#we both have glasses but very different styles. they have hair dyed natural red. my hair is either brown or unnaturally colored

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

New piercing looking cute

[rainbowvamp]

Enchanted

Happy Mercelot week my loves! Enjoy a Cinderella love at first sight au. Featuring Merlin in a pretty outfit and infatuated Lancelot!

@mercelotweek fill for "beauty"

——

Merlin looks down at the bit of fabric in his hands. He’s never tried to alter an object this way. He’d cut a bit of Camelot red from one of the cloaks Arthur had sent to be re-hemmed and was just… looking at it. It was washed, but still obviously worn, fraying in places, no matter how he’d tried to mend it. He hadn’t been particularly keen on the red, but it was the only thing he’d had on hand. He certainly wasn’t going to risk any of his own clothes for something that might not work.

Merlin had altered himself before, sure, but he’d gotten stuck that way as often as he’d done it. A mask couldn’t exactly drink a potion and return to it’s original form. So, he had to be very careful and meticulous when he crafted this spell.

The white of his party clothes was incredible, striking, really, compared to all the other clothes he’d ever worn. Cast offs, surely, but they were beautiful. Morgana or even Gwen might know if they were even still in style, but it was meant to be a bit of a lark, this party. Both for him and the other guests in attendance. The others would be in costumes fashioned from older clothing, or clothing made costume by masks. It was supposed to be fun, light hearted, this party, but here Merlin is, overthinking something as simple as a mask.

He murmurs a spell of his own creation and the scrap of fabric, crumpled and pinned to generally resemble a mask, became something gorgeous before his eyes. The fabric was thinner, almost like lace in weight, but stayed stiff in his hand like it had been over starched. The pins had become fine, metallic dots over the eye holes, and the ribbon he’d use to secure it was almost silk like.

It was beautiful, but Merlin could feel the tenuous nature of the spell. It wouldn’t last forever. It might not even last the night. He could feel the threads of magic holding it delicately in this shape, but ready to break apart at any moment.

Well, he’d just have to make his trip to the party short so he wouldn’t risk being found out. These things usually went so far into the night it became morning, but he’d probably have until midnight before the spell wore off and risked exposing him.

If anyone found out a Servant was mingling with these Nobles, he’d be in the stocks for a week. Maybe worse.

Guinevere, who is his dearest friend and closest confidant, has agreed to help him with his hair for tonight, so he sneaks off to Morgana’s rooms, the lady already down at the party, to get her help, mask already in place, just in case anyone should see him.

The palace feels different when he walks around in clothes that belong to a nobleman. The servants he passes bow respectfully, and it makes him uneasy. How can people stand this? He felt so terrible, watching people avert their eyes and how their heads like he or anyone else had any right to their humility.

In Morgana’s rooms, Gwen adjusts his coat and combs his hair back in a way he didn’t think would suit him, but he ends up liking. He tries once more to convince her to come with him, to just steal one of Morgana’s old dresses and wear a veil, but she’s convinced she’ll be found out, and isn’t willing to risk it.

Merlin has no such qualms, and has vowed to take her involvement with this little scheme to the grave. Or the stocks.

“You look wonderful,” She says when she finally lays her brush down. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, “Haha, Guinevere. I just want to see how the other half lives for a night. You’re sure you won’t come?”

And now she rolls her eyes. “The lady Morgan and I are much closer than you and Arthur. She’d notice me, even with a mask. Maybe the next one.”

He smiles softly at her. “Definitely the next one. Besides, you’ll still be there. You’ll just have to endure less of the idle dithering of nobles.”

She giggles, “Merlin, you can’t talk about them like that.”

“I can talk about them however I like dressed like this,” He tugged his collar a bit to show off and that set her off again. She covered her mouth to keep their presence hidden and swatted at him.

“Okay, you’ve made your point. Now go, before it’s over.”

“Love you,” he kissed her cheek and she returned the gesture.

“Please don’t get yourself killed.” Which was as good as an I love you too from Gwen.

“No promises. I did try to fight the prince my first day here.”

—-

Merlin takes a second glass of mead in less than half an hour from a passing try. He knows this will be a terrible idea, but he cannot, to save his own life, stand this lot while sober any longer.

Occasionally one of the nobles will smile and greet him, ask him who he is, but for the most part, people are interested in socializing with those they already know, and the few who approach him are obviously uninterested in him as much as they are interested in the connections he might be able to make them.

“I’m dying out here,” he murmurs to Gwen when she’s pauses briefly to grab another tray to pass around lady Morgana’s table.

“I’m so sorry. You poor dear.” She smirks and he smiles back at her.

“Your turn next.”

“Mhmm, after all the fun you’re having, I can’t wait.”

He laughed as she left and his spirits were lifted for the first time all night. He took a final sip of his mead and left it on a table, deciding to try his luck on the dance floor at the same moment that a set of deep brown eyes caught him from across the room.

“Caught” was not an exaggeration. The smoldering, desirous look in the eyes that looked like they might have been looking at him for a while held him like a man entranced. His breath caught in his throat as the man started to make his way toward him.

He was in chain mail, a knight in a cloak that was unmistakably Camelot red. It wasn’t unlike the cloak he’d cut his mask from.

At the reminder, Merlin focused briefly on his mask, whose transformed state was tenuous. It would last a while longer, maybe an hour, maybe longer.

The determined way the knight walked toward him, through the onlookers, partygoers and celebrators was almost overwhelming. No one tonight had looked so intently upon him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it.

His feet seemed to decide how to handle it for him. Thick dark hair that begged to be tugged at and a mouth made for kissing, it drew him in like so few things ever had. Even with the black mask obscuring his face, Merlin can tell he must be beautiful. The cut of his jaw is too perfect for him not to be.

Merlin is stunned by the time they meet, standing obnoxiously still in the middle of the dance floor. The knight bows to him, and while servants bowing to him had made him uncomfortable, this feels formal, and somehow honorable. He holds out his hand when the knight starts to stand, thinking they might shake, but instead Lancelot takes the offered hand and kisses the back of it, eyes trained on Merlin the entire time.

He is grateful for the cover of the mask, with the way that he can feel the blush forming high on his cheek. He wouldn’t want to embarrass himself in front of a knight.

“Hello, My Lord. I am Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot. He’s heard Arthur speak of him, in passing. An excellent fighter, perhaps as good as the Prince himself. As he stands, Sir Lancelot smiles at him, and Merlin about melts as his stomach flutters and he stands tall, just about eye level with him.

“Hello, Sir Lancelot.” The words are breathier than he means to be, and if Lancelot notices, he gives no indication.

With the slightest bow he asks, “May I have this dance?”

Merlin had been about to dance on his own anyway. Only, Merlin’s never danced any of these formal noble dances, only remembers celebrations in Ealdor, and in the lower town. He isn’t sure of the steps, but Lancelot still hasn’t dropped his hand, and his mouth seems to speak with the same ungiven authority his feet had moved him with.

“Certainly.”

Lancelot takes Merlin’s other hand to place it on his shoulder, and takes Merlin at the waist. It’s what everyone else seems to be doing, and he’s grateful that Lancelot says nothing when they’re pulled so close their chests are nearly flush.

Lancelot starts to move, but Merlin can’t keep time, keeps stumbling over his feet, and Lancelot’s. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.” Merlin laughs, afraid Lancelot will simply leave, but the man’s returning smile tells another story.

“That’s alright. Just stop thinking so hard about it. I’ll lead.” He pauses briefly to adjust his grip on Merlin’s waist and then Merlin feels the gentle push of the hand there, urging him to move back, forth, left, right, turn, in time with the music. Between Lancelot’s easy leading, and the way his eyes seem to never leave Merlin’s, it’s easy to feel like they are the only two people here, the only ones that matter.

Merlin finds the rhythm eventually, and the gentle coaxing on his hip becomes obsolete. He still misses the feel of Lancelot’s hand in his when they’re suddenly unclasped and grabbing Merlin by the waist, to spin him around with the flourish as the dance came to an end. He laughs, and the answering twinkle in Lancelot’s eyes speaks volumes for how he’s enjoyed himself.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin smiles, letting the knight take his hand and kiss it again.

“I’d say it was the best dance I’ve ever had. Thank you, Sir Lancelot.”

“I aim to please.” Another song started up, and Lancelot raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this one is a group dance. Unless you fancy a half dozen partners and more steps than you can count, we might sit this one out.”

Merlin laughed, “I certainly don’t want that. Get a drink with me?” Merlin doesn’t need another drink, but he is parched.

When Lancelot offers his elbow to Merlin, he almost rolls his eyes, but can’t help the grin it illicits. “Such a gentleman.” He smiles, and Lancelot returns it. They take a seat at a nearby table, long since unoccupied in favor of the dancing.

Lancelot serves him mead before a servant can, highly unusual for a knight, as Merlin is well aware. “Thank you,” he waits for Lancelot to serve his own glass and clinks them together before taking a healthy sip from his. The warmth of the joy of Lancelot and the mead mix together, leaving him feeling heady and relaxed.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. Is that terrible?” Lancelot asked, and Merlin laughed in response.

“Few would. I’m hardly a common attendee of these sorts of things. I’m Emerys of Ealdor.”

“Such a beautiful name, for a beautiful man,” Lancelot gestured for a servant to bring the tray they were holding, and thanked him graciously as he served both Merlin and himself honey cakes. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Ealdor. Is it far from here?”

“Yes. I don’t see it much, anymore. It’s in Essetir, and it is not exactly safe to pass between the two lands. I haven’t been home in many years.”

Lancelot frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I too can not return home. I know how lonely that can be.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “Yes. But I do make friends wherever I go, and that helps.”

“I hope perhaps I may one day be counted among them?” Lancelot raies and eyebrow and Merlin’s besotted.

“Easily. So you do not come from Camelot?”

“No. I was a wonderer for a long time, learning sword craft to become a knight of Camelot, one of the noblest lands I know of.”

“One of?” Merlin asked, and he’s honestly curious. He’s used to the way the knights talk about Camelot, like it is perfect, the most wonderful place to live with the most impressive king.

“The King is very noble. He has a heart for the people not all Kings can boast.”

“But?” Merlin pushes, and Lancelot smiles uneasily.

“But not all of the people of Camelot belong in the King’s heart. It is not always my desire to carry out the laws against magic users, if they’ve done no wrong. But I am always loyal to my king.” He took a sip of his mead, pulling gently on the collar of his shirt.

Merlin didn’t know what it felt like to fall in love, but he thought perhaps this might be it. Like falling and being overwhelmed, and wanting nothing more to steal away with someone who appeared perfect in every way.

“I must say I agree.” He said, and Lancelot visibly relaxed. “But like you, I have no ill will toward the King. He does what he believes to be right, and that is all any man can be asked to do.” And perhaps one day he would see that he was not right. Merlin could only hope.

“Yes. Will you be in Camelot long, after the festival?” The question is so obviously probing that Merlin feels a bit of glee at it, even as his heart sinks, because he can’t have this man. Lancelot is a knight of Camelot, and Merlin is a servant.

“I’m afraid not. I leave tonight,” Merlin smiled wanly, and Lancelot’s face mirrors him.

“There’s no possibility of your plans being changed?”

“No. I’m expected somewhere tomorrow. We’ll have to ride through the night to get there.” This is the first true lie Merlin has told all night, and it aches to say. Lancelot cares for magic users, and he’s kind, and he didn’t ask Merlin what connections he had or how he might be helpful to him. He just wanted to have a dance and talk.

He looks away and meets Gwen’s eyes, somewhere over Lancelot’s shoulders. She looks so sad, and he knows he must look the same.

“When might you be back? In Camelot, I mean?”

“I can’t say. It’s only coincidence that brought me here tonight.” This at least, is true. Merlin never could’ve come to this party if not for Gwen coincidentally finding the discarded clothing in the closer of a long disgraced nobleman. The fact that they happened to fit Merlin was also happenstance, and if not for that, he’d never be here. With an hour of Gwen’s help, she’d been able to tailor them nearly to perfect, and he was loathe to admit he looked quite good.

“That is a shame. We must enjoy tonight then.”

“Yes, we must.”

The song changed and Merlin took as delicate a bite as he could manage of his honey cake before taking Lancelot’s hand. “Teach me to dance some more, you’re fantastic at it.”

This brought a smile to Lancelot’s face. “It would be an honor, my lord.”

They take to the dance floor. This dance, whatever it is, is far more complicated than the last one, and Lancelot also stumbles through it occasionally, which makes Merlin feel just a bit better.

“We’ve nearly got it!” Merlin laughed when the music ended, and Lancelot bowed to him again. Merlin is about to ask him for another one when a tall figure suddenly approaches them.

“Mind if I cut in?” Says another knight of Camelot, this one completely disregarding the dresscode and lacking a mask. His long hair came to his shoulder and Merlin would’ve found him incredibly attractive if it weren’t for the fact Lancelot was already the center of his night.

Merlin bows goodbye to Lancelot, thinking this knight has come for his equal, he certainly wouldn’t be the only knight to do so, but then he sees the hard edge of Lancelot’s eyes and is a bit confused.

“My Lord.” The new knight says, and takes Merlin’s hand, sweeping him away from Lancelot without waiting for so much as a “by your leave.”

“I’m Sir Gwaine. You’re a pretty thing,” the knight says, and Merlin doesn’t find this compliment as positive as Lancelot’s.

“I’m sorry if I have no desire to be called an object.” He said stiffly, and Gwaine laughed.

“You’ve got nerve. Lancelot must like that.” Merlin was swept up and turned, his hands barley having time to grip Gwaine’s shoulders and stabilize himself as he was lifted into the air. “I’m sorry to intrude. Sir Lancelot is one of my dearest friends, and a bit of teasing always does him good. Can you see him?” He leaned in to whisper these last words in his ear and Merlin’s eyes start searching the floor for Lancelot.

He’s not on the dance floor, but is watching them with a deep intensity from the spot where they’d sat and ate the song before. “You’ve upset him.”

“Well, you didn’t have to accept.” The man smiled, and Merlin scowled.

“I thought you were asking for Lancelot, not me. Besides, you didn’t give me time to either accept or deny. Just carried me off like some sort of brute.”

“My apologies.” But nothing about his tone seemed apologetic. “However, when Lancelot gets his hands back on you, I think you might just thank me for my little intervention.”

Merlin’s barely following along with whatever steps, but he’s starting to fume. “What is this? Some sort of joke? Do you find that appropriate?”

“I meant no harm,” He smiled, “I swear.” They turned and for a second his eyes focused over Merlin’s shoulder and he grimaced. “But I’m afraid I may have gone too far. I’m going to get it in training tomorrow.” He focused on Merlin again to grin. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it.” The song ended and Merlin just barely put up with a peck on his hand. Before he can pull away, Gwaine holds his hand tight, and Merlin freezes. “Lancelot hasn’t looked this happy for a very long time. I hope you don’t mean to dash his heart.”

Merlin is shocked at the insinuation. “I’ve only just met him. There are no hearts involved.”

“Mmm, you haven’t known Lancelot as long as I have. I assure you, there are.” He made Merlin take his arm and lead him back to the table where Lancelot was sitting. There was a blond knight standing beside him now, leaning in and murmuring something in his ear. “He falls so quick it’s a marvel he’s ever on his feet. But he’s loyal. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea if you mean to disappear.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, stiffening, and Gwaine shrugged.

“I’ve never seen you before. Neither has anyone else I’ve asked. You’re passing through. Who’s to say how you got an invitation, but you’re not likely to return if you’re making no move to introduce yourself to everyone here. I’ve been a wanderer, I know the signs of someone who only intends to stay one night. If you’ve no intention to stay, I wish you’d leave him be.”

“It’s complicated,” Merlin said voice still tense.

“Everything is. My word stands.” They arrive at the table and Lancelot stands, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him, glaring at Gwaine.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I couldn’t get enough of our new friend. But he’s all yours now, Lancelot.”

Merlin takes a seat and is relieved for Gwaine to go. Lancelot looks him over like he’s afraid he might’ve been mauled. “Are you alright? I know Gwaine tends to be a bit… forward.”

Merlin laughed, a bit uncomfortable now after what Gwaine’d said. “I’m alright. He wasn’t too forward. Just a bit blunt.”

“Yes, he’s like that.” Merlin followed Lancelot’s gaze to Gwaine, and hoped that Lancelot did beat Gwaine on the training field tomorrow.

The honey cake he’d left is still there, and so he takes another bite. Things like this were so rarely afforded to him he had to force himself not to scarf it down. The cake was soft and crumbled easily in his mouth, giving way to a sweet, delicate flavor. The soft sigh of pleasure from the taste of it all drew Lancelot’s gaze briefly to his lips, and Merlin felt his face heat. “I don’t usually indulge.” He said, as way of explanation, and Lancelot smiled.

“I’m glad you’ve given yourself the pleasure tonight. Camelot’s kitchens are famous.”

“I can see why.” He says, taking another bite of the delicious cake.

“Perhaps they might entice you back.” Lancelot says with a hopeful look, and Merlin swallows.

“Perhaps.” He’s starting to think that maybe this is no good anymore. He’s playing with this man’s heart, pretending to be someone he is not. As much fun as this is, and much as he’s possibly developing a crushing love for Lancelot, this is wrong. They could never be, simply by the virtue of Merlin’s station.

A clock, somewhere far off, strikes and he jumpsin his seat. He checks the magic holding his mask and finds it worryingly close to breaking. He can’t let his face be seen here.

Luckily, he has a readymade excuse.

“Hell.” He murmurs, putting down the cake and being careful to use the napkin to clean his fingers. Had to keep up this act of nobility, no matter how much he’d rather lick the crumbs from his fingers. “I have to go.” He drops the napkin down and pushes his chair back, throwing Lancelot an apologetic look that is more genuine that Merlin meant it to be.

“What? It’s only midnight. Please.” He takes Merlin’s hand as he stands, stopping him from going any further.

“I have to go. My carriage will be waiting. I was suppose to be there ten minutes ago.” Merlin tugs on his hand, but Lancelot holds it, doesn’t let it go.

“Please, I can’t- It’s too soon.” His pleading hurts Merlin, but now that his anxiety has taken over, he knows it’s just a matter of time before the mask becomes a scrap of cloth and falls from his face.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” He pulls his hand out of Lancelot’s and rushes as much as he dares to the door.

Sir Gwaine blocks his path just as he gets to the door. “Leaving so soon? Can’t I tempt you for another dance?” Merlin can’t read his face, is too worried to even think about trying.

When he looks behind him and sees Lancelot coming for them, he starts to truly panic. He can’t afford a delay.

He turns his face away from Gwaine and mutters a spell to drop a nearby server’s tray. This distracts Gwaine just long enough for Merlin to slip past him and out of the great hall.

He can hear Lancelot coming, calling after him, but he dare not look back. He mutters a second spell to slam the ballroom doors. This will serve both to slow Lancelot’s progress and hide which way Merlin goes goes.

And considering he’s going deeper into, rather than out of, the castle, it’s very important no one sees his retreat.

He slips through the halls, hearing Lancelot’s cries echo and then disappear as he goes toward the castle door, looking for him.

He’ll never find him.

Merlin swipes uselessly at his prickling eyes. He hadn’t wanted to leave Lancelot, but after what Gwaine had said, he couldn’t stay in good conscience. He swallowed hard to try and keep himself collected, and finally ducked into Gaius’ rooms, gracefully empty.

As soon as the door was closed he felt his magic break and the mask become a scrap of fabric. Camelot-red fell into his lap, and he stared at it, thinking of what might have been, and let himself cry.

[nomnomzombies]

8x05: Two Graves and The Pale Mare

**DISCLAIMER: all images found through google. Links to the images have been provided. If I’ve used your image and you’d like me to take it down, message me**

> Part 1 < “Dany’s Inferno, YMBQ, Cersei” 

> Part 3 < “Going Forward”

There’s been several different interpretations of the “white horse” imagery that we saw at the end of 8x05. Probably the most prominent would be the Bible’s description of Death, one of the four horsemen:  

Revelations 6:8

“Then I looked and saw a pale horse. Its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed close behind.”

Another would be an insert of “The Pale Mare” prophecy that Daenerys recieves from Quiathe in A Dance with Dragons:  

“No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun’s son and the mummer’s dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.”  

And once that prophecy comes into fruition, here is the quote from Grey Worm:  

“He came out of the morning mists, a rider on a pale horse, dying. His mare was staggering as she approached the city gates, her sides pink with blood and lather, her eyes rolling with terror. Her rider called out, ‘She is burning, she is burning,’ and fell from the saddle.”

I think that both of those interpretations are valid, but I think that they’re actually red herrings (I’m pretty sick of the use of that term because so many people are using it to justify tinfoil theories... but let’s call it what it is). A red herring is something that’s right in front of your face, so you instinctively follow that lead rather than peeling back the layers and trying to find the deeper symbolism. Casual fans may make the connection of Death’s Pale Horse and Arya now becoming the embodiment of death rather than serving him. Book fans may find the connection to “the pale mare” prophecy that put Slaver’s Bay on the brink of eradication at the hands of a plague. But “The Pale Mare” was always meant to be Martin’s allusion to Death. If you look at the entire Revelations quote, “...And they were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill by sword, by famine, by plague, and by the beasts of the earth,” it’s obvious that the riding of the pale mare is meant to be an allusion to the riding of death. Because the rest of the arc in Meereen is about the plagued people of Slaver’s Bay camped outside of the walls of Meereen, dying by the bloody flux or hunger, and encamped next to them are the Golden Company, the Storm Crows, and the Second Sons. So if “the pale mare” prophecy is meant to parallel Revelations, then what else could Arya’s white horse represent?  

Stranger  

Arya and Sandor’s arcs have once again become entwined. If there had been more time to tell this story, I would have sincerely enjoyed watching Their Escapades 2, but instead we get a glimpse of them riding out of Winterfell in 804 and then arriving in King’s Landing in 805. I’ve entertained the idea of peoples’ horses being symbolic of something, but I haven’t had enough evidence until now. There are five instances of symbolic horses that I’m going to bring up.   

When Arya and the Hound are leaving Winterfell, they are both riding black horses. 

https://timedotcom.files.wordpress.com/2019/05/gameofthronesaryahound.jpg?quality=85

(another instance of morality being represented by horse colour could be Sansa and Littlefinger at BotB—this is the first time I saw the colour of horses as possibly being symbolic)  

https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Cv-03djtvSQ/maxresdefault.jpg

Book readers know that the Hound had a staple horse, Stranger. It’s unlikely that the horse shown here is also Stranger, because the Hound was riding Stranger through the riverlands in Their Escapades 1.  

https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/gameofthrones/images/f/f8/Stranger.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/2000?cb=20140323201338

But the point here, is that the Stranger is one of the Seven representing “death and the unknown, and leads the dead to the other world.” So we see the black horse with the association of death, but I think that it’s a little more simple in that the black horse represents morality. In Their Escapades 1, the Hound was planning on ransoming Arya. Up until this arc, we’ve understood the Hound to be bad—I'm hesitant to consider him an outright villain, because we see his relationship with Sansa, but we question him because he serves Joffrey and slaughters Mycah. We believe that he won’t hurt Arya because he didn’t hurt Sansa, but we understand that the relationship (superficially) is transactional. Underneath this, the Hound is motivated by revenge.  

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”  

Arya and the Hound have been great accompaniments because their driving force has been revenge (Arya’s core arc is about identity, but revenge has been her tertiary arc). We’ve seen the Hound on this journey of embracing his more sensitive and paternal side, but it doesn’t change that he’s still motivated to go on because of his desire to kill his brother.  

When Arya returned to Westeros, the first thing that she did was continue striking names from her list. After the Freys she had planned to go to King’s Landing but changed her mind once she’d learned that Winterfell had been retaken for the Starks (fun fact: the inn where this happened was called “The Crossroads” and every time we’ve seen this Inn, the character in question was on a path and changed their mind). This critical decision change underscores that Arya’s primary arc is the process of shedding and reclaiming her identity. Once she’s reunited with her family and felt a sense of closure to the biggest threats against her house and her home, she moves on to the next biggest threat. Cersei is not only on her list, but she is still threatening her family, and we know that Jon is going south on Dany’s coattails. It’s only natural that she’d go south with the intent of revenge. It’s also natural that Sandor would go south to kill his brother.  

Once they’re in the map room, Sandor assesses the situation and implores Arya to leave. Sandor’s paternal relationship is kicking in again, “Do you want to be like me?” As in, look at the effects of living a life of revenge.  

“Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  

After Arya leaves—turns away from her vengeful life—the next scene juxtaposes the fates of being motivated by revenge. Sandor is getting his ass handed to him by the Mountain, and he’s losing. He’s getting the satisfaction of going toe-to-toe with his brother. Arya leaves the Red Keep and enters the chaos of the civilians of King’s Landing. Sandor is getting choked; Arya is getting trampled. The scenes are quickly going back and forth between the two of them. Arya’s situation is similar to Jon in Battle of the Bastards, but it’s likely just an easter egg as the back-and-forth between her and Sandor are meant to be the direct parallels.  

Sandor has made peace with his fate; Arya has found acceptance with Cersei’s.  

And she is therefore saved. She’s saved from the ugly life of retribution. She’s saved from poisoning herself. She is saved from being trampled to death. From the moment she is saved, her actions reflect someone walking a more honorable path. She attempts to escape the city, but she’s on the East end of the city and the Kingsroad is out of the West gate. She’s also trying to save the people sheltering in the crumbling city.  

With the hellfire that King’s Landing has devolved into, Cleganebowl climaxes with Sandor pushing Gregor through the wall, their descent looks like falling into hell. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “If I’m going to Hell, I’m dragging you with me.”

In the “behind the scenes,” one of the D’s refers to Arya as “Virgil,” which was very appropriate in my opinion. King’s Landing has descended to this hell-like atmosphere at Dany’s behest, but Hell in Dante’s Infirno is also referred to as “the world of sin”—where the “Virgil” reference comes from. Virgil was Dante’s guide through Hell. Another interesting note would be that Virgil is commonly viewed as an embodiment or symbol of “human reason,” and when we look at Arya’s hair style, who is it paralleling? Her sister Sansa.  

As Arya emerges from her close-call with dragonfire, she’s assessing the situation. She sees the ashen husks of the people she was attempting to save—yet it feels awfully like she lead them into the slaughter. The music that begins is the gut wrenching Stark theme. Circling back to Arya’s theme of identity (and the aforementioned nod to Sansa’s hairstyle), the music that plays is not Arya’s typical melody—the merging of “The Pointy End” with “No One” with the Stark variation—it is the Stark melody in its purest form. This is not Arya the Assassin standing here; it is Arya Stark. And she sees the toy of the little girl. It’s burned to a crisp, now, but when you go back, you see that the horse was white, as well. Arya then turns, and when she looks over—the white horse.  

The lighting of the horse is, initially, behind a layer of fog. Her head is foggy after being knocked unconscious approximately three times, and I’m sure she sees this wasteland and then just.... a horse. She probably thought she was hallucinating. But as she approaches, the lighting changes and we see that the white horse is cast in the light. The horse is the light.  

https://cheesecake.articleassets.meaww.com/106879/uploads/2a70d490-75c7-11e9-b4e2-15d91c2c7fa3_800_420.jpeg

It’s hard to say where, exactly, Arya is planning on going. In the behind the scenes, Maisie says that she’s riding out of the city, but we see in the preview that she’s in King’s Landing after the slaughter abates. It’s possible that she’s going to ride out of the city to find sanctuary before sneaking back in—it's also possible that she’s riding to meet up with Sansa.... as I postulated in a previous (very hastily typed up and theorized) post, Sansa may end up leaving Winterfell to garner support in the riverlands.  

Regardless, I’m going to bring up the last symbolic horse. What was the name of the other prominent white horse that we saw in the series?  

http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/39600000/Jaime-Lannister-Season-6-jaime-lannister-39669322-4500-2994.jpg

Honor.

[jhmyguardiangel]

Beastly Beautiful Spin-Off | Jeonghan | Ep. 3

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slice of Life, Elite!Jeonghan

Category: Seventeen Series, Seventeen Universe

A/N: Last chapter to close off this series! i know i said 5 episodes but i think this is good enough to say goodbye to this fic! ^^ ps. long posy ahead -//-

Word count: 1970

<Previous Episode

———

“Mr. Ryu, Can you help me with something?.” Jeonghan queried, all laid down on the sofa. It was a long weekend and the Yoon Manor was not at its usual state since Jeonghan didn’t have anyone to make fun of.

And where were you? You were at a carnival after a sleepover at Sejeong’s hometown. Knowing that on the last minute, Jeonghan was immediately annoyed. Even if you lived under same roof, he lowkey wanted to spend some time with you. ‘Cause recently, rumors were going around about you two ‘living in’, so you had to leave seperately at all costs.

“Yes, sure. What will it be, Young Master?” Mr. Ryu folded the newspaper and quickly taking a sip from his coffee, his attention on Jeonghan.

“I want to cut my hair.” he simply said, flicking the ends of his shoulder-length, untied ash blonde hair.

The older man choked on his coffee, coughing vigorously. “Well why, Young Master? I couldn’t believe my ears.”

Jeonghan glared at him, “Then clean them!” sitting up, “I just feel like it.”

“Madame Yoon loved your hair, though.”

“I know she did.” he sat back. “But I wanna have a change of style, you know.”

Mr. Ryu just shook his head, knowing the real reason why Jeonghan would do just a bold thing. “You want to show off and grab Y/N’s attention, Young Master.”

Bullseye. Jeonghan’s heartbeat started beating rapidly, his top of his ears slowly turning red, and coughing his way out of the conversation. “Well I-“

Giving a soft chuckle, “Bargaining is the second stage of love, Young Master. You just fake coughed.”

“Just call my stylist, will you?” he stood up, getting pissed off as he left the living room.

“Ah he’s slowly getting there.”

———

“Finally I could have a break from all that dealing with YDH Technologies.” you flopped on Sejeong’s bed, tired from the extra paperwork.

Sejeong just laughed at you, she too, flopped beside you as you both stared at the ceiling. “See? I told you. You shouldn’t push yourself too much.” her face lit up. “Let’s have a makeover! My treat.”

“My body hurts from all that fun we had yesterday at the carnival.” you contrasted. “Just let me slee-“

She pulled you up, earning a groan from you. “You’ve been at the Yoon Manor for like what? Half a year? Got to have all those stress levels down, you know.”

You smiled sheepishly, agreeing to the offer. “All right, what have you planned?”

“Shopping for clothes, and in to the salon we go for a makeup and hair-do.” she went towards her walk-in closet to get dressed.

“But I’m already beautiful, what’s the point?” you teased, crossing your arms.

Sejeong gasped, “Y/F/N, that confidence though.” lifting her hand to her chest. “But ew, you’re sounding like broom boy.”

“Broom boy? You mean President Jeonghan?” you giggled.

“Yeah, me and boys called him that eversince he kidnapped you from me when we’re walking to the Key last year. You do remember, right?”

“Of course I do.” you rolled your eyes. Smiling, you stood still remembering how Mrs. Bu secretly face-timed Jeonghan’s reaction when you left this morning. He looked like a little child.

“Well, come on you pretty pixie dust! We have to go before you go back to broom boy’s dustpan.”

“Watch your mouth, Sejeongie.” you followed after.

Once you’ve arrived at Sejeong’s frequent salon go-to, everything was already prepared. The staff stood to greet the both of you, and you sat on before the vanity. Ms. Lee, the owner, smiled so much seeing you.

“I finally get to meet you Miss Y/F/N. I very much adore your late mother’s work.” she said as she draped the cloth around you.

Your face lit up. “You’ve read my mother’s work?”

“Yes I have.” she nodded. “Her viewpoint on the world is very interesting.”

You smiled, never have you ever met anyone who’ve read your mother’s journals. She wasn’t that renowned but knowing this made you so relieved.

“So, which hairstyle you’d like your hair to be, Miss Y/F/N?”

“Please do whatever you think suits best.” you answered, looking at her through the mirror, “And just call me Y/N, I like your hospitality.”

“Very well noted.”

———

“Young Master! Please do wake up! I thought you wanted to have your hair cut today?” Mrs. Bu scolded. “Oh heavens, the stylist can’t be kept waiting!”

Jeonghan shuffled in his blanket, his eyes even droopier than they normally looked. “Fine.” making Mrs. Bu sigh a relief. “Two more minutes..”

Seeing him flopped to bed, Mrs. Bu groan and reached for the pillow and hit Jeonghan. “Dear! You really should not slack around. I thought you wanted to do this for Miss Y/N?”

Jeonghan’s eyes shot open and rushed straight to his bathroom to have a change of clothes, almost slipping on the way.

Mrs. Bu couldn’t hold in her laugh before telling herself. “You just need to mention Y/N’s name to make him move. Silly boy.”

As Jeonghan went down to the front gate, jogging, Mr. Gok was waiting in Jeonghan’s new Tesla vehicle in the shade of silver, “Mr. Gok, can you—“

Mr. Gok looked to where Jeonghan was, however his ears met with a loud thud and Jeonghan was laughing. He was on the floor, having slipped on the small steppings just below the entrance.

“In a hurry aren’t we, Young Master?”

The injured boy stood up slowly, “I must’ve sprained an ankle.” he sighed at his clumsiness. “Let’s go.”

———

You and Sejeong parted ways right after your girls’ day out and honestly, time was so limited that Sejeong had to be held back by her butler from chasing you. It was a hilarious sight that you wished you had taken a video.

Speaking of video, you still had the video you had taken of Jeonghan sleep talking. As time passed, you have secretly recorded quite a few. He wanted them deleted but you’ve kept them hidden somewhere he could never find. Mr. Ryu took notice of your smile through the rear mirror on your way back to the manor for lunch.

“Miss Y/N, aren’t we all smiles this morning” he steered and glanced at the mirror, “I’ve come to a conclusion that you have treasured the time you had with Miss Sejeong?”

“It was amazing.” you stretched, “I could’ve stayed longer but due to the project Jeonghan and I are working on, it was halted.”

Mr. Ryu nodded and smiled at your new get up as he parked by the front gate. “We have arrived Miss Y/N. And my oh my, you’re looking more beautiful each day.”

You took your backpack and entered, little Chansung approached you in pajamas, having just woken up. “Miss Y/N! You’re home! I missed you.”

Carrying the little bean, your heart never failed to soften whenever he asked for you. “I missed you too, Chansung.” giving him raspberries.

Mrs. Bu giggled and was in joy when “Oh Miss Y/N, you’ve changed your appearance! Young Master would love to see your new look.”

“See what?”

Jeonghan and you had wide eyes seeing each other as he entered the living room, hearing the loud commotion. Both of you have had a change in appearance and to take it all in so early in the morning? Your hearts would have burst any minute now, or seconds.

The lad in front of you had cut his hair short, really short, almost a mullet. He dyed them into a dirty blonde but it was leaning towards the silver side. To put more style into it, he also had them waved and middle parted. You’ve never expected him to ever cut his hair, or even imagined him in it. However, it really made him much manlier. The broadness of his shoulders were more refined now that his long locks gone, even his jawline was sharp enough to shoot into your fluttering heart.

And it stings. Because you actually loved this new look on him.

You looked away and fiddled with the straps of your backpack. The action was subtle, but Jeonghan knew it was more than enough to make him fall in love with you than he already did. He admired your new hair-do, it was still a bit long but you also had it dyed in an ombré fashion. The curls made your face light up and different, and he loved your eyes the most.

He asked himself if you were wearing a bit of make up, but it was all-natural as he looked up close.

The old man with glasses and the lady had enough of this long stare down between the two of you, so they decided to have a little fun and pushed you and Jeonghan closer.

“Goodness just hug it all out.” Mrs. Bu laughed as she carried Chansung, leaving the living room with Mr. Ryu at the same time. “Acting all shy.”

Jeonghan glared at the act but to have you in his arms again after a four day holiday? He was glad, ecstatic even.

“You look beautiful.” he began, and by the corner of your eye, he was stiff.

“Thank you, Jeonghan.” you awkwardly pursed your lips together, playing with your feet. “I dig your short hair. Makes your face stand out more.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Please, this face you’re seeing is the reason why you’re so in love.”

You laughed, but he wasn’t wrong. The air was once again awkward and quiet, only the sounds of distant chirping from birds heard. Jeonghan wanted to have you in his arms desperately, he was itching to talk to you more since you ignored his text messages. And in fact, he was quite bitter about it.

“Um, I’ll go upstairs and put my bags down.” you said, taking your bags in hand.

“Y-yeah sure, I’ll go with you.” he replied, giving you way to walk through.

You both went up to your room and had everything settled down. He was about to leave when you were going to change, but as he went to his left, you went to your right. It was a funny scene for a while until you noticed him limping.

“Ah.” Jeonghan held back a profanity, making a face as pain shot up his ankle, sitting on your bed.

You looked at him with eyebrowed raised. “Hannie, are you okay?” leaning down to check on his ankle that he had been holding.

Instead of answering you and worrying about himself, all Jeonghan could hear was the change of name calling you did, and his heart never beated this fast before.

“What did you just say?”

Realising this, you immediately stood up turned around, “Nothing, I-“

He pulled you to face him again, making you lean towards him, your knee on the side of your bed, a hand held on his chest and your faces just inches away.

“You called me ‘Hannie’.” he smirked as you blushed.

“You heard wrong!” you denied, eyes looking frantically side to side.

He hummed, just hearing your multiple excuses.

“W-what? I- I wanted to call you t-that for a while and-“

Like a slow motioned video, your body sank forward and you felt arms wrapped around your back. Jeonghan’s lips brushed to yours, and his grip on you tightened, but it was warm, and you could tell he was longing for your presence since you were away. The kiss became passionate and once you both pulled away, it left you both breathless.

“You can call me Hannie- or honey, as long as I can start calling you my B.” he said, and his cheeks were flushed as you looked back at him. “Pun intended.”

You nodded, and poke his nose in agreement. “Okay.”

He closed the gap between you two again.

“Sweet.”

[wildefiction]

Focus

WORD COUNT: 2,100

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Reader takes Kim up on her offer of attending the SNS after party.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Drinking, kissing, and…feeeeeeelings

A/N: Here it is folks, chapter 10!

TEN

As the discussion about drinks and where everyone was hanging for the night began to filter around the group, you realized the relationship they all had with each other was like that of a family. Just like Chris had said. There were no cliques, no gossip, and everyone truly seemed to enjoy everyone else’s company. Moving to grab your camera bag, and seeing it open and empty, a bolt of dread lanced through your body. Remembering suddenly that you’d set in down backstage in your haste to catch Chris earlier you slipped out the door as Misha walked into the room, making a beeline for the stage entrance. Never had you been so careless with your camera. Silently berating yourself as you almost ran down the narrow hallway, you sighed in relief when it was sitting on the same table you’d left it on earlier.

Taking a moment, you had to remind yourself that, while this was a new experience and the people all seemed amazingly welcoming - you were here to work. Leaving your equipment unattended in an unfamiliar environment was asking for trouble, and if it was lost or stolen? You shuddered to think what would happen.

Returning to the greenroom and carefully ensuring your bag was packed and put under one of the tables, you turned to find Kim approaching, a beer in each hand and that same infectious smile on her face.

Handing you one of the chilled bottles, she motioned for you to follow as she wandered out into the hallway.

“So, [Y/F/N] - how’s your weekend been so far? Enjoying yourself?" 

Taking a swallow of her beer, you could see the mischievous gleam in her dark eyes as she awaited your answer.

"Kim, I don’t take you for someone who skirts around what you really mean to say." 

Grinning at the woman, you watched as she pressed the call button for the elevator. 

Shrugging, she dipped her head and nodded as the two of you stepped into the lift, heavy steel doors closing after you with a soft chime.

"Touche. I was trying to hold back, can’t have you running screaming already can we? What with Chris and Rob following you around like lost puppies.”

Scoffing, you followed behind her as she pressed a plastic keycard to the lock on a set of double doors at the end of the long corridor. Several blinking lights and a faint buzzing sounded, the woman pushing on the heavy doors and leading you inside.

If you thought the green room was big, nothing prepared you for the enormity of the space you walked into.

The suite was easily a thousand square feet. A large stone fireplace divided the sitting area into two sections, groups of overstuffed armchairs framed long leather couches that were arranged on each side. A cheerful fire provided warmth and a soft light to the living space. Another set of large double doors were set into the wall just ahead, massive sheets of glass framed in dark iron leading to a private balcony.

Turning, you noted the room also had a large alcove lined in glass shelves, every conceivable type of liquor arranged within. A wide, six-inch thick slab of oak topped the bar, the dark stain highlighting the natural textures of the wood. 

“Wow, they really get you guys the best huh?” “This some kind of Penthouse?" 

You’d only ever seen rooms like these in magazines and movies - nothing about your salary could afford you a stay in a place like this.

"Yeah, Creation shells out top dollar for Jared and Jensen.” 

Kim said it like it was obvious, but with zero hint of jealousy.

Eyebrows shooting up into your hairline, you were suddenly feeling a little intimidated. 

"I’m pretty sure my entire house would fit in this room alone." 

The sentence was a mumble to yourself, and while everyone had been nothing but welcoming, you were reminded that most of the people around you lived a very different lifestyle.

“Yeah, me too.” “C’mon, let’s go take advantage of that wet bar, shall we?”

A short glass tumbler gripped in your right hand, pomegranate juice and vodka swirled together with edible glitter was mesmerizing. Fancier than you were used to, sure, but delicious all the same. 

“So, you gonna tell me about what’s going on with Chris and Rob or do I have to keep dropping hints and waiting?” Leaning into the edge of the couch on which she sat, Kim sipped her drink, the look on her face stating there was no room for anything but acquiescence.

Shrugging, you went on to tell the woman about the dinner with Chris, and how you’d thought it was just going to be a casual thing. When you mentioned the kiss and how strange it was to have him act like nothing had happened afterwards, you could see she was intrigued. Telling her about how both men kept asking about your relationship with the other, and how Chris had been oddly possessive of you all weekend, you weren’t surprised to hear her laughing by the end.

“Oh, [Y/F/N], they’ve got it bad, don’t they?” “It’s obvious Chris is into you, especially with his behavior. What’s strange is that he’s being so coy about it. See, Rob is good at unintentionally worming his way into your heart. Chris? Not so much. He tells it like it is, I’ve never seen him hint at anything and hope someone will figure out what he means.”

“So, what are you going to do?” When you merely shrugged, she emptied her glass, and, standing from the chair, leaned over to look you in the eyes. Bracing one hand on the edge of the couch, she gave you the best advice she could under the circumstances. 

“You can’t just ignore the issue and hope it’ll magically fix itself. You need to talk to them.” “But hey, have some fun, ya know? This is supposed to be a party - c’mon, do you want another drink?”

Smiling at her frank advice, you realized she was right. You didn’t have to decide anything right this second. In fact, you didn’t have to commit to anything at all. With that thought came some semblance of relief. And suddenly, you decided to worry about potential relationships later and just focus on enjoying your Saturday night.

As midnight came and wore on into early morning, you found yourself wandering out onto the balcony, sweat beading at your temples from the exertion of dancing with the girls. The air was unseasonably warm, a light breeze bringing with it the smell of pine from the trees surrounding the hotel. When the voices inside grew louder for a split second, you turned to see Chris had followed you outside.

“Hey.” A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he approached the railing you leaned against. 

“Hey Chris, what’s up?” 

“Apparently we need to have a talk.” Turning to look back over his shoulder, you leaned around his lanky frame to see Kim waving through the window. When the man had turned back to face you, it was to see you rolling your eyes at the woman winking from the other side of the glass.

“Sure Chris, let’s talk.” The several drinks flowing through your bloodstream brought with it a certain bluntness you only possessed during such times.

Crossing arms under your breasts and staring up at the man who’d stopped only a few inches in front of you, you wondered if he’d gotten that close purposely or if, like you, he was a few drinks in and incapable of judging his distance. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. How I have no right to be upset at you for dating Rob…and, you’re right.” “But, I–”

“I know I’m right, Chris - there’s never been an–”

The way the man looked at you just then had the sentence dying on your lips before you could finish the words. Clearly there was more he wanted to say. The smallest drop of moisture landed on your upturned cheek then, several others falling from the sky to land on the fabric of your dress. The breeze picked up then, a gentle gust dancing through the tendrils of your hair, sending the strands playing across your shoulders and back. 

Far from one to let a little rain dissuade you, you returned your attention to Chris, waiting for him to continue. When he stood there staring at you instead of talking, you tried to prompt him.

“But, what Chris?” “You’ve never had a hard time telling me exactly what you’re thinking. I mean, hell, it was your tough love that made me realize I didn’t need anyone’s approval on my work. It’s how I found my style, and it’s how I stopped waiting around for the people in my life to give me their blessing on how I should live in general.”

The moisture fell in heavier drops now, the wetness collecting on your shoulders and staining your dress a red so dark it was nearly black. Brushing the hair from your face, you waited to see if he’d say anything at all, or if he’d simply continue to stare at you.

*****

She was waiting for him to explain himself, and, as he stared down at her, he desperately wished he could. He wanted to be able to tell her that he thought about her all the time. He wanted to be able to tell her that he didn’t like her dating Rob, not because he was a bad man or that he was jealous, but because he desperately wanted to keep her all to himself. And he wanted to tell her that his interest in her had begun that fateful day all those years ago when she’d knocked him flat on his ass. But how did you tell one of your best friends that you were essentially in love with them, especially when she was intrigued by this other man. He knew Rob would be good for her, even if he told her he wasn’t. He wanted to say all of that, and yet, the words simply didn’t come. 

He was un-surprised when she sighed, realizing in that moment that as much as he said they should talk, that he either wouldn’t or couldn’t. Stepping around her friend, she was several feet away when his hand closed around her wrist, spinning the woman back into his very solid chest. Tipping her chin up with one hand, his lips were on hers before she knew how to react.

*****

Tensing, the kiss was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Your hands exploring his chest as his lips roved over yours. Crushing your body against his warmth, he put all of the words he wanted to say into that kiss. Starting gentle, the intensity deepening with each passing moment, he brought his other hand up to join the first in cradling your face. When he stepped back a few moments later his eyebrows knit together in confusion when you laughed to yourself. 

“If that wasn’t the most cliche thing I’ve ever experienced…” Your eyes were bright with mirth as you tried to explain. Trouble was, that had been some kiss. Truth was, you were a little breathless, and maybe a little wanting more of the same. 

Pulling you into a spine-crushing hug, his scent washed over you again and you inhaled, closing your eyes and just absorbing the moment. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled away. This complicated things. While the two of you still needed to talk, you were pretty sure you knew exactly what he had to say. 

Rejoining the party, it appeared as though people had started drifting off to their own rooms, as the conversations had quieted and broken off into small clusters. Lowering yourself back onto the couch, the flames still crackled along a half-burned log, red embers glowing at their base. 

Looking around the room, you noted Clif laughing with a very inebriated Jensen and Misha. Briana, Kim and Ruth sat across from the pair with their own drinks, the conversation still flowing even as it approached two in the morning. Kicking off your shoes, you curled your feet up under your body, smoothing the dress over your legs. Eyes sliding out of focus as Chris’ kiss replayed in your mind, you startled when a set of calloused hands landed on your shoulders. Rob massaged the tense muscles for a moment before leaning over your shoulder to press a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey beautiful.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven @natasha-cole

[foreverbeingthunderbuddy]

Two Spies, Two Missions [Part 1]

[Bucky Barnes Spy AU]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: mentions of violence, sexual tension

Summary: An AU in which Bucky and the reader are both spies, Bond-style, but fight for different sides and meet at a gala for the very first time. They both have the same target but accepted very different missions. So naturally, everything goes wrong for both of them.

A/N: this is my entry for @itsbuckysworld’s 1k AU Writing Challenge, I picked prompt #24 from this list. Prompt is in bold. Congrats on 1k! Word count around 4,4k.

Masterlist | Part 2

Let’s not waste any time on unimportant background information. You’re in a rush anyway.

As a spy there’s only so much time you can spend on trivialities and starting out in the business, one learns pretty quickly how to shift their focus to what counts. Meaning the things that get you into the situation you need to be in or, and that’s even more important, the things that get you out of it.

A captured, imprisoned spy is worthless – not to forget dangerous – and is let loose by their employer immediately, the mission gets denied and has officially never even existed. The spy will be on their own.

You don’t want that. No one wants that. If a spy gets captured by enemies, torture is something that’s very, very likely to happen. Why? They want to see if they can get information out of you. Of course you got trained for those kind of situations but who knows how you would react, should that ever happen to you.

A good spy doesn’t spill, a spy with self-preservation does.

The former is a loss to the secret intelligence agency the spy is employed at, the latter is an even greater loss and a big threat to the secret intelligence agency the spy is employed at. Enemies with secret information they aren’t supposed to know are not to be underestimated.

So it’s clear, focus is everything and a reliable gut feeling doesn’t hurt either. But enough of that.

You tilt your head back and look up at the brightly-lit building in front of you. Tonight’s mission: eliminate Susan Ford.

She’s been in your employers’ business way too long now and news reached you she stepped in contact with your agency’s rival organisation, Rogers Investigations. They are like the New Yorkian answer to MI6 which puts them pretty high on the world list, except your people are better.

Of course they don’t agree with you on that. The government – who funds you and your employers by the way – neither agrees nor disagrees, and if you’re honest that’s what makes you cautious towards Rogers Investigations. If the government can’t make a clear statement about RI, there must be more to them than just an independently funded secret intelligence agency.

You still think your people are better than them though.

There were two possibilities how you could get this done. Get a fake invitation and faint being a guest. Or dress up as a waitress and pretend you’re staff. Seeing as the first one comes with a short, shiny dress and high-heels (not good for spy stuff), you decided on the second option. Black dress, white apron on the hip and flat, black vans. Perfect to be invisible.

You show the bouncer your fake ID and pass him with a smile, entering a small foyer, a door on the other side of the room leads to the backside of the kitchen. Aside from a couple of rushed-looking staff members, it’s relatively empty. You’re late.

Without hesitation, you enter the kitchen and walk to the front where you suspect the waiters to be. You don’t get disappointed. As subtle as possible you join a nervous group of chatting men and women, all wearing black; the women in dresses, the men in suit shirts and pants. Some of them give you curious looks when you approach but they lose interest just as fast. Good.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?” A woman suddenly booms from a couple of steps away. Every conversation immediately stops and heads swing around. She must be in her mid-forties, has her long red hair in a low ponytail and wears a blue satin dress that goes to mid-calves. Your eyes cut to her shiny, silver high-heels before wandering back up to her stressed face.

“Calvin already gave you a run down about this part of the evening, I suppose, so I expect you know what to do.” Ummm. “The first group is already serving drinks. Everyone go to your positions and start doing your job, please, before this goes downhill. Calvin told me you know about the important people of tonight, high-society, high-maintenance. If one of them ever happens to be without a drink in their hand, someone is gonna get fired, I want to make that clear beforehand. Any questions?”

Of course no one dares to ask a question after that mini-speech and even if someone wanted to, the woman doesn’t wait for anyone to raise their hand and turns on her heels.

“Go now! It’s showtime.”

With that she disappears behind a door that likely leads to the ballroom. Your “colleagues” don’t waste any time and jump to the counter on the left and you follow them. Another kitchen staff member hands out trays with champagne flutes on them and without even looking at you, he shoves one into your face.

“Go, go, go!” He barks and looks like he’s about to pass out. You have a snappy comment on the tip of your tongue but you hold it back and turn to the door. This is just a mission, not a real job, Y/N, relax.

The ballroom is one of the most glamourous locations you have ever seen. Glitter, gold, lights, marble, silver everywhere. It’s almost too much to take in. There’s a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling, looking more expensive than you are probably worth and there is a modern waterfall on the wall on the other side of the room. You can even see a little fountain, a marble figure in the middle dominates this extravagant scene and is framed by exotic looking plants.

The room is packed with fancy people.

There are colourful gowns and robes and mini dresses wherever you look, shiny high-heels, lush jewellery and lavish hairstyles. You can hear jazz music coming from a small orchestra on the right. This is crazy.

You snap out of your mini-trance and start to move through the room. Time to find Susan Ford.

Not to blow your cover, you offer champagne to guests here and there but you hold out your eyes to scan the room the whole time. There are so many people here, how in the hell are you going to find Susan?

You know how she looks, you’ve seen pictures. Dark skin, brown eyes, blonde-dyed hair Ombré-style. You don’t know her attire but you figured she is someone who wouldn’t go unnoticed. As you look around you, you quickly realize that mindset was a mistake.

Your tray is empty now and for every normal waitress it’d be time to go back and get new glasses but you don’t bother doing that and continue to stroll through the room. She has to be somewhere, doesn’t she?

“Y/N?” You can’t help but jump a little at the sudden voice in your ear.

It’s Tom, your coordinator, who is sitting in the control room and is assigned to several missions that are going down tonight. If this was a bigger thing, you would be in contact with someone from the agency every second but in comparison it’s a rather small mission, so Tom only checks in on you occasionally. There’s also the option to contact him but you don’t know how he could help you right now.

“Yes?” You answer quietly and dodge a young couple that makes their way over to the enormous bar.

“Everything alright?”

“Yup. I’m in the ballroom, everyone thinks I’m a waitress. I haven’t found my target yet though.”

That revelation is followed by a short silence and you turn your head and let your eyes wander over the crowd.

“Susan Ford?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, wait a second.”

You can’t hear what he is doing but you guess he’s tipping something into his computer. After a couple of seconds he seems to have found something.

“There aren’t any pictures online yet but Glitz Images already have some in their private archive. They should go online in a couple of hours.” You don’t ask how he managed to hack Glitz Images that fast and you also don’t care. “I found her pictures. Yellow dress, hair in a high bun, oh – and it looks like she changed her hair colour. She’s parts in blue now.”

That’s why you didn’t find her! She changed her look. Damn it, you thought the pictures were recent.

“Must have done that late yesterday or today, our pictures are from yesterday morning” Tom adds and you can practically hear him lean back.

“Thanks, Tom. You saved me. I thought I had to spend the entire night at this thing” You say and start moving again, now looking for a yellow dress and blue hair. Shouldn’t be that hard.

“Oh, poor thing. Must be hard to drink champagne and walk on literal gold, I feel you. Sara is in Atlanta, clearing out a small drug cartel. She could use some champagne right now.”

Irgh. Atlanta’s drug cartels are disgusting. Poor Sara.

“I’m not drinking champagne, I’m serving it. I’m not part of the fun here, Tom, you should see these people. I’m a peasant to them” You say but can’t stop the smile on your face, “Tell Sara I’m thinking of her.”

You can hear Tom’s laugh through the earpiece.

“You shouldn’t make fun of her, Y/N, I don’t think we need a repeat of Thurs-“

“Tom, I found her! Sorry, I gotta go!” You burst out as a huge yellow dress catches your eyes, accompanied by dark blue hair in a bun. There she is, Susan Ford. Finally.

“Okay, then. Good luck!”

“Thanks.” You don’t hear him disconnect but you know he’s gone.

Your target stands approximately 50 feet away from you and is surrounded by five people. Two women and three men. They seem to have a lively conversation which is perfect. The more distraction, the better. She also doesn’t have a glass in her hand. You memorize their location and quickly walk back to the kitchen.

There are several ways to do this. Shoot her in the bathrooms, shoot her in the hallway (when no one else is there), shoot her in the car when she leaves or poison her. You want to get this done as fast as possible, so you decide on trying to poison her first. Good thing you’re the waitress with complete access to her drinks.

You enter the kitchen, walk to the counter and pick a new tray with full champagne flutes. The guy who previously handed them out to you is gone, probably busy cooking and fighting against a mental breakdown – judging from how he looked.

You need to be fast, right now you’re the only waitress here. You pull out a tiny phial filled with a clear liquid and open it. It’s created to completely mingle with the additional substance to not raise any attention on different colours or consistence. You empty the phial in one of the glasses and put it back.

No second later the door opens and two waiters walk in, chatting, and grab two trays. You smile at them like you just didn’t put poison into the champagne and leave the kitchen with your murder weapon.

Approaching Susan Ford and friends, you take a deep breath and pull out your friendliest smile. Now is the moment that counts. She’s been messing with your people, deliberately, so she must know that she is being watched to a certain degree. Maybe she even suspects an attack like this or maybe she underestimates you in that regard.

Nevertheless, if Susan gets any suspicions that you aren’t that friendly or well-intentioned, she might not bite. And then you will have to shoot her and her bodyguards that she likely brought here. You’re only a couple of feet away when you take in her company.

The two women are dressed to the nines, glittery, short dresses with lots of cleavage, dangerous looking high-heels, heavy jewellery and make-up that passes a normal Smokey Eye. They look ready to walk red carpets and they fit in with the decorations of the ballroom perfectly.

The three men all look dapper in their suits. Two of them have blonde hair, one short, one a little longer, and the third one has black hair, even though he might as well be a dark brunette. He catches your eyes the second you get a better look at his appearance.

He has piercing blue eyes, a clean-shaved face, his hair is pulled back in quite a Casanova way and the top buttons of his white suit shirt are undone. If you weren’t such a badass agent, you’d be weak in the knees right now. Suddenly, his eyes meet yours.

You quickly look away and focus on your target who you can see in a side profile and who is engaged in an animated conversation with one of the blonde guys. You calm your nerves and step to the group.

“Good evening” You say in your best I’m-completely-innocent voice and shoot Susan a bright smile, all eyes cut to you, “Ma’am, I noticed you didn’t have a glass in your hand and I have strict orders not to let that happen. If I may.”

You pick a “random” glass and hand it to her which she attempts to accept smiling happily but all of a sudden a hand from the left shoots out and takes the glass from you. Sexy dark-haired guy holds the champagne in his hand and inspects you from head to toe. His eyes look alert.

“Excuse me, sir?” You say, trying to stay friendly and professional. Which is hard.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ford underlies strict safety precautions. I will take this one. She can have another one” He says, his voice deep and alluring. Shit. He must be her bodyguard. He must know something. Shit shit.

You keep a slight smile on your face – professional waitress who doesn’t know anything about secret intelligence agencies – and turn to Miss Ford. She doesn’t look surprised, she looks expectant.

“Okay, no problem. Here’s another one for you, Miss” You purr and hand her a second glass. She takes it from you, says a quick Thank You and turns back to her conversational partner.

Keep your cool, Y/N, don’t let it show!

You throw a quick glance around the group. The dark-haired guy watches you closely and you would lie if you said it doesn’t make you nervous.

“Can I offer some champagne to anyone else here? Miss?” You ask for good measure. Miss Dangerously Pointed High-Heel simply shakes her head and proceeds to ignore you. Okay, then, bitch. Time to go.

Without sparing Sexy Bodyguard another look, you turn around and walk to a different group, offering them a drink. You can feel his eyes burn into your back. He knows something. He wouldn’t have taken that one glass from you and let her have a different one if he didn’t know something was up. You endeavoured to make the glass picking look as random as possible but apparently he didn’t buy it.

Which means you’re a potential threat to him now. Which also means, poisoning Susan Ford isn’t an option anymore and shooting her is the only way. Shit.

You empty your tray quickly and walk back to the kitchen. You need a second in private to contact Tom and inform him about the newest status of your mission but you can’t do it in the ballroom because Sexy Bodyguard is likely watching you from now on and you don’t know where his men are. If one of them sees you talk to air, they’ll know you’re undercover.

You put down the tray on the counter and look around you. Nobody even notices your presence. Excellent.

Without making a sound, you walk out a backdoor leading into a hallway. You reach a corner, go around it and stand against the wall. You peak down the hallway you came from before leaning back and pushing a button on your earpiece.

“Tom?”

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“My target has a bodyguard. I prepared a poisoned drink for her but her bodyguard intervened and made me give her a different one. He knows something, Tom. I don’t know if my cover is blown but I definitely have company now” You quickly explain, eager to keep your voice down in case someone passes by.

Short silence, then “Shit.”

“I just wanted to tell you that, should something happen, she was with three guys, two blondes – short and longer hair – and a brunette – longer, chin-length hair, I can’t say for certain though ‘cause he pulled it back. They all have blue eyes. I have never seen them before.”

“Did one of them have a metal arm?”

“What?”

“Did one of them have a metal arm? Did the dark-haired one have a metal arm, Y/N?”

What kind of question is that??

“I, um … I don’t know, I didn’t see it. I only saw a flesh hand. Why?”

“Susan Ford stepped in contact with Rogers Investigations. You know that. It’s very likely she suspects an attack like this and hired bodyguards from them. Those being secret agents. No normal bodyguard would have caught on to you that quickly, so I’m guessing they’re Rogers’ men. One of them is known to have a metal arm. Understand?”

“Oh. Oh wow, okay” You mumble. You should have known that. You didn’t. How embarrassing.

“Where ar… now?” There are sudden noises coming through the earpiece, like the connection is breaking off. You put a hand to your ear.

“What? What did you say?”

“…ere are … need to know … now.”

Shit. This is not happening right now. Why tonight?

“Tom, the connection is breaking off, I can’t understand you. Maybe I shou-“ You start but get interrupted by a hand grabbing your wrist and twisting it behind your back and another one shoving you into the wall, face first. You feel the person press their body against yours to prevent all options of escape and you’re completely captured.

You try to break free but whoever is holding you, is stronger. He doesn’t even move an inch.

“You and I have a problem.”

You recognize the low voice in your ear immediately. It’s dark-haired Sexy Bodyguard. Goddammit.

“Sexual harassment is indeed a problem” You return and pray to all the gods out there that Tom will come back to you.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, darling. I’m talking about this spy thing.”

“What spy thing?”

You can’t see his face but you can feel him tighten his grip on your wrist.

“Don’t play dumb, I just heard you talk to your coordinator. You tried to poison my client” He growls, his breath on your ear gives you goosebumps. Stupid body, get yourself together!

“I know our champagne is not the best out there but I wouldn’t call it poison either, sir, maybe you’re being a little dramatic-“

“Agent Y/L/N, I know who you work for and I know you got assigned to Miss Ford. Please save us some time and tell me why you tried to kill her. I don’t have the patience for this.”

“Your short temper is not my problem” You clip back because you can’t help yourself and wait for his reaction. He hesitates for a second, probably going through his options that don’t include you being dead and then you feel his thumb on your wrist lightly brushing over your skin. You freeze. Not the decision you expected from him.

“I know you tried to kill her because she’s been all in your employers’ business the past months but I was actually giving you an opportunity to lie your way out of this. Miss Ford came to us for help and I think you understand I can’t just let you go after your little murder attempt” He explains, his face seemingly coming even closer, you can feel it.

It makes you hella nervous. You’re a trained, experienced secret agent but one good-looking guy holds you against a wall and you’re nervous. Perfect.

You decide to remain silent. The finger on your wrist still caresses your skin. Extraordinary interrogation technique.

“You’re probably wondering why your friend’s connection broke off. Radio-interfacing. Good to corner someone.”

So it was him. Isn’t that just great. You still don’t say anything.

“You know I have to bring you to my headquarters if you don’t talk” He says, using his alluring voice on you. You know it’s a lie. He won’t take you to his headquarters if you don’t talk, he will take you there anyway.

You wait. One second, two seconds, five seconds, ten…

You hear a sigh. “Okay then.” And then you hear the unmistakable noise of handcuffs. That’s when you start to shove against him, try to free your wrist, pull away, anything. He holds you in place effortlessly and presses the hand with the handcuffs between your shoulder blades.

“Wanna talk now?”

“Never.”

Another clink of the cuffs, a sudden cool feeling of metal on the free skin of your arm.

“Do I get a wish before you bring me away?” You ask, sounding much cockier than you feel. In fact, your insides are turning upside down, your heart is beating in your throat and your breath is going flat. You’ve never been captured by another organisation because you’ve never been this stupid. Also, maybe it should be mentioned … you haven’t been a spy for that long and it … just never happened.

The agent hesitates, the cuffs rest against your skin.

“You get three wishes darling, use them well.”

Whoa! Does he mean it? Does he really?? Three wishes?

“Let me go” You say, well knowing he won’t do it but why not try. You hear him snort and feel his thumb start brushing your skin again. He really needs to stop doing that or you’ll get yourself into bigger trouble than you need it.

“Nope. That was number one.”

Shit.

Second try. “Tell me your name.”

You expect him to deny that one as well but despite his previous behaviour, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Agent James Buchanan Barnes. Employed at Rogers Investigations, Field agent. Obviously.”

Obviously. The amount of information he is willing to share surprises you and his name … his name rings a bell. Barnes. You have heard that before. You think one of your bosses has mentioned him in a meeting, mostly when discussing Rogers Investigations, figures. You ignore the fact that the side of your face is flat against the wall and think of a third wish.

“I told you this because I just want you to know who exactly has you pressed to his body in an empty hallway and also what the name of your new target is that you will come after as soon as I let you go.”

Did he just say what you think he just said? He will let you go? But didn’t he say he wouldn’t let you go? Maybe he is playing games with you. Will he really let you go??

“Will you let me go?” You ask, sounding very hopeful and not as badass as you wish you would. His face comes closer again, the hand from your upper back disappears and your hair gets softly brushed from your shoulder and tugged behind your ear. Breathe, Y/N!

“Is that wish number three?” He asks lowly and you think you can make out the blue of his eyes out of the corner of your eye.

“Yes.”

For a couple of seconds none of you moves. You can feel his chest rise and sink as he fights an internal battle and finally comes to a decision. You hear a noise and know the handcuffs disappeared.

“Under two conditions” He says and grabs both of your upper arms, so you won’t move but honestly? At this point he doesn’t even have to hold you tight, you’re way too cautious to move anyway.

“Okay?”

“I want you to quit this mission and forget that Susan Ford ever existed. Your bosses will probably assign someone else but you don’t have anything to do with this anymore. I’d rather fight your colleagues than you.”

What does one say to that? If one is in a situation like this, one says Okay.

“Okay” You breathe out and wait for the other condition.

“And I want you to be the one to come after me when your bosses seek retribution for this failed mission and they think they need to send someone to intimidate me” He says and now both of his thumbs caress your upper arms, one of which feels colder than the other and harder. Like metal. It makes you nervous and a little dizzy and you don’t know how to effectively clap back at his cocky demands.

“It’s not in my power” You mumble.

“Well, then try to come up with a plan, darling. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Hmpf. You’re not going to do that but he doesn’t need to know. All you want is to get out of here. So you nod.

“Okay.”

Instead of letting you go, he waits. You don’t know why. And then you hear what sounds like a low chuckle.

“You know I can tell when someone is lying.”

You freeze. Before you can return something, he squeezes your arms.

“Don’t move.”

You hold still. Both of his hands disappear and you feel him step back. Your heart starts beating faster at the opportunity of escape.

“Don’t move” He orders again. You obey. He seems to rummage around in the pockets of his suit and then, “Darling, this is going to be so much fun.”

And then he is gone.

The second you realize he’s not behind you anymore, you twirl around and look around the corner. Empty. Holy fucking shit.

“Y/N? Y/N?? Please answer me! Oh god, I hope you’re not dead! Oh shit!!”

“Tom?”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, Y/N, ARE YOU ALIVE??”

“Tom, I’m okay! Calm down, I’m okay! I just … I had a little … I, um.” You look around the corner again, “I’m fine.”

****

Forever Tags: @izzy-the-teawitch @wowpeterparker @brightcolorsoffendme @strangequakson @rosegoldquintis @thirdwheelchurchill  @hazel-eyed-bi @goldenkillmonger @yourwonderbelle @hawaiiantozier @irondadandspidersoncute @thirtiethnovember @fancyfangirl-style @appalo0 @lionheo04

[jackalopingintothevoid]

(by @jenny-calendar)

“Are you going to talk to me about it?”

Giles leaned heavily against the closed door, looking down at his shoes. He’d polished them himself, of course, and it hadn’t escaped his notice that Ripper’s own sneakers were scuffed and worn, and he hated that every single thought in the last few days had somehow turned into a thought about Ripper. Thoughts about Jenny, even, and what she must think of him, carrying on like a complete buffoon every time the boy gave him lip—

“Rupert,” said Jenny. She sounded reproving, but she also sounded a little worn out.

Giles looked up at her. “I don’t know what to do,” he said helplessly. “I feel utterly adrift. I have made all my decisions over the last twenty years in an effort to not be that man—”

“Boy,” said Jenny.

“He’s not—”

“This isn’t a problem you can solve until you’ve stopped blaming yourself,” said Jenny, looking steadily and quietly at him.

“Maybe it’s not a problem that needs solving,” Giles snapped, a bit too loudly. Jenny gave him a pointed shh look, and he lowered his voice; he didn’t want the children overhearing. “I am not—I am not—I cannot be in the wrong,” he forced out, and was horrified to hear that he was crying. “I am—he was—he was foolish, stupid, reckless—”

Jenny stepped forward and stepped into his arms, pressing one hand against his chest, fingers splayed. “He follows his heart,” she said.

“Always,” said Giles.

“And you don’t do that anymore.”

“People got hurt, last I followed what I wanted to do,” said Giles, sniffling in a thoroughly un-Watcherlike fashion. Under normal circumstances, he’d never have let Jenny seen him cry, but these were the farthest from normal circumstances one could get, and—her hand, right over his heart, made him foolish, stupid, reckless. “People still get hurt,” he mumbled, touching Jenny’s face, thinking of Eyghon rotting through.

Jenny leaned into his touch. “People choose what they do,” she said. “You weren’t the only stupid teenager who raised a demon, Rupert.”

“I was training to be a Watcher, I should have known—”

“Known what? Known better?” Jenny scoffed. Then, stepping away from him, she began to gracelessly tug her sweater over her head.

“Jenny,” said Giles, blushing furiously. “Is now really the time—”

“For a man who prides himself on his maturity,” said Jenny from inside the sweater, “you act remarkably like that twenty-something out there,” and finished pulling it off, tossing it to the floor. “Did I ever tell you,” she said, twisting the corkscrew at her navel, “about how my piercing got infected?”

“You wear that to work?” said Giles, bewildered. “I’d thought that was just a stunt you pulled to get me into the lab.”

“It was,” said Jenny, “and that’s beside the point.” She looked remarkably comfortable in only bra, skirt, and clunky heels; the multiple levels of unprofessionalism boggled the mind. “When I was nineteen,” she said, “I got this—this call, from my dad.”

“You have a dad?” said Giles stupidly. Jenny gave him a look, and he coughed. “Right. Sorry. Carry on.”

“I don’t talk about him much,” said Jenny. “I mean—you know that, obviously, because I’ve never brought him up till now, but—I grew up around a lot of cousins and got kinda passed around from family to family. I caused a lot of trouble for people, and I liked it, because they ended up unofficially casting me out as soon as I was heading off to college. And then out of the blue my dad calls me to tell me he’s calling on behalf of the family. Because they need someone expendable—someone who they don’t mind dying—to watch Angelus, and they figured I might listen to him if he gave me some speech about family.” She laughed a little bitterly. “I grew up around Angelus,” she said. “He shadowed every single fucking thing I did, and they were asking me to throw my life away to watch a master vampire eat rats in a sewer. So I said no.”

“Jenny—”

Jenny held up a hand. She wasn’t looking at him. “And then my dad showed up in person,” she said. “He said they were going to ask me again, eventually, and next time I had damn well better say yes. He said I was selfish and stupid and I didn’t understand the value and importance of family, and that something as important as this was wasted on someone like me, and then he just—” She tipped back her head, smiling with the tired remembrance of one no longer invested in the situation. “Left,” she said. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“Oh,” said Giles, and reached out to her. She took his hand.

“But what I’m getting at is that it ate me up,” said Jenny, and her voice trembled. “I always wanted—parents. My mom was sporadic and my dad was never there and as a kid, to hear that my dad thought I was this self-centered airhead, it was fucking devastating.” She smiled a little bit. “So I pierced my navel by myself, and of course it got infected,” she said, “and I ended up having to go to the hospital, because I had been trying to attend all my classes and keep the injury clean and stay on top of all my responsibilities while it felt like my world was crumbling to bits. I had to let it heal before I could get it pierced again.” She looked up at him. “And you could say that our situations were totally different,” she said, “and you wouldn’t be wrong. But what I’m getting at is this: I was hurting, and I didn’t want to think about it, and I was so, so convinced that nothing bad would happen if I didn’t think about it. It wasn’t malicious, it wasn’t out of stupidity, it was because I was so damn lonely that I couldn’t even conceptualize the idea of reaching out to someone.”

Giles took her other hand. She smiled a little. “It doesn’t link back to me,” he began.

“It does, though,” said Jenny. “Because you were hurting, and you were dealing with it as best you could. It’d be different if you were yelling at the kid who was still summoning demons for fun—and hell, I might even yell at him too, a little—but you’re not. You’re hurting someone else who’s hurting just like you.”

It surprised Giles that responding “he’s not like me” didn’t feel quite so natural anymore. “Jenny,” he said instead, gripping her hands like a lifeline, “if he—if he is blameless—”

“I’m not saying he’s blameless,” said Jenny with a surprised laugh. “Summoning Eyghon is an idiot move. I’m saying that he knows he’s not blameless, and he’s chosen to deal with that guilt in a different way than you.”

“You don’t understand,” said Giles quietly. “Had I met you, at that age—” He swallowed hard, looked at her small hands in his. “I’d have never gone back to the Council,” he said. “I would have run away with you and never looked back, and it seems as though that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

“And that’s a bad thing because?”

Giles looked up at Jenny, shocked and appalled. “It is my responsibility,” he said. “I was born into it. The fact that he might never truly accept—”

“Maybe he’s never gonna be a Watcher in the sense you think about,” said Jenny, tugging a hand free to straighten his glasses, “but he braids Buffy’s hair and he makes sure Xander’s eating and he helps Willow with her homework. He doesn’t keep these kids happy while he helps save the world, Rupert, he helps save the world so he can keep these kids happy.”

“It’s selfish,” said Giles, his voice shaking. “To love.”

The easily calm expression on Jenny’s face flickered into something horrified and sad. “Oh,” she said, in this small, broken voice. “Oh—baby. Oh. No. Sweetheart,” and then she pulled Giles into her arms and wouldn’t let him go for ten minutes.

It was super fun to talk with Ripper and Jenny about their alternate Scoobies. Ripper had pictures of them on his phone, and stories to go with them, and the way he talked about Other-Buffy and Other-Willow and Other-Xander made Buffy’s chest ache. She wanted Giles to talk about them like that, all show-offy and proud-dad with a frankly boring amount of pictures.

Well. Boring to some people. Not boring to Buffy, especially when she saw Other-Buffy had a very similar sense of style to hers. True, the jeans-and-jacket vibe wasn’t exactly the in thing right now, but then that probably had to do with the whole Kids-From-The-Future thing. “I like her boots,” Buffy observed.

“Oh, those,” said Ripper disparagingly. “I got demon blood on them one time and she never let me hear the end of it.”

“You drenched her entire outfit in demon blood, Ripper, I feel like she was being generous complaining about only the boots,” commented Jenny, snagging a handful of chips from the jumbo-sized bag Ripper had somehow managed to sneak in. “Ooh—tell them about that one time with the sea monkeys!”

“That—no,” said Ripper, scowling, and lobbed a pen at Jenny, who giggled and ducked. “No. Fuckin’ hell, Janna, do you get off on makin’ me squirm?”

“I mean, that sounds about right,” said Willow unexpectedly, then blushed a furious red.

Jenny fell out of her chair laughing. Ripper was grinning too. Buffy felt a little disloyal to Giles, but she liked seeing a version of him that was—happy, she realized. Ripper was happy. And not in the nervous, wary way Giles was happy, even when he was around Ms. Calendar.

As if on cue, Giles and Ms. Calendar exited Giles’s office. Giles looked a little wrung-out, and Ms. Calendar (who had her sweater on backwards) had this kind of shell-shocked expression, like she’d figured something out and was just now trying to wrap her head around it. “Hey, I, um, Rupert and I are gonna be having a longer talk,” she said. “Janna, Ripper, if it’s okay, can you both stay with one of the kids? I think we need to work some stuff out.”

“Don’t break up with him,” said Jenny suddenly.

This was such a surprising thing to come from Jenny (Buffy wasn’t exactly sure who had punched Giles, but judging by the way Jenny had been looking at him through most of the briefing, she’d have bet an exorbitant amount of money on mini-Calendar) that everyone went dead silent, Giles included.

“I’m serious,” said Jenny, a dull flush in her cheeks. “He’s a piece of work, but…he’s gonna be worth it.”

Ms. Calendar gave Jenny this amused, knowing look. Jenny glared. “I’m not planning on it,” she said. “I love Rupert very much.”

This was surprising too. Probably not as surprising as it should have been, giving the unholy amount of face-sucking that Buffy had walked in on over the last two weeks, but—Giles and Ms. Calendar were in love? For real in love? Enough that Ms. Calendar, queen of avoiding feelings, would straight-up say it in front of everyone?Buffy exchanged a shocked look with Willow and Xander, who looked just as stunned as she felt.

“Oh,” said Giles, who looked a complete and total mess. What had happened in his office? “Jenny—”

“Don’t say it just yet,” said Ms. Calendar, giving him a small, tired smile, “we need to have a real conversation about your concept of what is and isn’t selfish before things go any further.” She tucked her arm into Giles’s, then kissed him on the cheek. “No patrolling tonight,” she said over her shoulder, “not if you don’t want to.”

The weird part, to Buffy, wasn’t that Ms. Calendar had given them an order. The weird part was that Giles didn’t say a word about the importance of patrolling, or how vampires were at their strongest on Wednesdays, or any of his usual Watcher stuff. He just leaned a little on Ms. Calendar and turned her face into her hair, letting her lead him out of the library.

[jungtookthejams-blog]

Yoongi Imagine [3]

[so...]

type : series !

genre : angst !

AU : royal + magic !

word count : 1751 !

summary : Min Yoongi, the Blood Prince. (L/N) (Y/N), a Shadow servant with a secret. When you’re exiled to the Blood Lands, the cruel prince takes an undying interest in you.

pt. 1 / ??

teaser

-

You pulled the baggy black dress you wore up and over your shoulders, replacing it with a red one of the like. Fixing the corset that was positioned under said clothing, you padded over to the large wooden door and opened it slightly, revealing two dark knights. Saying nothing, they interlocked your wrists with chains and roughly dragged you down the dark stone halls of the Shadow Palace. You said nothing, keeping your head low as you glared at the ground, black bandages covering half your face. From the bridge of your nose all the way down your neck, midnight coloured cloth covered you, overlapped like you’d been mauled by a bear. Your biceps were also covered in the dark bandages, unlike your shoulders, which were covered by the thin cloth of your servant’s dress. They dragged you along until you reached a large, open room, accommodated by a black and plum throne. Atop the royal throne sat the one and only Kim Namjoon, the Shadow Prince himself.

Ever since you were a child, you were a servant for the Prince in the Palace. Your hair had been burned in the servant’s ritual, leaving it a charcoal black, singed and matted. All servants were this way; it was the way of the Shadow. Little did the nobles know, you were more important than you lead on. Now the Shadow Council themselves were aware of your power, they were determined to banish you. Throw you out, give you to another kingdom.

You knelt in front of Namjoon, your piercing gaze interlocking with his.

“(L/N) (Y/N),” His voice boomed, “You’ve committed a horrible crime here in the Dark Lands. You realize what you have done?”

The Prince was a fair man, cool and masculine. His Council were the malicious and devious ones behind the scenes, as to be expected from the Dark Lands. They were second most cruel, only the Blood Lands to compare.

You said nothing, not like you could speak, anyway, and stared into his cold, black eyes. Almost like a challenge: I dare you to tell me what I did was wrong.

“You kept your undying power from me and my council, thus refusing to aid us in any way you possibly could. This is a legal offense, as you were aware we have been at war with the Wet Lands before and yet you continued to hide your power. You could’ve killed Park Jimin any day to end the grievance, but you kept to yourself, instead. This is seen as a betrayal to the Dark Lands.”

“You are to be exiled to the Blood Lands. Min will do what he likes with you, and you will accept that. You will serve him.”

You grit your teeth under the wraps. Min? Min Yoongi? The cruel Blood Prince, whom you will have to serve? You’d rather die.

“Take her away,” He waved you off, “And do not let her near the drakes. You will deliver her by horseback.”

You felt his eyes following you as you were lead out of his kingdom.

-

“Wonderful,” Min Yoongi said with a smirk, sitting atop his own throne, dressed in red royal silk with his sword by his side, “Take her to the East Wing and clean her up. I shall see her shortly.”

The Blood Knights gave their prince a curt nod before dragging you down the halls of the Blood Palace. It was very different from your home. You could hear the screams of past servants and people who died here, no doubt their blood inside the walls. You could almost feel their anguish.

You hated this place already.

The knights tossed you into some room before slamming the door in your face. You scoffed, your eyes wandering around the small space. The walls were a dark beige, the stone was cold underneath your bare feet. There was a dresser and a mannequin, also another door that probably lead to a bathroom.

The door opened again, causing you to whip your head around to look at the person. It was two maids, their eyes shining and kind. They wore dark red servant’s dresses with lace near the collar; it was a normal outfit for a maid.

“Hello,” One of them said softly, shutting the door, “We are here to clean you up so that you may be presented to the Prince.”

You gave them a slow, hesitant nod. What the hell was Min planning?

One of the women immediately went to work removing your wraps, while the other went into the bathroom, probably to boil water for you to bathe.

You kept your lips in a thin line as the kind servant removed all of the dark cloth covering your skin, as well as the dress you wore. Her eyes widened in the slightest upon seeing the golden marks that covered your biceps. She looked up into your eyes, giving you a questioning gaze as you offered a sheepish smile in response.

“We are aware that you have some sort of power, but we were never told what that power is. But those markings.. The way they seem to almost glow.. You are strong. I do not know what those represent, but it’s obviously very powerful. You have earned my respect.”

You smile became soft and kind as you gave her a nod in response, and with that she went to work on your corset, removing it as well. She then lead you into the restroom, where the other maid sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for you.

“I’m going to make an attempt at your hair, then I shall leave you to have your privacy,” She said simply as the previous woman shut the door.

Giving another nod, you sat on the ground and leaned your head back, allowing the woman to use her remedies to healthen your hair.

You could tell she was an alchemist, which meant that it was a possibility for her hard work to pay off in the situation. With the right combination of herbs, you could do almost anything.

-

It took about fifteen of scrubbing and various remedies until the older woman sat back with a small exhale and a smile.

“Finished,” She said, “Your hair seems all natural and healthy. I traveled all the way to Macridor to get some of the herbs I used. But it seems it payed off. You may have the rest of the time to yourself, we will be waiting.”

She left without another words, leaving you to drain the tub and refill it with the boiled water already prepared. You sat in the hot water and exhaled, glad to be able to relax.

You didn’t like any of this.

You were in the Blood Lands, the cruelest nation, and you’re getting all pampered? Something had to be going on.

Something sinister.

-

Once you felt relaxed and clean, you stood and stepped out of the tub, draining the water. The women had provided you with some linen to dry yourself with, which you appreciated. There was a glass mirror you couldn’t help but notice, looking into it you smiled upon seeing your hair back to its normal state. It was shiny and soft, unlike when it was charred from being burnt once a year.

Wrapping the linen around you, you opened the door and nearly shrieked when the maids grabbed your arms and yanked you into a chair, fitting you into a corset.

“You’ll look stunning after we’re finished!” One of them exclaimed, yanking on the corset, making you choke quietly.

Afterwards, they gave you underwear and a long-sleeved red and gold silk dress. It looked royal. It didn’t puff out, no, it hugged your body and the skirt was free-flowing, almost dragging the ground.

You slipped the clothing on as the women patted it down, one of them began to style your wet hair. The other gave you a pair of gold shoes to go with the dress you wore, and you slipped into them without a word. The maid working on your hair grinned as she stepped back, both of them looking over their work.

Your hair was left down, framing your face perfectly. You glanced around awkwardly, unsure of how you felt about all this.

“You’re ready to see the Prince. This way.”

With that, you were lead to your internal demise.

-

Min Yoongi sat on a leather chair in his royal library, scanning you over. It was only the two of you in the room, not another soul to be found. You looked away from him, over at a nearby shelf. You didn’t want to look at him.

Because you found him attractive.

The immortal human chuckled deeply before swiftly standing, taking long strides towards your stiff figure. He set a hand under your chin and made you look at him as he spoke, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You only glared in response.

“I’m sure you’re confused about the little spa session, no? It’s simple,” He smirked, “Aid us with your power, and you’ll live as royalty.”

You gaze remained unwavering, glaring at the Prince with your entire soul. There was no way in hell you were aiding the Blood Lands with anything.

“Stubborn?” He chuckled yet again, “I’m sure I can convince you. You’ll be sleeping in the royal quarters with me, then maybe you’ll get a taste of what the Blood Lands is really like. Never judge a book by its cover, Aspect.”

Your eyes widened in the slightest; not only did he know what your were, but he knew you were an Aspect?

Something dark flashed in his arms as his thumb ran over your jaw softly, “I know a lot about you, (Y/N). I’ve been Blood Prince for longer than any other current Prince has had their throne.”

Staring into his deep red eyes, you began to see images of people dying, Yoongi crying as he shoved a sword through a man’s heart. You saw Yoongi at his lowest, and at his highest, when he was appointed Prince and became a fearless warrior.

“You are not as you portray yourself,” You mumbled.

Yoongi looked at you for a second, exhaling softly. For a split second, his gaze seemed warm and twinkling.. He gazed at you fondly, before it hardened yet again into a stone cold stare.

“Neither are you,” He said simply, making you crack a small smirk.

Maybe, just maybe, this would be better than you anticipated.

[thatgirlonstage]

Jackdaw

Some fic for Barry J. Bluejeans because I don’t see enough of my soft chubby boy in the fandom. Although this is... a bit weird, both in style and in content. We know almost nothing about this boy’s backstory so I... went exploring. In a style I don’t think I’ve ever used before. So with that disclaimer, please enjoy.

Content Warning for implied sexual content

Spoilers for the Balance arc (although frankly it probably wouldn’t spoil you so much as you’d just have no idea what’s happening lol)

This is how the story goes: your name is Sildar Hallwinter. You’re five years old and technically head of one of the last remaining noble estates in the country, following your father’s death. You’ve already forgotten his face. In a couple more years, he’ll be nothing but the story of a stranger you never knew. Your grandmother is running the estate until you’re old enough to do it.

You like to watch the birds in the garden on a cool summer morning. You’ve learned how to sit very, very still so you don’t scare them away. You watch them pecking at the berries in the bushes and gulping them down. One morning, you pick a bunch of berries and spread them out on the ground in front of you. The birds hop and waddle their way over until they’re eating the berries withing arms’ reach, casting you the occasional inquisitive look. As the days go by, they get closer and closer, until you’ve taught them to eat out of your hand.

— — —

This is how the story goes: you wake up gasping, naked and submerged in some kind of tank, choking on something that fills your mouth, your eyes, ears, and nose. The pod splits open and spills you onto the floor and you gasp for air, coughing and spitting. There’s green, brackish fluid everywhere, it’s sticky and disgusting, and you’re bewildered and afraid. You’re in some kind of cave, but you don’t know how you got here, you don’t even know where “here” is. Those are your clothes slung over a trunk in the corner of the room, but on the chair next to them is an unfamiliar red robe with a patch that you can’t quite focus on. You stumble to your feet and reach for your shirt and jeans, trying to piece together where you are and why. For some reason, though, all of your memories are distant and hazy, like they happened a long, long time ago.

— — —

You’re six years old and your mother is enrolling you in a regular school over your grandmother’s protests. On the first day of class you stand up to introduce yourself, but even at six years old you know the Hallwinters aren’t popular. Your mother has explained that you belong to something old, a way of doing things most people don’t think works anymore. And you know that no one else in your class has a name like “Sildar.” You think of birds eating berries out of your hands, their soft, feathery heads butting against your fat fingers. “My name is Barry,” you say. “I like birds.”

Eventually, your classmate Sal finds out the truth, but by then you’re already friends and he decides it doesn’t matter. He does, however, joke that you need a fancier name than “Barry” if you’re one of those rich folk from up the hill. He christens you “Barold” and you laugh and decide you sort of like it. You go home that night and tell your mother that your name is Barold now, but you like to be called Barry. She smiles and says, “Okay, Barry.” Your grandmother is the only one who calls you Sildar anymore. She calls you that until the day she dies.

— — —

There’s a coin sitting on the table, on top of a pile of maps and notes, some of which seem strangely blurry, as if you can’t quite read them. You pick up the coin and it begins to speak; it has your voice. You throw it across the room, swearing. You stomp on it, smash it against the floor, trying to break it, because you’ve heard of cursed objects and however this thing got your voice inside of it, you’re sure it’s not good. But the coin stands up to your attack, not even a dent in the side, until you finally stop and listen to what it’s saying.

“…lot to take in, and as tempting as it is, you can’t try to remember. It won’t work and it will only confuse you. Trust me, though— if you can find—” the voice dissolved in static for a brief moment “—then she’ll help you. And I know she’s alright. Nothing could take her down. Believe me, believe yourself, Barry. You’ll find her, and she’ll help you get your memories back and set everything back to rights.”

You sit down and just try to breathe, rubbing the last of the green fluid off on your pants. You’re not afraid, but a weight sits heavy in your chest, constricting your throat. You have lost something, you just don’t know what. You feel blurry at the edges, like an incomplete drawing.

The coin claims it can help you. You clench your fist around it. Alone, in a cave you don’t recognize, with maps you don’t understand, you don’t feel like you have a lot of options other than trusting it.

— — —

The Hallwinter Estate officially goes bankrupt when you’re eight. You don’t understand all the financial niceties at the time, but you know it’s not exactly a surprise. You have to leave the grand halls and massive fireplaces of your house behind. You no longer have a garden with berry bushes where the birds come to eat in the mornings. Your grandmother can’t seem to accept it. For a little less than a year, you’re living in another house, closer to town but still outside of it. Your grandmother and your mother argue a lot when they think you’re asleep. Your grandmother seems to grow thinner and more tired every day.

She dies when you’ve just turned nine. You dress up in your last fine suit and attend a funeral populated by the rich and noble, wrapped in furs and silk, under stained glass windows that turn the entire room into a sea of fractured color. The cleric mentions that she is “survived by her daughter-in-law and her grandson, Sildar Hallwinter.” It’s the last time you ever hear that name.

Your mother takes you home, and the first thing she does is give notice for the lease on the house. You’ll be moving to an apartment in town, she says, somewhere she can actually afford to pay the rent. Then she asks you to go change into everyday clothes. She takes your suit and the dress she wore to the nearest tailor and she sells them, along with all your grandmother’s remaining finery and the last box of jewelry. The only thing she keeps is the wedding band wrapped around her finger.

She comes home and sits you down and tells you that it might be easier if the two of you change your last name. “Hallwinter” evokes nothing but bad blood around here. She doesn’t want to return to using her maiden name, and she thinks you might like to pick one out together.

You pull out a guidebook of birds your mother got you for your birthday and start combing through the pages. Your finger lands on one. Later, you won’t remember why you picked this one. You’d seen them in the garden, but they weren’t your favorites, or the most eye catching, or the most frequent. Still, you felt confident. “Jackdaw,” you say. “I want our last name to be Jackdaw.” Your mother smiles and ruffles your hair. The next day, she comes back from the courthouse with two certificates. You are now Marlena and Barold Jackdaw.

— — —

You’re climbing a rocky cliff side, and your fingers slip. You reel backward and fall away from the cliff, plunging toward the ground below. The air whistles in your ears. When you hit the ground, you hear a loud snap, and for the briefest instant, you’re looking somewhere impossible, because your neck doesn’t bend like that, and then you’re dead. Your last thought is that dying seems familiar.

— — —

Sal takes pity on you and your ripped pants, and he buys you a pair of blue denim jeans for your ninth birthday. Your grandmother, even bed bound and standing on death’s doorstep, sees you wearing them and sniffs something about peasant clothes. Just to spite her, you save up coins to buy an extra pair and start wearing them all the time. They’re more comfortable than any of the silk and wool your grandmother used to make you wear anyway. For your tenth birthday, all you ask for from your mother is another pair of jeans. Soon enough, you have so many pairs of jeans you wear almost nothing else. Sal, the only one of your friends who knows who Barold Jackdaw used to be, jokes that you should have chosen “Bluejeans” as your new last name. He stops calling you Barold and starts calling you “Bluejeans.”

— — —

You wake up naked and alone in a cave, surrounded by brackish fluid, but you don’t panic. It doesn’t seem scary, it only gives you a strange sense of déjà vu. There’s a coin sitting on the table. You pick it up and you listen. It has your voice. It knows who you are. It tells you to search. Somehow, you trust it. You start looking for the woman whose name you don’t know.

— — —

By the age of twelve, you know you want to do science for the rest of your life. Formulas – scientific, mathematic, and arcane – flow from your fingers like second nature. The only problem is picking which field. Your mother sits and listens as you pace back and forth, debating the merits of astrophysics versus the chemistry of transfiguration arcana. You’ve learned the scientific names of all the different birds who used to eat berries out of your hand, and study their migration patterns on the weekends. You like understanding how the world fits together. You want to know what makes a leaf turn yellow and die, and sprout again in spring. You want to know how the stars move across the sky. You want to know the nature of the planes the arcanists move through, and their physical relationship to the world as you know it.

As you get older, you write applications and plead for scholarships. Your mother listens patiently as you puzzle your way through homework and private studies, even if she doesn’t understand what you’re saying. She places a hand on your shoulder and reminds you it’s gotten dark outside, it’s already past second sunset, and you ought to go to bed. The work will always be there in the morning. You lean backward into a hug, sighing as your eyes slide closed and breathing in her familiar scent.

— — —

You hesitate, up to your knees in the lake, before taking a deep breath and plunging in. You don’t understand how you know how to swim. You didn’t know as a child, and you can’t remember anyone ever teaching you. But as soon as you hit the water, you’re moving, arms and legs working in unison to push you forward, your eyes closed, your hair drifting around your head.

You remember other things you shouldn’t. You know the taste of hot sauce on someone else’s lips. You can imagine, with frightening specificity, the sound of air whistling past your ears as you plummet to the ground from an impossible height. You can play the piano, even if you cannot name the notes.

The weight in your heart grows heavier for a moment whenever you have one of these impossible memories. You still feel blurry at the edges, as if you might suddenly dissolve out of existence.

— — —

When you’re thirteen you notice that you’re having trouble seeing the boards in classrooms and the birds in the trees have lost their definition. You get your vision tested and a week later thick, plastic-rimmed glasses settle on your nose. You look every inch the nerd that you are.

You lost touch with Sal when he moved away last year, but not before he got a couple of your other friends, Hugo and Izzy, to start calling you “Bluejeans” as well. From them, it spreads, to the rest of your classmates, and slowly to the entire school. It becomes so pervasive even a few teachers start doing it. You start writing your name as “Barry J. Bluejeans” on tests and papers.

With your new glasses, you spot something that’s gotten wedged down behind your desk at home. You pull it out from the wall, crawl on top of all your notes, and shove your arm down the narrow gap, just managing to catch the paper between your fingers. It’s a clumsy child’s drawing of a garden where you lived when you were someone else. You rub the paper fondly between your fingertips. On an impulse, you pull out an envelope and write down the address that Sal gave you. On the backside of the drawing, you write: Found this wedged behind my desk. Remember when I was the rich kid from up the hill? Miss you. —Barry J. Bluejeans. You get a letter back two weeks later. For your birthday that year, you get a new pair of jeans in the mail.

— — —

You’re facing down a reaper who calls himself Kravitz. Your back is quite literally against the wall, and even though the coin claims you’re supposedly a proficient necromancer and arcanist, you don’t know magic. All you wanted to do was study the stars and the planes, you didn’t ask for any of this. He calls you a lich and tells you that you’ve died no less than twenty-seven times. Your palms are sweaty and you feel cold all over.

The coin has told you that there’s a contingency plan. “If something goes wrong, I want you to know that… death is an option, and that for you, death doesn’t mean the end. I can’t explain anything else, you won’t be able to understand me, but if you die, it’s… gonna be okay, alright? In fact, if you… get captured, or get some kind of painful terminal illness, it would be better for you to go ahead and kick the bucket as fast as possible. I know that’s a hard thing to swallow, but… trust me on this, like you’ve trusted me on everything else.”

But it doesn’t seem like it will be okay. Here, with the sharp end of a scythe pressed against your throat, and the stone wall cold as ice at your back, it seems like the most terrifying thing that could ever happen. Your heart and your mind race at breakneck speed, as if trying to squeeze in as much life as possible before there’s none left.

“Barold J. Bluejeans,” Kravitz says. His face vanishes, revealing a skull with glowing red eyes. “I hereby reap your soul in the name of the Raven Queen.” He raises the scythe, and as unappealing as death sounds, eternity imprisoned in the Stockade sounds worse, so you take a chance. Before he can bring the scythe swinging down, you lift the slender, wickedly sharp blade in your hand and plunge it, with deadly precision, straight into your own heart. Your last thought is that dying seems familiar.

— — —

You’re eighteen and you’ve just been accepted into one of the most prestigious universities in the country. You can barely afford a penny of the tuition, so you’re frantically trying to secure scholarships. Half the papers are filled in with your real legal name, Barold Jackdaw, while the other half have Barold Bluejeans written on them in a fit of habit. Your friends are having a party to celebrate the end of the semester and your mother practically drags you away from your papers, shoving you out the door, insisting you go have fun. Your glasses fog over in the cold and you shove your hands in your pockets, shivering.

At the party you drink of glass of something that tastes warm and fruity and makes your head buzz pleasantly. You find yourself sitting in the corner talking to Izzy, sinking into the couch cushions. And then you find yourself outside in the back garden with Izzy, your mouths shoved clumsily together, your fingers tangling and creeping downward. Your glasses are fogged over again. You pull them off your face and drop them into the grass. Her hands pull down the zipper on your jeans, and a rush of cold air is immediately followed by exploratory fingers. You press closer to her, pushing her back into the wall, and she gasps in your ear. Your fingers slide across her collarbone and tug her shirt down over her shoulder. Her mouth is on your throat, and her thick hair is everywhere.

By the time you manage to retrieve your glasses, you’re shivering and burning all at once. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s close to the last.

— — —

You’re at a tavern, because it’s been weeks since you just talked to someone. You spend ages chasing cryptic clues and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be. You’d talk about anything, even the flipping weather, if it could just be a normal conversation. You don’t know if you remember how to have one of those anymore. You don’t know when the last time you had one of those was.

Your memories exist in layers of déjà vu, now, bits and pieces that leak through from one cycle to the next. You keep dying and reviving, you’ve figured that much out without the coin saying it explicitly, so it hasn’t been lost to static. But none of those memories will come into focus. The ones you have are too confused to think about clearly. You see them as if they were in an aquarium: distorted by the water and hidden by smudged glass. Your only clear memories come from before — but even those are fuzzy with time and distance. They seem so very long ago.

A man sits beside you at the bar, and you turn to him, struggling for words. “Nice night out,” you finally manage. He only grunts in reply. “I really like the beer here,” you try again.

“Only place in walking distance makes it good enough for me,” the man says, not bothering to look at him. You swallow. Small talk was never your strong suit, even in the best of circumstances.

— — —

Sal comes to your graduation when you’re twenty-one, and he manages to get there and hug you before even your mother. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Bluejeans,” he tells you. He has calluses on his fingers now. He’s an apprentice in a metal-working shop. The crinkle in his nose he gets when he smiles is the same though. “Hey, I got you something.” He places a wrapped box in your hand. When you tear it open, you find a tiny metal figurine of a jackdaw. Sal rolls his eyes. “To make up for always coming up with different names for you,” he says. You place it in the entryway of your new apartment, where no one can miss it.

— — —

You’re sitting outside, perched on a rock, watching the birds wheeling overhead. You feel like you know the sensation of flight, but it’s hardly a memory. It tickles at the edge of your consciousness, probably nothing more than a vivid imagination. It’s Midsummer, and you can’t stop scanning the sky. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t there, but the weight on your heart sits uneasy all the same.

— — —

This is how the story goes: you’re twenty-five, hugging your mother goodbye. She kisses you on the forehead, her grey hair a soft cloud around her, and wishes you well. You have a suitcase in your hand, containing only the bare essentials for a couple weeks away. She tells you to get moving, and you promise you’ll be home soon. And that’s the last thing you can remember.

— — —

This how the story goes: you drink from a flask, and you wake up gasping. Lup’s face comes back first. Taako and Merle are beside you, and you know them now, really know them, and they’re reeling, but you need to take a moment to collect your own thoughts and memories before you can help them. One hundred and ten years crash over your brain at once, and everything else seems distant and too far lost to consider. It’s a story about a stranger you never knew.

[pinnedonzoe]

sunday morning - jared x reader

tw/ curse words @cananybodysea

The scenery of dawn on a Sunday morning could have been framed and sold to an art museum for millions of dollars. Blues and reds swirled in beautiful spirals. The sun peeked through the horizon, inching higher and higher shyly. Almost as if Van Gogh painted the sky and placed it into their world, except, well, you know, he’s dead.

“Why did you ask me to come here Jared? It’s literally five in the morning.” The sunrise was quite intriguing, you had to admit. You smirked to continue on with your next sentence. “You do realize it’s bad luck if we see each other before the wedding on our wedding day?” You raised an eyebrow at him as he sat with his knees tucked in. He shrugged, not truly caring about rules like that.

He chose the perfect place, the perfect time. It was the hill that overlooked the town, it wasn’t well known but it was the most scenic place ever. Jared took you here on your first date and the following anniversaries since you started officially calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Five years of going to the hill once a year. He insisted it should only be an annual thing just so it could stay special to you. 364 days without the hill was tough. The first week after the first time going to the hill was the absolute worst. Every time you went, you two would stay there the whole day from sunrise to after sunset and stare at the dark sky and the twinkling stars. That was your place. That was his place.

“One last date? As boyfriend and girlfriend, as an engaged couple?” Jared patted the grass beside him. Both of you wore pajamas; yet another tradition while on the hilltop. You nodded with a smile on your face, doing like him and tucking in your knees and wrapping your arms around your legs. “We’re getting married today. Kind of fucking surreal, isn’t it?” He chuckled after that. He tried to play it off cool, but you knew he was just as excited as you were.

“Yeah, it is. We came along quite well from twelfth grade, didn’t we?” Your smile widened further as you stared at his side profile. He stared into the center of the sky. It wasn’t much like Jared, since he enjoyed keeping things for as long as he could, but he bought new glasses just for the extremely special occasion. Nothing different about the style, they were the exact same model of glasses, just not broken and mangled like his usual pair was. But he wasn’t ready to part with his glasses yet. He had too many “good times” with this pair. You wouldn’t exactly call sitting on them on multiple occasions good times, but whatever floated his boat, floated yours too.

“Well, I liked you since freshman year, so that’s an extra three years.” Jared shrugged with a smile on his face. He acted so nonchalantly about it but you could tell he was proud of the fact that he A) liked you for that long and B) kept it in for that long. You gasped, clutching onto his shoulder nearest to you so that he’d actually look at you.

“Yet, you never said anything to me about this until now?” This was news to you. He never told you about this, but it looked like today was going to be of full experiences. “I mean, we only had two classes that year, and then we had geometry in tenth grade. In eleventh, I sat next to you in digital arts and I complained to you the whole year that they should’ve put me in a music class instead. What possibly could you have pulled away from that?”

Jared spoke without barely any hesitation. “That you’re a passionate person? I mean, Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’re the most passionate person I know.” You still had a confused face painted on, so he elaborated further. “When we actually started talking to each other as seniors, it really proved it. We went to the animal shelter to volunteer once, and I mean once. You wouldn’t stop talking about the dogs and how you loved them. If that’s not passionate, then I don’t know what is.“ Jared snorted. Although he could be very romantic in private, he was not him unless he used swear words and snorted.

“Sure.” You dragged out the last letter of the word, still unconvinced. “I still can’t believe you’ve liked me for three more years than I have.” You thought back to your horribly awkward phases, like your dyed hair, contacts, and capris. Now, you had your natural colored hair, you have glasses all the time, and you either wear shorts or pants; no in between. How could he have liked you then?

“I remembered thinking to myself, if I just stick it out for one more day,” Jared could sometimes read your mind and think of the right words to say. “If I could just stick it out for just one more day, then maybe you’d notice me. Clearly, the first two years, nothing happened, but I kind of stopped wishing and just letting things happen as it went. And then eleventh grade happened and then twelfth grade happened and five years later, we’re here.”

As desperately you wanted to hug him for saying the cutest things ever, you didn’t want to make physical contact before the ceremony. It was an unspoken rule that went along with not seeing your significant other before the wedding. “Jared,” you couldn’t help but to feel admiration for your soon-to-be husband. It was almost typical of him though. He was a persistent man who always showed love, maybe not in public, but definitely in private. Some were even surprised that Jared was getting married; he didn’t seem like the type to hold a commitment and stay in a relationship, let alone a long distance one for a year and a half. “I can’t believe you were hung up on me for that long. I can’t even imagine, but, Jared, I’m really not that special.” Well, rules were meant to be broken, so you interlaced your hands with him and put your head on his shoulder.

“Not special? God, Y/N,” he literally snorted and laughed and almost couldn’t stop. He let go of you and you watched him laugh. You laughed awkwardly along. He tried his best to stop himself by cupping his hands over his mouth, but it encouraged the efforts even further. He did that a lot. When he finally calmed down, his whole face was flushed and red. “Y/N, you’re the most special person in the world, and since I’m your husband-to-be, my opinion means the most over everyone else’s.”

“Of course you’d be cocky about it.” You teased him as he smirked with his arms crossed. “I love you, my husband-to-be.”

“And I love you more, my wife-to-be.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

When’s the last time you went shopping? My mom and I went grocery shopping on Sunday.

How many Sweet 16’s have you been to? None, actually.

Pen or pencil? Pen.

What’s your favorite beverage? C o f f e e .

Have you ever played The Sims? Yeppp. I was obsessed. I haven’t played since when The Sims 3 was still new-ish. I want to play the newest ones, but my laptop would be so laggy.

Is your current hair color your natural hair color? No, but my roots are getting so overgrown. Ugh.

Are you more artsy or athletic? Out of the two, I guess artsy since I like to color. That’s about as artsy as I get. I’m definitely not athletic in any way.

Are any of your friends vegetarians? No.

Can you run a mile in under 7 minutes? No.

Do you know how to play any instruments? I used to play a little piano. It’s almost been ten years since I’ve last played, though. :/

What’s your favorite shampoo/conditioner? Ever since I dyed my hair red two years ago, I’ve had to use this special salon shampoo with red dye in it. Before that; though, I love Herbal Essence and Pantene.

Are you a fan of the Grand Theft Auto series? No.

Do you like the beach? I love the beach.

Do you have your license? No.

Where’s your cell phone right now? On my bedside table.

What was your best subject in school? English.

And your worst? Math.

Would you ever have plastic surgery? If it were for like reconstructive purposes.

Did you hate the book “The Lord of the Flies”? No.

Do you consider yourself lazy? I can be. It’s more that I just don’t have the energy.

Do you or did you have a curfew at one point? We never had to set one. I didn’t go out, ha. I didn’t have a social life until college, really.

Do you know what BMI stands for? Yes; body mass index.

Is there someone on your mind right now? I’m still kind of waking up.

What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas.

How many times have you felt betrayed? I don’t know. A few.

What’s your relationship status? Single.

Do you peel the wrappers off of plastic bottles? Nah.

Have you ever sleep walked? No.

How about sleep talked? I’ve been told that.

Are you watching TV right now? Yes.

Do you have any siblings? Yep. I have two brothers.

Have you ever earned a Varsity letter? No.

Do you enjoy theater productions? Yes.

Are you shy or outgoing? Very shy.

How much sleep do you get on average? Only about five, maybe six. I also nap during the day most of the time. Regardless, it’s never enough.

Have you ever moved? Yes.

What’s your favorite type of food? Italian.

How old were you when you had your first kiss? Sixteen.

Can you roll your ‘R’s? Nope.

Have you ever been drunk? Yeppp.

Are you homophobic? No.

Jump in leaves or jump in the ocean? Leaves.

Do you wear glasses or contacts? I wear glasses.

Where was your first job? I haven’t had one.

Are you a MAC or a PC? I’m a Mac.

Would you rather be weak and skinny or strong and built? Strong and built.

Are you wearing shoes right now? No.

Have you ever straightened your hair? Yes, many, many times.

When’s the last time you spoke to your best friend? I spoke to one a couple weekends ago.

Do you like Vitamin Water? Yes.

Have you ever played Super Smash Brothers? Yes.

How about The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time? Nope.

If yes, what do you have to say to the Water Temple? --

Are you the oldest child? Nope. I’m the middle kid.

Are you a fan of Twilight? I was back in the day.

Do you like the Jonas Brothers? I was a huge Jonas Brothers fan from the time they first started out, to their end. I like Joe and Nick’s solo stuff as well.

If you answered yes to either of those questions… WHY?! Because? I liked their music, and I liked Joe Jonas. A lot.

Did you ever collect Beanie Babies as a child? I had a few.

Do you remember your second grade teacher’s name? Mrs. Kermgard or something like that.

Would you rather be a lead singer or play an instrument in a band? If I had singing abilities I’d like to sing.

How many songs do you have in your music library? I use Spotify to listen to music. I’m not sure how many on my playlists.

What do you like on your sundaes? Strawberry syrup and whipped cream.

Have you been blessed with the ability to cook and/or bake? Nope.

Have you done anything productive today? I’ve only been awake for about half an hour.

How old will you be in 3 years? Thirty. :O

Have you ever bought anything on eBay? Yes.

How about sold anything? Nope.

Have you ever watched the show Jackass? Yep.

Share one of your hidden talents with us. I don’t have any.

Have you gained more than 5 lbs within the past year? No. I’ve lost a little weight, actually.

Do you want kids at some point? I really don’t know.

Pick a crazy color you wouldn’t mind putting in your hair. I’ll stick to the red hair I’ve been doing.

Are you lactose intolerant? Yes.

Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental disorder? Yes.

Do you believe in abstaining from sex until marriage? That’s a personal choice. For me, personally, it’s not that I’m waiting until marriage. I’m waiting until I’m in a committed relationship and I feel comfortable and ready to engage in sex with the person.

Is there any jewelry you wear almost all of the time? No.

How do you feel about PDA? I don’t mind a little PDA. Keep it G.

What time did you go to bed last night? A little after 1.

Have you ever been in a hot tub? Yes.

Are you confident in yourself? Nope.

How old is your current cell phone? Not even a year.

What is your sexual orientation? Straight.

Have you ever been to a tanning salon? No.

Are you on a laptop right now? I am.

Can you speak in another language? A little Spanish.

Have you ever told someone you loved them and actually meant it? Yes. I tell my family I love them and I mean it.

What’s your favorite zoo animal? Giraffes.

How is your hair currently styled? In a messy bun.

How long are your showers (on average)? Like forty minutes.

Do you have any plans for tomorrow? Nope.

Are you multitasking at the moment? No.

East or West? West.

Do you prefer iced coffee or hot coffee? Hot coffee.

What time did you wake up today? At 7.

Would you rather be taller or shorter than your current height? A little taller.

What was the last ‘family gathering’ you attended? It’s been a few years.

Are you wearing perfume right now? No.

What did you do last night? Had dinner, watched The Voice, Tumblr-ed, did some surveys, rested.

What’s worse: working in fast food or retail? They both can be unpleasant, I’m sure.

Do you have any college or future plans? I graduated college, but I’m not doing anything. I don’t know what I want to do. I feel like I’m at a standstill.

What was the last consumed alcoholic beverage? I forget what it was, it was almost four years ago.

Are you wearing socks right now? Yes.

Is your most recent ex seeing someone right now? Not that I’m aware of.

What’s your favorite physical feature? My hair when it’s dyed and looks nice. Currently, that’s definitely not the case.

Shopping: love it or hate it? I like it.

Lose weight or gain it? I really can’t lose a lot of weight at the weight I am. I need to gain a little more.

Would you ever go vegetarian or vegan? No.

Do you need to do laundry? Yes.

Are you wearing any jewelry? No.

Do you believe that high school years are the best years of your life? It’s different for everyone. There are parts I liked and miss. Others not so much. I wish I did more.

How old do you want to be when you get married? I don’t even know if I want to get married, so.

Beer or wine? I used to like some white zin now and then.

What are you allergic to? Latex and tangerines.

Where do you get most of your groceries from? Wal-Mart.

Are you into Twilight? I was. Wasn’t I asked this?

Breakfast, lunch, or dinner? Lunch or dinner.

How many times have you moved in your lifetime? I think 3 or 4, but only once that I was old enough to remember.

How many meals do you typically eat daily? Two.

Have you ever gone on a movie date? Yes.

Do you look like your parents? Yes. Mostly my mom.

Where did you make your last purchase from? Wal-Mart.

Have you ever bought clothing online? Yes.

Did you exercise today? Nopee. It’s only going to be 8am, and I haven’t been up even an hour, yet. Not that I will be exercising at any time, I’m just sayin’. lol.

Are you warm or cold? I’m a little cold.

Showers or baths? Showers.

Do you wear any perfumes/colognes/body sprays? Yes.

What does your hair look like now? Like a mess.

What color dominates your wardrobe? I’m not sure, really.

Are you in any sort of pain right now? My pain med is doing a good job right now.

Do you think Shakespeare is difficult to read? Some of it was, yeah.

Soda or juice? Soda.

Give a shoutout to someone special. Nah.

Spring or fall? Fallllll.

When was the last time you had a haircut? I got a trim around the beginning of last year, I believe.

Are you hungry right now? A little.

Gum or mints? Gum.

How often are you exposed to illegal substances? Uhh. I’m not?

What size shoes do you wear? 6.

Do you curse a lot? No.

Do you like cats? I’m a dog person 100%, but they are adorable.

What’s the last thing that made you laugh? Something on TV last night.

Is there a TV in the room you’re in? Yes.

Do you actually care about the Superbowl? Nope.

Who did you last attend a concert with? My friend, Amanda.

Is there carpet on the floor of the room you’re in? Yes.

Do you sit on your feet and let them fall asleep? No.

Are you taking any trips soon? In a few months!

What’s your favorite exhibit at the zoo? The giraffe exhibit.

Swim in the ocean, or swim in a pool? I’m really not a swimmer.

Are you body conscious? Very.

Do you eat meat? Yes.

Describe your position right now. I’m sitting in bed.

Are you in your own room? Yes.

What jewelry are you wearing? None.

Do you play Solitaire in the computer? I did as a kid.

Is your laundry basket full? Yes. I need to get that done today.

Have you ever received nude pictures from someone? Once.

Do you support animal rights? Yes.

When’s the last time you ate a marshmallow? Around Christmas last year in hot chocolate.

Do you typically skip breakfast? I only have coffee and a muffin or donuts in the morning.

How many relationships have you been involved in this year? Zero.

Quick! Think of something yellow. Lemons.

Is Perez Hilton an asshole? He can be.

Are you signed into Facebook right now? I’m also signed in, even if I’m not on it.

Admit it: you had a Neopets account. Yeppp.

Is there a pet in the room with you right now? No.

How’s the weather? Colddd.

Have you gone out to dinner in the past week? No. We’ve gotten takeout, though.

When’s the last time you stepped on a scale? It’s been a long time. Vodka or rum? None.

Have you ever given yourself a french manicure? No.

What’s your most complimented feature? My hair when it’s dyed and looks nice. Not now when my roots are all showing. Blehhh.

How many pillows do you like to sleep with? I sleep with 3.

Are you a healthy eater? Nope, ha.

Waffles or pancakes? Waffles.

Name a food that doesn’t sit well in your stomach. Sometimes too much garlic, even though I love it. Also greasy foods.

Do you know anyone with an eating disorder? No.

What have you done so far today? Woke up and got on here.

Garlic knots or garlic bread? Either one. Yum.

What messenger services do you own? (AIM, MSN, Yahoo…. etc.) I have Facebook Messenger, or I use the chat feature on here. I don’t have like AIM or Yahoo Instant Messenger anymore.

Are you signed into any of those accounts right now? Into both Facebook and Tumblr, yes.

Name someone you know who has dyed their hair. Me.

How weight conscious are you? I’m conscious of how thin I am. I need to bulk up some.

Have you ever shot a gun? I went to a shooting range with some friends once.

Do you like the smell of Sharpie markers? Nooo. It gives me a headache.

What’s your favorite eye color? Blue or green.

Rent a movie or go see one in theaters? Depends. Some movies I just have to see in theaters.

Is there anyone else with you right now? In the house, yes, but not in my room.

Do you recycle? We recycle bottles.

Have you ever been accused of cheating? No.

How about having an eating disorder? Yes.

Would you ever go on a birth control pill? I’ve thought about it for menstrual cycle purposes. 

Do you know how to do your own laundry? I need help with that.

Uggs or crocs? Out of the two, Uggs.

Have you ever taken a train? No.

How about a subway? No.

What’s the capital of Florida? Tallahassee.

Do you know anyone outside of your country? Yes.

What do you eat most frequently? Chicken tenders or hamburgers.

What’s one sport you could never play? All of them.

What is the oldest age you think should wear makeup? Do what you want. There isn’t an age limit.

What’s your heritage? I know I have some Irish.

Are you an open book? On these surveys i am.

Are you sick often? Yes.

Is being thin really all that great? For me, I am too thin. It’s just how my body is. I had been the same weight for many years, and have never been able to put on weight. However, I actually lost a little weight last year due to health stuff, which wasn’t good. Being too bony can be problematic and painful. I have a couple issues going on that are caused by being bony. I’ve been having to try and bulk up a little by drinking and eating high protein source things. Being inactive like I have been for the past two years has led to some loss of muscle mass. As a paraplegic, I used to have a lot of upper body strength and some muscle. I lost a lot of that.

Favorite year in high school? Senior year.

Have you ever been to a night club? Yes, once. I did not enjoy it.

Are you at home right now? Of course.

Does any accent annoy you? I wouldn’t say that.

How about turn you on? Yes.

What’s worse: Crocs or Uggs? Crocs.

How was school today? I’ve been done with school for almost two years.

What phone do you have? An iPhone 6S Plus.

What time does your school start? --

What phone would you LOVE to have? I’m happy with the one I have.

How many siblings do you have? Are you close? Two. My younger brother and I are.

Do you still tell your mom everything? I tell her a lot, yes. She and I are very close.

[midsummervixen]

Hideaway, Chapter 3

Here you are my lovelies!  Chapter 1

Chapter 2  The next chapter is already completed. I plan on posting it Wed. But if I get lots of love in form of Loves, reblogs and Anons, I might feel inclined to post it sooner. ;) 

I was laying out on my blanket under my normal tree waiting for Harry to join me. We decided to meet today at “our” beach, as he called it, to start picking adventures together. I don’t know why I trusted Harry so quickly but there was just something about him. He knew who I was and was a fan of my books but didn’t act any different around me. It was as if he was completely unfazed by me. It was a rare thing these days and I was enjoying it. Not to mention that he was very easy on the eyes. I’m not looking for any sort of romantic involvement but it doesn’t hurt to enjoy the view.

I had my headphones in and my iPad out in front of me. I was humming along to some Taylor Swift, my guilty pleasure, as I brainstormed yet again. Harry plopped down next to me and scared me. I let out a yelp and jumped, pulling out my headphones.

“Harry! You startled me!” I squeaked. He chuckled and dropped his bag next to us.

“Well, if you weren't so involved in your Taylor Swift you would have heard me greet you as I was walking up.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I was quickly learning to be a bit of a nervous habit of his. I wondered what he was nervous about. He was the one who had suggested this meeting.

“You knew what I was listening to Swift just by my humming a few lines?” I asked, wondering if he was a big fan of her’s too. He started to turn red. I grinned, realizing I had embarrassed him. “Oh my gosh. Harry. Don’t tell me you are a secret fan.” I giggled.

“I’m just particularly aware of that song and a few others as well.” He mumbled. I cocked my eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Why are you so, as you put it, ‘particularly aware’, of that song, Harry.” I teased when he failed to say more. I could tell this was getting a rise out of him and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead before meeting my eyes.

“Liv, I’ve been…there is something…” He stuttered. “Liv I need to tell you something. You might get mad at me but I need to tell you before we start our adventures together.” He rushed out.

“What is it Harry? What could possibly make me mad? I’ve only known you a few days.” I was concerned. I knew I trusted him too easily. The possibilities quickly danced through my mind. Was he paparazzi, befriending me for the inside story? Maybe that's why he wasn’t fazed by me. He approached me first. He suggested hanging out again. Was I suckered into this? But is that was it, then why would he confess now when he was just starting to get closer to me? I gazed at him, waiting for him to explain further and save me from my negative thoughts. “It's just… I know those songs, Taylor’s songs, really well because quite a few of them were written about me.” He said in one big breath. I just sat staring at him, my jaw slightly hanging open. Now I was starting to question his sanity. Oh My God. What if he was a crazy stalker and he stalked Swift and really believed that she wrote a bunch of her songs about him and now he was stalking me. Did he somehow track me down here? What did I get myself into?

“So, what? You are saying is that you dated Taylor Swift and she wrote a bunch of songs about you?” He nodded. “I… Harry, I don’t understand. I don’t really follow celebrity gossip but I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever seen Taylor linked to other celebrities.” I am confused and growing more concerned.

“That's exactly it, Liv. I am, for lack of a better word, famous. Although I’ve always hated that term, I don’t know how else to put it for understanding’s  sake.” He almost whispered. Wait… What? My thoughts halted as I studied his face. I didn’t recognize him. His face was not familiar to me beyond the guy I met a few short weeks ago at the coffee shop.  I mean, yeah, I listen to mostly old rock and stuff, but I keep up enough with the modern music and I’m a pretty big movie buff and I’ve never seen him in anything before. Who was this curly haired boy?

“I don’t understand?” I rasp.

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the ground. After taking another deep breath, he met my eyes.

“I didn’t say anything right away because I wasn’t sure if you recognized who I was or not.  I didn’t want to sound pompous and ask if you knew who I was. Not to sound egotistical, but it's rare these days that I go unrecognized. When I saw you at the farmer’s market and you had to clarify my name, I knew you didn’t know who I was. It was such a nice moment, and I didn’t know how to bring up, so I didn’t. But it isn’t fair to you not to be fully honest with you. Somehow we both wanted to get away from Hollywood and wound up on the same beach.” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry… I’m still not really grasping this. What do you do? who are you? Your name is Harry right?”  I wasn’t even sure if he had given me his real name.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m Harry. Harry Styles. I sing in a band called One Direction. Or sang in, as it were. We are on an extended, maybe indefinite, break at the moment.” He clarified. One Direction… That name sounded familiar. I think I remember my little sister like them and had a poster on her wall. Styles also sounded familiar. If this is true, then, Holy.Shit. He dated Taylor Swift? Wow. I processed all this for a few moments before looking up at him. His lips were pulled in a tight line and his forehead was furrowed. I could tell he was worried I was taking this badly.

“I am processing this. But you being a singer is better then the crazy stalker ideas that shot through my head when you first mentioned Taylor’s songs being written about you.” I laughed. Harry relaxed a little when I laughed and chuckled a little along with me. “So the snap backs and the big glasses you are always wearing? It's your disguise?” I ask. He nods. “Well I guess it worked because I have no idea who you are.” I laughed. “Not that I probably would have anyway.” He grinned widely at my words.

“I have to admit, this is a weird situation for me to be in. I can’t remember the last time I recognized someone and geeked out a bit over their work and not been recognized myself.” He confessed.

“Did I knock your ego down a few pegs, Harry?” I teased. I found it fun to poke at him a little bit. He was easy to fluster.

“Shush you. It's actually a breath of fresh air. I like it.” He rubbed his hand along his neck once more. “So, you’re really not angry at me for not telling you?” He asked.

“Of course not, Harry. Honestly, if you had just befriended me and not recognized me, I would have never told you who I was.” I pulled my iPad out and typed “Harry Styles” in the search bar.

“Wait, you’re googling me?” He yelped. “What are you doing that for?” He peered over my shoulder at the results.

“Well, since I have absolutely know idea what this Harry Styles bloak looks like I’ve just got to make sure you’re not yanking my chain.” I joke. But my words soon fade and disappear as my browser is suddenly filled with dozens of news articles, pictures and links. Wow. He is like Really Really famous. All the pictures are of him in various ages. From the looks of it, he started out really young.

I quickly close the browsing window and clear my throat. “Congratulations Harry, you are, in fact, who you say you are. I’m thoroughly impressed.” He laughs a little at that and lays back on the blanket. “So you and Swifty, huh?” At this, he busts up laughing and shakes his head.

“Don’t even go there.” He snickers. I lay next to him and giggle as well. I can’t help but think us meeting was meant to be.

“So, you asked before, so now it’s my turn. Why Kauai?” He takes a deep breath and sits quietly for a few moments.

“I really wanted to disappear for awhile. I spent holidays down in St Barts but the trip wasn’t what I expected. Kauai is quiet. I needed a break from the public eye. I can hide here for a while. I needed a hideaway, I guess.” He explains. I just quietly nod, completely understanding him. The paps were what drove me away from LA. I was glad we both found this little slice of heaven that seemed to be completely free of them.

“I needed a hideaway too. Kauai is a great escape.” I breathed.

“I knew the moment I saw you that you were hiding too.” Harry whispered. “You changed your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture or interview of yours that you are not accompanied by your hot pink hair.” He reached up and ran one finger through my dark brown mane. He was right. I have been dying my hair an ombre pink for years.

“The point of coming here was to blend in. So, I called my hairdresser and had a good cry with him as we chopped nearly 12 inches of pink off and dyed the rest back to my natural dark brown. It’s weird to not have the pink anymore, but I guess it was time to grow up.” I ran my hand through my shoulder length brown hair. It was such a change from the vibrant pink that I have been sporting, but for some reason this felt like the right change.

“I like the brown. It suits you, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss seeing the pink.” He winked at me. “Do you think you will go back to the pink once you are done hiding out?” He asked.

“I’m not sure. Probably. I loved the pink and I miss it a lot. But I think I like this length a bit more. It's more manageable, I guess.” I started to giggle. “You are just full of surprised, Mr. Styles. Here we are, laying on the most beautiful beach in the world, if you ask my opinion, and we are discussing hair.” I chuckled.  

Silence seeps between us. I find myself really struck with the fact that he told me who he was without any hesitation, but I was hiding behind my pen name still. To be fair, very few people knew my real name. Outside of my family and a few close friends from growing up, no one knew my real name. I have been Liv Constantine for so long that I often forget about the other side of me. Harry takes notice of my furrowed eyebrows.

“You’ve gone quiet on me.” He murmured, poking my cheek.

“It’s Olivia.” I all but whispered.

“What?” Harry asks. He rolled on his side and propped his head up on his elbow facing me.

“My name is Olivia Costantini. Not Liv Constantine. That’s a pen name.” I admit. “Although, sometimes I feel like Liv has taken over and Olivia is nowhere to be found.” I sighed. “Almost no one in my everyday life knows my real name.” I paused and fought back tears I didn’t know I had. “That’s really sad isn’t it. All these people I call friends and co-workers. Hell, even my ex-boyfriend. They don’t really know me at all. They don’t even know something as simple as my real name.” I spilled out.

I closed my eyes, waiting for him to respond. I don’t know what made me speak so openly with him. I don’t know him, not really, anyway, but here I am spilling my heart out to him about things I didn’t even realize were bothering me.

“Olivia.” Harry said softly.

I felt a tear slip out. I moved my hand to wipe it away but felt a soft touch gently wipe across my cheek before I could. I opened my eyes and met Harry’s piercing green ones.

“I’m so thankful you deemed me worthy to know something about you so few people do.” He spoke softly.

“I want to just be Olivia here. I’m leaving Liv in LA for a while.” I said softly.

“Well, Harry Styles is definitely my real name, not a stage name. I got blessed with damn cool name.” Harry joked. I laughed and pushed his shoulder until he fell back onto his back.

I grabbed my tablet and pulled up Youtube and typed in One Direction into the search bar.

“What are you doing now?” he huffed, trying to steal my tablet away.

“It's only fair, Harry. You are intimately aware of my work and I don’t know yours at all.” I insisted, pulling the tablet back. “But to be fair, I will let you pick what video I watch.” I turn the screen towards him. He pinched his bottom lip between his finger and thumb as we scanned through the listed videos together. After a few minutes of debating, he pulled up a group of videos.

“I want something you wrote, Harry.” I said. He nodded and selected a video titled “Perfect the London Session”. We  shared my headphones as we watched. He was acting nervous. I wondered what it would be like to lay next to someone as they read my books for the first time. Fairly unnerving, I imagine.

The song ended and I was very impressed with his raspy voice. It was deep and rich. I found myself wishing he had more solos throughout the song. As the video ended, the next one started, “Drag Me Down, London Session”. Harry started to sit up, but I insisted on watching. “You got three books out of me, Mister, I get three songs.” He just shook his head and laid back down. Harry started this song started and had more lines to himself. It was even better than perfect. As the song came to an end, he started to belt out some crazy notes. I felt my eyebrows shoot practically to my hairline. He was damn good. Way better than I expected. The song ended and i cleared my throat and looked over at Harry. His cheeks were tinted pink.

“This is a little embarrassing.” He mumbled. I just grinned at him.

“Harry! You’re like, really good.” I exclaimed. He just chuckled. “I mean, I know you are a world famous singer, but… I don’t know what my point is other than I’m completely impressed and I’m going to make it my mission to get you to sing as often as possible on our adventures.” I rambled. He laughed and picked a different video then the cued one as my last song.

“This one is one of my favorites on our last album.” He said softly, laying his arm back down and letting me listen to Infinity. It was just as amazing as the other two. Harry had some big vocals in this one as well. I just shook my head and couldn’t stop grinning. I can’t believe I didn’t listen to them before. They were really good.

“So, now that you know all about me…” Harry trailed off.

“There is no way I could know all about you from three songs, Harry.” I replied.

“Yeah, I mean, like, who I am.” He stumbled over his words a bit. “Anyway. What adventure did you want to do first?” He changed the subject so well that I decided to let him for now.

“I was thinking we could do this hike in the Waimea Canyon. Its suppose to be tough but you end up on top of a waterfall at the end. It looks amazing.” I pulled up a few hiking guides with pictures and reviews. We soon lost any awkwardness that had snuck up between us and fell into easy conversation about our first outing together

[xjbderek5886587-blog]

✅ Relationships Short Article Group

Titanium has actually been on the market place for circle bands for only a few years currently. In my point of view, blue is really soothing colour since it reminds me of sea and waves but also of the sky on sunny time. At the back of the space wall along with the level of dark different colors, can easily help make the wall structure possess the impact of ahead. You've most likely understood somebody or have actually heard tales of a person that by accident dyed their hair an uncomplimentary different colors and afterwards must deal with it until it either grew out or even they could dye it once more. In fact the method of helping make discolored glass windows, also in old times, included using a system of drawing the concept for the stained glass window on a huge flat work-table that had been white-washed. RED- colors the eye fastest notice. Blue the colour of the sea that offers our team water - a magic recuperation remedy. White on the display screen is blue+ red+ environment-friendly. Pink scum chooses locations that are sulky" (not revealed to drive sunlight) & along with slow relocating" water. Dark lowlights to blonde hair generates imaginative comparison. Though it may seem like it would certainly be actually tough to turn an additive shade layout to a subtractive one, considering that each styles combine base different colors it is in fact pretty very easy to transform RGB to CMYK along with electronic graphics. The right concealer and also other makeup items could be your buddies, creating your skin appeal alive, healthy and balanced, and also clean, while the incorrect application for these products just will certainly not do your organic elegance the proper justice. Under this system, maximum intensity of each insight is actually 100% and additional resources lowest strength is 0%. The much higher the strength of lightweight helps make the ended up colour lighter as well as brighter, whilst lower intensities of colour helps make the ultimate colour darker.

Powerful bleaches featuring bleach, benzoyl peroxide, skin medicines, glue hardeners, powerful oxidizers, permanganates, and nutrient acids may strike both reddish and also blue dyes. There's good main reason to be unconvinced listed below, as well as our experts would not bank on all these shades making the cut or getting there on launch time.

They are watered-down and I must include white coating to the pink in order for it to not look completely streaky. Competitor units incorporated their very own device colour taggings to their planes such as tinted spinners and nostrils band designs. It is essential though, to opt for colours that are a good suitable for your all-natural colouring. I would certainly, instead, suggest picking a color that has a stronger pigment, like green, blue or magenta. When not adequate time is actually taken to get the intended shade of Blonde or level of lift, she reveals blunders occur. Certain, we can state heavens and water are blue tinted, yet until around 4500 years ago there was no word blue in any type of foreign language on earth. There are lots of other colors too, but it is actually not therefore populated through men like black as well as brownish.

[adamlgi-blog]

Why Lil Yachty is the Cultural Icon We Need in a Post-Bowie World

I recently watched Youtube personality Anthony Fantano review Lil Yachty’s debut album Teenage Emotions, and with Fandango being impressed with Boat’s debut tape I expected a decent and well balanced review.

Here is the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gjx2OBFrUAE

Spoiler: Anthony trashes the album.

Now, my advice to anyone who wants to delve into Lil Yachty (Or Anthony “Melonhead” Fantano for that matter) has always been to take him with a pinch of salt. He is a 19 year old kid just trying to have fun, and that is exactly how he makes music.

Many people have mirrored Lil Yachty’s career trajectory so far with artists like Lil B and Soulja Boy, rappers who didn’t really care much for public opinion and commanded a large fan base. Both these artists became famous with rap that was, by it’s very nature, to shock people and get bloggers blogging about how different their music was from mainstream rap at the time. Sure there was an element of IDGAF in there, but both these rappers knew exactly how people would react to their very distinctive styles. Yachty is clearly massively influenced by this generation and brand of rap music (One only needs to catch the similarity in fonts and colours between LIl Yachty’s Teenage Emotions and Lil B’s I’m Gay).

But while Lil B and Soulja Boy still have large dedicated fanbases, neither of them really stayed relevant beyond a few years- no offense to either artist, but when was the last time you heard something by either of them that was new and buzzing? Rapping in this “I don’t give a fuck I am who I am and I’ll rap about flowers and shit because I am different to other rappers“ style has an expiry date. There is only so long it can shock and entertain people.

This is where I believe Lil Yachty maintains cultural relevancy, he has the same buzz as Lil B and Soulja Boy- but clearly harbours a different ambition. While Lil B and Soulja Boy are perfectly happy with hardcore but niche fanbases, Yachty clearly has bigger ideals and dreams of being a generational leader in the same vein that David Bowie was to so many kids all those years ago.

Let me make this clear for any haters reading this post (and I guarentee there will be some)- Lil Yachty does not give a shit whether people hate him! This is a kid who has seen Lil B build a career on that same template. He has used that method to get where he is now, but he can succeed where Lil B and Soulja Boy didn’t by using his versatility. He showed all over Teenage Emotion that he has that in spades with hard rap songs like Dirty Mouth (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ia54sgbxDA&t=26s) and Peek A Boo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c8OG5ffqfoE), but also with softer songs such as 80′s inspired ballad Bring It Back (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPtu2kcaa1M) and the painstakingly relatable Made Of Glass (This song sold the album for me. Re-fuckin-latable Boi haha https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7IT8HvfczY).

Teenage Emotions showcased exactly what it said on the tin, the life of a teenager who while trying to grow up has been blessed with a stage on which to bare his feelings. To so many, that relatibility alone will be enough to connect with an artist- especially one like Yachty who apparently even Skypes with his fans.

As I sit in my kitchen getting my hair dyed again, I can’t help but think about Yachty’s influence on myself, and how his positive music and IDGAF ethos has impacted my own life. Whether Lil Yachty realizes it or not, he is a poster boy for a whole generation of kids. He said in a recent interview prior to the release of his album: “I used to have visions of being a star... Of flashing lights and red carpets” It would be no less than what the humble 19 year old from Atlanta deserves.

Some cool videos to check out:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zw5eDxOdowI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_IbIMUbh-k

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpIz7haWz6U

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yc6_EXmghp4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2s26hMLD0ik

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6quFApjugY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmjlA4LSaN4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LyqcrHW-CuU&t=1s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hctwo-uF_Po

[thistavernofours]

The owner of the tavern was setting up for the late shift which starts at 5:30 in the afternoon and goes until 2am then it changes into a cafe from 6am to 3pm. He was relatively busy and he had different staff working different shifts for both the Tavern and the Cafe.

At five foot three the compact well built male stood at five foot seven in the four inch black suede ankle boots he was wearing. Long black thigh high socks encase his slender, though powerful legs. His well rounded ass was perfectly molded in a pair of cuffed daisy dukes with a black apron tied around his hips. The tantalizing red straps of his thong could be seen riding the crest of his hips above the waistline of his shorts.

His mid-drift was bare showing off a well defined stomach with smooth pale skin. He wore a cream colored half-tank under a red flannel button up which he had tied in a knot. His sleeves were rolled back to his elbows so he could work more easily when a gorgeous blonde walked through the door a half an hour before they opened.

“We’re not open.”

The male said with a stubborn scowl as his gaze landed on the woman. She simply smiled brightly at him and brushed his icy greeting aside and took a seat at the bar. Marcus was getting set up behind the bar while his twin was helping restock and put inventory away.

“Don’t be so frosty Levi Darling. Can’t a mother just come and visit her beloved child?”

The blonde asked with a bright smile as she set her purse on the stool next to her. The black haired male snorted as he hefted up two cases of liquor with little effort. His steel grey-silver blue hues saw through her smile. His mother was playing hooky because she didn’t want to be bothered by a bunch of stuff officials while she was working.

“What are you havin’ Mama Estelle?”

Zander called out from the kitchen where he was getting a head start on the specials of the day. Appetizers and soups where being made before so that people could have a variety of options with a low wait time when they first arrive at the Tavern.

“Surprise me dear. Don’t give me that look Levi I love this place you’ve made. It’s the perfect place to escape to. The administrators still haven’t figured it out.”

She said cheerfully as she swiped her across the front of her eyes from her left ear to her right prompting her mobile computer to form into a visor going across her eyes. The digital screen was comprised of nanites that with eye and hand movement allowed you to adjust what you were seeing. It was a multi-function device that could do all manner of things.

Currently she was working on agricultural disputes on one of the northern Islands that were governed by Reverie. Estelle was great at her job and was much beloved by her people. She was a fierce but fair ruler and her people loved her for it.

“Quit trying to use the excuse you’re coming here to see me. You’ve probably got another eighty years in you before you retire. I’ll worry about those kind of problems then not now. So if you want to stay don’t bother me I’m working.”

He said sternly which garnered him a salute from his mother as she took got down to work in the peaceful atmosphere of the tavern. Marcus casually left her favorite drink on the counter in front of her purse. They couldn’t legally serve it to her until opening but if she so happened to take it off the counter when no one was looking who could possibly fault them for that?

It was about five minutes to opening when two males Levi and the others hadn’t seen before walked in. Both were good looking though the one was wearing glasses but he pulled them off at least with the rest of his body. He was delivering a few trays of food around since they had five minutes before they opened.

Everything served before opening was free except for booze since they couldn’t serve that until they were officially open for business. He had three pitchers of beer in one had and a tray of food in the other. The beers would stay in his hand for another five minutes until they were officially open and then he would set them down on their tables.

He noticed the one male stop and stare at him until his friend dragged him over to a nearby table that was unoccupied at the moment. There were a bunch of regulars already there already who generally came in after work to hang out and relax. Zander would feed them until it was opening time when they would have to start paying for both food and drink.

Levi had no problem with it. He also made it a standing practice that if the homeless wandered in they were fed for free if they couldn’t pay for it. His mother wasn’t the only one who was much beloved by their people. He was well known for his harsh but fair nature. Everyone knew he wasn’t one to be trifled with though he would go out of his way to help people.

His wrath was as mighty as his kindness was great. His life style was completely his own and he dared anyone to say otherwise. He didn’t suffer the media hounds or paparazzi beating down his door or sneaking around trying to use him for a story. They had fucked over several of his relationships as a teenager and his wrath had been all powerful then as well.

Everyone had learned quickly not to incur the wrath of the prince. That also meant fucking with his little sisters too. They had enough trouble with that from their mother over the years. The damn woman usually had a camera of some kind within her reach at all times. It was fucking irritating since most of his life has been documented by her. He was pretty sure the she video taped him loosing his virginity. It was just something that had happened but she had been weirdly happy for like a week after he got laid. It was suspicious.

It was five minutes after they opened officially when he passed the newcomer again and he said something Levi didn’t hear very often. This male was obviously very bold indeed as he called Levi gorgeous. Everyone in the tavern within ear shot looked in the male’s direction and then looked to Levi to see how he was going to take the stranger’s odd request.

Estelle was watching her son from behind her Vi-Com. With a few discreet hand gestures she started recording her son and the strange boy who was propositioning him. It was one of her joys in life; to catalogue different aspects of her children’s lives and save them for posterity’s sake. And for her own enjoyment as well. It was a joy she enjoyed sharing with her husband as well.

“Hoho... I’m Levi and if you show me yours I’ll show you mine sexy.”

Levi purred at the male. His eyes now that he could see them were a complete turn on. It didn’t take him long to realize what kind of person he was dealing with when he started to take off his clothes right there in the middle of the tavern. His friend’s reaction was also an indicator that the sexy stranger was obviously very honest and very literal in everything he does.

He found it funny that his friend though he was being sarcastic. It must be because of his face. He got that often enough because he didn’t deal with anyone’s drama but his own. He wasn’t sure why but it seemed to be the case more often than not.

It was entertaining watching Eren’s friend attempt to hold his friend off. He had almost thought the poor bastard was trying to cock block him that he had almost asked him if he wanted to see him naked too or if he just wanted to fuck. Though Eren made his personality very clear as the conversation went on. He even had to laugh when he offered to marry him just to see him naked.

Soon Eren was pressing up against him and making his body tingle at his touch. He knew he was going to be fucking this male and he was dying to see what was underneath. However when his friend mentioned sexual harassment he was officially cock blocking him the fucker. Sure it was probably because of his Eren’s personality but damn. Couldn’t the guy read the signals he was obviously throwing his way.

“I thought you wanted to see me naked Cher? It’s not strip night or I’d be more than willing to take most of my clothes off here but we can go to one of the private party rooms and I can give you a special welcome to Reverie just for you.”

He purred walking over to the table where Eren had sat down and only the two of them. Well the three of them including Petra who had had to clean up the other guys drink when he had dropped it. She had the grace not to say a thing mostly because there were few people who ever got Levi’s attention enough on the first meeting for him to say something like that on a first meeting.

Levi was surprise when he was picked up off of his feet in the middle of the tavern and carried to the back rooms after giving Eren a few directions. Once on his feet again Levi watched with appreciative eyes as Eren removed all his clothes and then told Levi it was his turn.

With a confidant smirk Levi slowly began to take off his clothes making a sexy production out of the process. The first thing to go was his flannel shirt slowly followed by his tank top. That he showed Eren his back to so that he could watch as it slowly rose uncovering his tattoos which splendidly covered his skin.

Turning he tossed his shirt on Eren’s chest where he had sat him down on one of the couches in the room. It was one of the rooms mainly used for karaoke so not only was it sound proof when the door was closed but it was also one of the most comfortable rooms for doing what he intended to use the room for.

Facing Eren his slowly slid his hands down the his parted legs then slowly ran them back up the insides of his legs to his crotch as he slowly turned around. Slowly he ran his hands down his back and over his ass to his thighs and up again to remove the apron. Once that was gone he slowly undid the buttons on his shorts and slowly slid them over his ass which he had point.

All that was left was the thin scrap of cloth that was Levi’s thong. Slowly Levi stepped out of his heels and made a production of taking off each of his socks until he finally finished by slowly, teasingly taking off his thong. Once he was fully naked he slid onto Eren’s lap. The huge erection an obvious sign that he wanted him made Levi wet with wanting that fat cock buried deep inside of him.

His mouth descended on Eren’s hot and heavy like an inferno of passion. Eren’s hands were all over his body touching and teasing as if he were memorizing his body which if he was honest was a complete turn on. Levi impatiently grinded against Eren there on the couch. The two of them fully naked and needing the release they could only find in each other’s  arms.

[onewhodresses-blog]

One Who Dresses: Maria Antonietta

One Who Dresses is a series that provides a view into the spirits and closets of women, as they share what getting dressed means to them in the context of who they are as human beings. By giving women a platform to share the complex narrative that takes place at the intersection of who we are and what we wear, this series aims to inject more empathy into our relationship with fashion both with others, and with ourselves.

 ____

 Tucked away among olive trees in the Pugliese countryside, down a windy dirt road, is the magnificent property of Vito and Maria Antonietta, where we spent possibly the most magical week ever last November.

We arrived very late at night and were greeted by the two warmest people you could ever imagine. I awoke the next morning to go for a walk among when I stumbled upon a Maria Antonietta gardening in gingham pants, wearing oversized pearl earrings and bright red lipstick! Gardening!!! She positively oozed style. Of course, her style goes much deeper than her clothes. Her way of living, of seeing the world, of eating and communing with the environment (she and Vito farm the property organically by themselves) - all of these things make her one of the most stylish women I have ever had the pleasure to know.

So, it goes without saying I asked her to share her philosophy on style, which she graciously did. What follows is a conversation that took place between us in her and Vito's living room, after a beautiful dinner we shared. And if you happen to be planning a trip to Puglia, stay with them! Here is Maria Antonietta, in her own words. 

What is style?

Style for me is fantasy; it is how we imagine ourselves dressing. Good style is provocative. It doesn’t matter what the fashion is. It could be long skirts or short skirts. No matter; I don’t bother with it. If I like something, I wear it. That is style.

 What is your approach to getting dressed?

When I get dressed, I don’t want to be like anyone else, I want to be me. If someone told me I resemble so-and-so, I wouldn’t like it one bit. And I would change myself. Because I want to be me. This is how I feel about life, as well as fashion. I want my life, not the life of others.

I love the Japanese style. I have so many pieces from Japanese designers. I love Kenzo. In general, I don’t spend so much on my clothing. I prefer to invest in jewelry because it always has a value. This dress could be fine now, but in a month or two, it’s no longer fashionable.

I love to pair unexpected things together. I wear checkered pants with a floral jacket. People might say this is clashing, but I find it beautiful. Strange. Unusual. I think I’ve always been counter-culture. I have always dressed in a way that pleases me. I smoked, I wore red lipstick when it was provocative to do that. I even cook in my own way!

 How do you learn to really listen to your inner voice? To be tuned in to your own frequency?

I think it’s strange that in our culture so many people want to be the same as others. They want to dress the same, to look the same. They aspire to have the same life as someone else. I don’t understand this. In this world, we would all be like soldiers, dressed in the same uniform. What personalities would we have? You only have one life, so you must live it, and it must be your own. People will always talk no matter what you wear or what you do, so don’t listen to what anyone says. Do what you want, always. Do what your heart tells you to do.

It takes enormous strength, and it is a constant battle. You have to be aware of your own power. You must understand that you have a force within you. Each of us does. You need to practice exercising your power every single day.

"You only have one life, so you must live it, and it must be your own. "

Have you ever dyed your hair?  Would you ever consider dyeing it?

I always had very long, jet-black hair. My hair was always part of my look, and I was very attached to it. When I turned 50, I cut it. I felt it was time. I was starting to have wrinkles on my face and a lot of gray hair, and I was dyeing it at the time. I was going to the hairdresser to cut and dye every week because I have a lot of hair and it grows very quickly. The whole thing was crazy. One day, I just said to my husband, what if I stop dyeing my hair and I’ll have gray hair like you? He said, why not! So I stopped dyeing my hair. It’s half white now and half gray, and I like it this way. I’m no longer a slave to it, bound to my hairdresser. I am happy with how I look. My hair is suitable for my age. I think an old face with artificially dyed hair is at odds. The wrinkles are more pronounced. It’s just off. I think being natural makes me look younger, not older.  

 What is the relationship between style and age?

It’s complicated. In a way, the older you get you must do what you want. But I think at a certain age you have to be careful because if you overdo it, you become ridiculous. In Italy, so many women have plastic surgery and I think it is a terrible trend. You see them on TV and they can’t even laugh anymore, they can’t open their eyes. To end up looking like a clown to stay fashionable or beautiful is very bad.

I think one has to do what they want but within limits. You have to have a balance. You cannot be too bold as you get older. You want people to see that you have a strong sense of style, and you want people to stare, but for the right reasons not the wrong ones.

 It’s interesting you mention plastic surgery. What do you think about the value we place as a society on youth, especially as it concerns our appearance?

It is very natural that when one is young, they feel beautiful. People make comments about a woman’s appearance. People look when she is walking down the street. And then one starts to get old and this attention stops.

If our self-worth is attached to our appearance, then when people stop saying how beautiful we are, we don’t feel beautiful anymore. It is very hard for many women so they think, “If I change my face or have some plastic surgery, people will think I’m beautiful again.” But it doesn’t work like that. Many years ago, I considered having a breast enhancement. My chest is very small and I’m always in a swimsuit in the summer here and it just became something I kept thinking about. If only my chest were bigger. But then I thought to myself, I cannot have the breasts of a 20 year-old on the body of a 70 year-old. It wouldn’t look right. Then I’d have to change everything. I’d have to get a face-lift, a leg-lift, do my arms and my butt. So I said: no! Too much. I don’t want to live like this. So I never did it and I never think about getting plastic surgery. I like myself the way I am. My husband also thinks I am beautiful.

There is a great Italian actress, Anna Magnani. Someone told her, “Why don’t you remove your wrinkles?” She said, “It took me 50 years to get them, why would I take them away?” They are a part of my life.

What should fashion do for women?

I feel that fashion is a force for change. For example, fashion helps us try different things, maybe even things that were previously taboo, liking mixing patterns or experimenting with new ways of dressing. We must try new things and have new experiences, and fashion is a way for us to do that. For example, why not put a collar like the one worn by Mary, Queen of Scots, on a denim shirt? Why not be daring? I say, try it!

"Put an emphasis on your fault to make it into a virtue."

What about self-acceptance—how does our understanding of our self relate to our sense of style?

The first thing is, you have to accept yourself. I am petite (1.6 mt, 5’2”). What can I do? I can wear high heels but if I need to walk somewhere or if my feet are tired, I have to wear flat shoes and accept that I’m not as tall as I would like to be. So I compensate and I focus on my strengths. I love to laugh. And I’m funny. I can make good conversation. I learned to dress well and cook well. You must develop other aspects of yourself so you don’t always think about the things in yourself that you don’t like but can’t change. And your style develops from this understanding of yourself.

You must be very honest with yourself. If something is in fashion but it doesn’t fit you, don’t wear it. I see men and women wearing these rimless glasses and the lenses are so thick. They have bad eyesight but they want to wear these little glasses because they are ashamed to have bad vision. I say, wear huge goggles if you have bad eyesight! Put an emphasis on your fault to make it into a virtue.

Understand that no one is perfect. God gives you one thing but not everything. If you use what you were given to spread love, to make a beautiful memory, and to be kind to people, that is what matters. You are making your strength your signature.

___