thanks to the PE class I took two semesters ago. I used to be really scared of pushups, but by the time that class ended I realized that they were one of the easiest exercises to do compared to all the other shit we had to do lolol. What time is it right now? 10:10 PM. What colour are your eyes? They’re dark brown. Do you "binge-watch" tv shows? Not consistently. I only have binge-watching phases and they’re usually quite short, only lasting a week before I get tired of watching (unless I find the show  extremely good). I’m currently watching Descendants of the Sun and it has taken me a total of six months (and counting) to get through 16 episodes. What is your opinion of clowns? I don’t really have any. They make funny balloon animals and that was entertaining enough for me as a kid and I don’t recall ever being seriously scared of them. Did you wear a necklace today? I did not, because I only stayed home. How old are your parents? They’re both turning 49 this year. What’s something odd you do when you’re anxious or nervous? For extreme cases, I pluck my eyebrows and/or eyelashes. By hand. I think my habits for milder cases are relatively common. Do you play any games on your phone? Yes. They’re there for when I need a distraction or whenever I’m agitated. Have you ever received a compliment from a stranger? I’ve gotten catcalls from men thinking they count as compliments. But I’ve also gotten genuine compliments, usually from women. What sort of car do you drive? I have a tiny Mitsubishi Mirage that I miss driving so much. Is your wardrobe big enough for all your clothes? Nah, it’s overflowing at this point. Can’t wait to get a bigger closet. Do you plan ahead when it comes to your outfits? Sometimes I will, sometimes I wouldn’t. Have you ever shaved your face? Just my eyebrows and the space above my lips. What colour is your front door? Brown. Do you take the stairs or the elevator? I usually take the escalator. What was the last vaccination you got? It was for cervical cancer, when I was around 14. Would you ever try herbal medicine as opposed to conventional medicine? Only as an absolute last resort and only if one of my grandmas offers it to me. Filipino grandmas can heal pretty much anything lol so I’ll take anything they believe would make me feel better. Do you wear open-toed shoes? No. Have you ever been to a petting zoo? No, I don’t really know what to feel about them. There’s a scene in Finding Dory where they show an aquatic petting zoo and all the kids just grab at the fish with their dirty hands and it made me so so anxious lol. I haven’t been to a petting zoo before but if they are anything like that, I’m not a fan. How long does it usually take you to get over a break up? I didn’t get over my last one, so I don’t have a definite answer to this yet. Do you know anyone who lives in Long Island, New York? I don’t know, I don’t think so. When was the last time you wore a button up shirt? Few months ago would be a safe guess. Do you get motion sickness? Yes. What’s your favourite song at the moment? I’ve been sick a while so I haven’t actually been listening to any music. Do/did you have a curfew set by your parents? Yeah, my mom always sends me “Before midnight” texts. I always make it just a teeny bit after midnight but she never gets mad lol. How many times have you consumed alcohol? Idk, I don’t shy from it so it’s been more times than I can count. When was the last time you wore a hat? What kind? I don’t remember; I don’t wear them a lot, if not at all. When was the last time you went to your favourite restaurant? March. Do you often forget what you were just about to say? Not really. How many close friends do you have? A little more than my best friends, but I’m too lazy and sleepy to count rn. When was the last time you were at a party? End of February. What’s your opinion of Australia? I know they have a high quality of life, which is why many Filipinos migrate there.  Do you own any striped sweaters? I don’t have any. Are you single or taken? Taken. Have there ever been any forest or grass fires in your area? Nope. Do you ever get any important emails that need attention? Right now, the only crucial one I’m waiting for is the email from the college announcing the official list of graduates.

[momoception]

   𝐌𝐢 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 "𝐌𝐢𝐦𝐢" 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 @acid-plumbobs 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒                                안녕하세요! 나는 미미입니다.

 21 · Female · Korean - French · Singer ·  Straight Music lover · Creative · Perfectionist

🍋𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 She can listen to any kind of music. But her favorite genre is pop, in any language, she doesn't care while the music is good (she would search for the lyrics quickly). 

🍑 𝑭𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆 Anything yellow, graphic tees and anything that looks cute and fun at the same time. 

🌞 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 Mimi has a bubbly personality, she’s very friendly and loves to give compliments to people, even strangers. As a big sister she’s very caring, not only with her family but also with her mutuals. Are you familiar with the term “class clown”? Well since high school she was that person, classmates and teachers always laught at her bad jokes and innocent pranks.

🌻𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙎 · Daughter of a Korean father and French mother. First of three children. Her little sister is 15 y.o. and her little brother is 4 y.o. · Her grandma called her Mimi so everyone started to call her by that nickname. · Pink lemonade and peach juice are her favorite drinks. French macarons her favorite dessert. Dumplings her entire world. · She started singing in elementary school. She signed at music club just to see her crush and she ended up falling in love... but with music. · Can’t stand insects. She’s a little squeamish. · Loves old cartoons and Disney movies. · She likes to go clubbing and dance with her friends. She’s not quite the good dancer but she tries. She doesn't know what “shame“ is. · Has a part-time job as dog walker. · When she feels sad she practices her dance skills just to feel better. If she’s happy she practices singing. · Really good baker. · “Have you seen my textbook?” “Have you seen my cell phone?” “Have you seen...?”

This is how I imagine her voice x x (updated because I’m dumb)

Private dl if chosen I made two casual outfits for her, I’ll made the rest out of EA’s clothes just to give you and idea of her fashion style. Hope you like her!

[penumbra-rp]

Congratulations Dean, you have been accepted for the role of Rabastan Lestrange!

“Does reputation matter to you?”

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly.

Admin Ash: Dean, from the moment we heard of your interest in Rabastan, we had a feeling he had just the vibe that would be perfect for you, and this application only proved how right we were. Rabastan is hilarious, he’s animated, he’s completely and utterly obnoxious -- just as you stated in his traits -- and I found myself cackling out loud to his antics and the numerous ridiculous things he said. Much like the gem above. He’s a proper nuisance -- wearing his place at the bottom of his graduating class like a medal and taking utter pride in spicing up any dinner party -- and I found that I adored him all the more for it. I know he’s going to give many of our Death Eaters a headache that’ll be too hard to shake. I’m so excited that you’ll be bringing our rambunctious rockstar to us! 

Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Dean

AGE: 21

YOUR BIRTHDAY: July 4th 1997

PRONOUNS: She/Her

TIMEZONE:  GMT

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Rabastan Lestrange

CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: He/Him

FACECLAIM: Robert Sheehan

CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: July 29th

PERSONALITY:

+ Persuasive

+ Comical

+ Boisterous

- Argumentative

- Obnoxious

- Impressionable

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

‘What a beautiful little girl you have,’ strangers would coo, easily mistaking the boy’s long dark eyelashes as a feminine feature. The compliment felt like a stab in the heart for a woman who had mothered two sons when she had spent the majority of her second pregnancy dreaming longingly for a daughter.

The minute he had said his first words, the Lestranges knew he would be nothing like their first child. Rabastan was demanding, his mother’s disinterest and father’s sternness only making him thirst more for their approval. He’d approach the world as if it were a stage and his friends and family was his audience. Every move calculated strategically as a plead for more attention, plots intertwined intricately to remove wishfully himself from his older brother’s seemingly overbearing shadow and earn his own moment in the spotlight. When that didn’t work, Rabastan turned towards misbehaving. Playing cruel tricks on Rodolphus which were reciprocated with pure disdain from the young teenager, saying inappropriate things when there were guests around and neglecting to follow any rules. There were no limits, so long as he knew it would obtain him the measliest bit of recognition.

As his troublesome ways manifested and endangered on becoming a larger problem, Rabastan was swiftly packed up and sent to a private school. One where the tuitions were sky high since there was the promise to straighten out unruly children and turn them into well-behaved future politicians and lawyers. The first couple of years, Rabastan was no stranger to disciplinary procedures. Hours upon hours spent in detention, letters sent home on numerous occasions and not to mention the extra load of homework he’d receive on the basis that he never seemed to be listening in class. Yes, within the three years of his enrolment, the youngest Lestrange was fast becoming one of the rare cases that the school couldn’t fix. Foreseeably a failure in the eyes of his teachers and his parents.

That was, of course, until they decided to place the boy in front of a piano. Fingers gliding effortlessly across ivory keys and filling the room with delicate twinkling accents. What was meant to be another amercement spun into Rabastan’s saving grace, the first time he’d receive acknowledgement for the right reasons and actually feel some contentment in what he was doing. When he’d returned home that year for the summer, his piano lessons continued. Quickly followed by learning the guitar, the violin and even the saxophone. Essentially, it was considered to be a miracle, at long last, they’d found the one thing that installed some calm into Rabastan’s relentless frenzy of a personality.

Throughout the years, Rabastan’s creativity and musical talent only appeared to flourish. Carefully written lyrics sang in perfect pitch over another one of his original guitar riffs, an angelic voice filtering through the house and reverberating a gentle symphony in the bleak hallways. But when the time came, the answer was a clean cut ‘no’ to his proposal of studying anywhere else other than the Slytherin school of Social Business. Despite his talents, his father would have sooner fallen into an early grave than see one of his son’s graduating with anything that wasn’t a business degree.  

The confinements the course held over his time to express artistic freedom entirely reignited Rabastan’s dormant compulsion to rebel. Skipping one too many classes and spending more time drinking than he ever did in the library. When it came to graduating, the life of the party and class clown unsurprisingly had barely scraped the mark. Proudly taking the place at the bottom of his class and leaving the school entirely unqualified to fulfil a role in the family business.

Rabastan had won. One last swipe of his father’s credit card was enough to book a couple of days in a recording studio and the rest, as they say, was history. Songs that he’d masterfully been pouring all of his efforts into during his studies turned to meticulously crafted pieces of art. With a pretty face and sleek style, it wasn’t long before a record label picked him up and churned him into a full-fledged rockstar. Fame and notoriety came second nature. Orchestrating publicity stunts with his PR team and spreading his own rumours were all part of the game in establishing his very own empire. It was as if Rabastan was created for this fast set lifestyle, stepping on other people’s toes so he could climb the social ladder right to the very top.

Rabastan Lestrange had become a household name. Securing a number one in the UK charts for three consecutive months and selling out venues shortly after the release of his debut album. His quick-witted opinions and outrageous interviews going viral across social media, gaining him the admiration of many and resentment of others. It wasn’t long after that, that his family name would call on his like a curse to act dutifully to another cause.

Owning one of the major organisations that formed the frameworks of the Sacred 28 meant that the Lestrange family were no strangers to the acts of Death Eaters. Regularly, it had been part of the dining room chatter that Rabastan was effectively escorted away from, untrusted with the secrets that Rodolphus’ silver tongue was so often wrapped around. That was until they’d seen an opportunity in the younger Lestrange’s childish arrogance and increasing influence he held over the public. Rabastan’s lust for trouble and manipulative discourse fit suitably within the skill sets of a Death Eater. They would use him as a middle man, putting his sweet talk and skilled bribery to good use and when that failed, he’d follow precise orders and discard of the target.

If it weren’t for Rodolphus’s involvement, Rabastan would have never of handed his loyalty to the organisation as easily as he had. Though the Dark Lord may be the ringleader, for Rabastan this went further than ranks. It was about blood. He’d never been that ideal, pristine version of the man his parents anticipated that he’d be. Dismissing controversies to the press with blatant arrogance and refusing to comment on anything associated with Lestrange Industries and the warfare it supported. This was a chance to prove himself, to his bloodline, he was one of them.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

“Adoring fans that scream your name, music royalties, fancy events, groupies,” Rabastan lists off one by on his fingers before scoffing, “no, you’re right, I should really go beg my darling big brother for a space in the family business, I’d be a really sexy secretary for a businessman- I mean, picture me in a pencil skirt.” Rabastan puckers his lips at the thought, using his hand to fan himself down, “my apologies, I’m getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

Running a hand below his chin, he’s selecting his next words carefully. “Hmm, now who do I hand out this chunk of free promotion to if not myself… No, really, I say I like something and the sales skyrocket the next day, I guess it’s my charm.” Reclined in his chair Rabastan springs back up once the perfect song comes to mind, “Have you ever heard of The Cheeky Girls?” his own laughter surrounds him in a pitch almost as harmonic as his singing, “In all seriousness, Club Tropicana by Wham! really just radiates my personality.”

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

“My reputation? Who do you think I am, Taylor Swift?” he questions tauntingly. “It’s been said that I’m like marmite, you love me or you hate me. Either way makes no difference to me. This is where my manager comes swanning in to warn me to play nicely with my dearest interviewer, but you know why my fans love me? It’s because I’m genuine, I’m not going to feed them all this bullshit as other singers do- that reminds me! Buy my new EP, available now on iTunes.” he punctuates with a charming wink, though his tone was sarcastic his intent is entirely serious.

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

“Mummy and Daddy wanted a little girl so badly, then when I turned out to be a right old diva they still weren’t impressed” He can’t fight the look of pure delight that rules his expression, even as a boy his parents distaste in his demeanour had been hugely entertaining. “Truth is I like being the black sheep of the family, it’s satisfying work for me. That and I make our dinner parties a lot more enjoyable, I inject a healthy bit of personality into the dining room conversations and stop people from falling asleep in their soup bowls, you know?… for example, bear versus shark, who would win? Obviously, it’s the bear.”

v. What languages can you speak?

“Most days I can hardly even speak English,” he declares humorously, “I speak enough French to get by thanks to private schooling. You know the basics… Voulez-vous coucher avec moi,” he’d definitely learned that from Lady Marmalade, not his expensive education.

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

“The drugs- Kidding!” he’s aware that he’s yet to answer one question sincerely. “For all my beautiful fans out there, please know that I would NEVER participate in the massive consumption of cocaine, but I didn’t say anything about ecstasy.” Rabastan pauses long enough to make them feel uncomfortable, visibly revelling in the awkward silence. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’m joking, again. I don’t know what I’d save, I could easily replace anything. So maybe my wallet.”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

His lips are pressed together in contemplation, finally a question that couldn’t be glossed over with humour or shocking statements. “The Slytherin School of Social Science,” as he answers, he gags to dramatise his disdain. “I wanted so badly to study Literature under the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, but daddy dearest was refusing to financially support me if I didn’t follow in the family’s footsteps. ‘No son of mine is walking around reading Bridget Jones’ Diary’” Whilst imitating his father’s hoarse voice, his expression changes to an unnatural dark grimace and wags his finger in the air. “-Great book, by the way. So that’s the story of how I became a Business graduate and the bottom of the class.” A nostalgic sigh pronounces itself from his lungs as he stares dreamily into the distance, “oh the glory days.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“@RabastanLestrangeMusic, that’s the one I’m meant to plug anyway, or my publicist will have me by the throat- little does she know, I’d enjoy that,” he glances over his shoulder to see if his manager is watching before looking back to them with a delighted grin, “I do have this lesser known Instagram account, @Rab_a_stan, it’s got a couple of thousand followers, I started it last week and I put really weird unfiltered shit on there- wait can I swear during this interview? I never asked, fuck.”