#why did we choose to make paper crafts. we could have just made blocks of ice and pushed them around campus. it would have been so easy

[mars-ipan]

in case anyone’s wondering how it’s going i just chose to take my break on the floor (floor time good and i have a little comfy spot) and as i laid down two of my lumbar vertebrae popped just from the tension of my muscles. dear god

[pandoras-princess]

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader) 18+

*gif not mine//credit to owner

A/N: Hello my lovely peopless! 🌸 I have had the worst writer’s block and honestly it felt like this part was going to go on forever. But we’re here and we’re over it 🤗 I’m actually quite proud of how this one turned out despite everything so I shall keep it short and sweet but I will say please please read part one before you read this if you haven’t already, this part won’t make sense otherwise but that’s it for the nagging I swear 😚 sooo without further adieu I give you part two 😁😁 Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌

Summary: It’s been half a year and you’ve settled quite nicely into your job at the Garrison, as well as all the perks that come with it. Your relationship with Tommy takes an unexpected turn, igniting a fire within John he hadn’t known was simmering...

Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, explicit mentions of sex, smoking

PART ONE PART THREE PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

It’s been 6 months since your first shift at the Garrison, and running the bar isn’t the only thing you've settled into.

After spending the night together in his office, you and Tommy came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. You provide him with some much needed stress release, in return he provides you with the love and adoration you so desperately crave, even if only for the brief moments spent in your bed.

As the intimate meetings became more and more frequent, there was still no doubt in your mind that you were little more than a functional lay to the man.

Truthfully, you were anything but functional because with every encounter Tom could feel his heart falling for you.

At first, it was how you'd light a cigarette for him right after sex, plucking the stick from your lips to tuck it between his before you lit your own; it was the way your wild curls would encompass your face like a halo at even the smallest tilt of your head; it was the way you could handle any rowdy punter at the bar with a few choice words and a look that could put even the hardest man in his place. And now? Now, it was absolutely everything about you. Tom found his head clouded with thoughts of you constantly, the only relief taken from being in your presence.

What started out as a bit of harmless fun, had now become a nightly occurence.

Tonight being no exception, you skillfully roll over him, careful not to place any unwanted weight on delicate body parts. Tom pulls on his cigarette, inhaling the harsh smoke as he admires the after-sex glow radiating off your naked form. The only marrs on your skin were the hickeys he made in an eager bid to claim you as his own.

You set about gathering your clothes, unaware of the adoration swimming in the blue irises behind.

“What're you doing?”

“I’m getting ready to leave” you chime, now all too accustomed to the usual routine of sex and a quick smoke before walking home or sneaking Tom out.

Returning to the bed in hopes of retrieving your underwear, Tommy’s large hand wraps around your thigh holding you in place, and any thoughts of the discarded fabric are dashed.

“Stay.”

It was not a question but a statement, the silent pleading in his eyes a far too familiar feeling of your own.

“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you sayi-”

“I know what I said, that's not what I want anymore” he interrupts, perfectly aware of the words about to be repeated back to him.

Straddling his waist, his hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs drawing invisible circles on the soft skin beneath as your hands trail mindlessly along his toned chest, goosebumps appearing in their wake.  

“What do you want then?” The question comes out breathily, and your heart pounds against your ribcage at such an intensity you were sure it was audible.

“I wan’t you, Y/N.”

There it was. The words you’d been waiting to hear for what felt like an eternity.

You ignore the niggling voice in the back of your mind; the voice reminding you that this decleration of- of- whatever it is, was coming from the mouth of the wrong Shelby brother.

“Is that so, Mr Shelby?”

Tommy is cast back to the very first time you’d given yourself to him - bent over his desk and shamelessly moaning his name as he pounded you with such force he worried the aged wood might just give out from under you - and he remembers just why he’d had this change of heart in the first place.

You were perfect. Plain and simple.

Of course you had your quirks, everyone did. But try as he might he couldn’t find a single one that put him off. The more time spent together the more he was convinced God had crafted you entirely for his sake.

“Yes Y/N that is so.” Tommy’s fingers connect with your waist and your angelic giggles fill the air, the smile tracing his lips deepening.

Flipping over so that his body is snug between your legs, he continues his relentless tickle attack, relishing the feel of your body squirming underneath him as you desperately try to get away.

“To-tommy sto-stop tickling me!”

Your dainty hands barely manage to prise one hand from your waist before the other reconnects, rendering your muscles useless as you collapse into laughter.

“O-okay you win! I’m yo-yours, all yours!”

“Ah the magic words.”

Opening your eyes, you’re met with Tommy’s beautiful face beaming down at you, having obviously accomplished his mission. Draping your slender arms around his neck, you pull him into a kiss and his hands roam your body, tracing along each and every curve before settling for burying in your curls.

For the first time in six months, you and Tommy made love. Well, the first and second time, to be exact.

Hours later and Tommy is peeling his body off of yours, lungs begging for oxygen as the fragments of your mind recollect themselves - the ecstasy of your orgasms positively mind blowing.

“Tommy?”

“Mm?”

“Do you mind if we, um, maybe wait before telling everyone. I just don’t fancy them sticking their oar in, m’ really quite content just us” you muse, shifting into place beside him. Your touch dances along his collarbones, exploring every groove and crevice on its travels to his jawline.

Eyes closed, a lop-sided grin gracing those oh so plump lips. Silky brown waves marvellously tousled from hours of your fingers raking through them.

The man truly was a work of art.

Tommy hums softly in response, one lid opening to peer down at you before capturing your hand in his, lightly pecking each of your fingers along the way.

“Anything for you, Princess.”

With the ghost of his soft lips lingering, your focus shifts to the rhythmic beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the ever so slight twitch of his fingers. And so, wrapped securely in the arms of tender loving care, you drift off to sleep.

The next morning your small figure is weaving throughout the back streets of Small Heath, now an expert on the roads less traveled by Peaky Blinders and Co.

With blood pounding in your ear drums and your heart thuddering in your chest, you sneak through the creaky door making a beeline for the stairs.

“Where’ve you been?”

You reluctantly enter the kitchen, finding Polly at the breakfast table with a cup of tea to her left, an ashtray to her right and a heap of papers inbetween.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“No where.”

“That hickey on your neck says otherwise” she smirks, finally raising her head to look at you.

Your hand pointlessly rushes to cover the purple bruise darkening by the minute on your jugular. “Shit!”

“So how is Tommy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said how is Tommy?” Polly repeats the question, panic creeping up your throat like bile.

“You mean... you know?”

“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t notice my own nephew sneaking in and out of this house every night. Give me some credit” she quips. “Don’t worry your little secret is safe with me.”

The parilysing fear immediately dissolves and you plunk yourself down at the table, a dreamy sigh leaving your mouth as you lay your head to rest in your palms.

“Oh Pol, it’s wonderful! He’s so- so-”

“Please, spare me the details.”

“-so perfect!”

“Y/N, he’s Tommy Shelby - perfect isn’t a word within that man’s description.”

“Well it is in mine” you mumble.

“Anyway since you’re here you can help me. We’re having a gathering tonight and I want everyone here so I need you to go and tell them. In the lounge, 6pm sharp.”

“Fine” you huff, rising from the table.

“Oh and Y/N, make sure you cover that thing up before you see John, we don’t need any more murders around here.”

Red hot flames lick at your cheeks and Polly’s lips stretch into a smirk once again, chuckling to herself as she returns to the paperwork before her.

By 6 o���clock all members of the Shelby clan are slowly trickling into the lounge. Tommy and yourself are the first to arrive and he immediately chooses the right corner seat, guiding your body into the empty space beside him.

“Alright Pol” Tom greets his aunt not bothering to make eye contact as he notices a stray curl fall into your eyes, gently tucking it back in it’s rightful place before leaving a quick kiss on your temple.

Polly’s eyes twinkle with amusement as she hands you both a whiskey.

“You’ll want to be a bit more discreet than that when the others turn up.”

“Yes thank you Pol” Tom replies sarcastically as you direct your attention to ridding your jumper of non-existent fluff.

“Alright Polly.”

Your head snaps to the source of the gruff voice, butterflies fluttering against the confines of your ribcage as you lock eyes with John.

“Ye alright love” he plants a kiss on the top of your head before collapsing into the free corner of the sofa.

John was a man of few words, those that didn’t know him might even say simple. But when it came to you, the unspoken language of Jonathon Shelby was one of the few you could speak, thus giving rise to the overly affectionate nature of your relationship.

If this was a few years ago - before Esme, before Tommy, before that tart in the back alley, when everything was right with the world - you’d be tucked up next to John, curled into his side with a strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist. His fingers would absentmindedly trail along your skin, a private joke or snarky comment whispered into your ear every now and then. And when he laughed, oh god when he laughed, each muscle would flex around you drawing you in closer, forcing every fibre of your being to fight the urge to kiss him.

But this was not a few years ago and things had changed, the harsh truth slapping you in the face like a wet fish as you catch sight of Esme trawling into the lounge; each butterfly erupting into a tiny globe of fire as she settles herself between you and John.

How beautifully ironic you thought, shifting yourself closer to Tommy.

Eventually Ada and Arthur arrive and the night rolls on. The whiskey burns through your veins, blending with your blood on its way straight to your head. With a fair amount of Dutch courage under your belt your body was craving the intimacy it was used to on a night like this. So taking your chances you snuggle into Tommy, allowing yourself to relax when you feel his arm instinctively snaking around you.

The action - which could easily be passed off as a caring moment between two friends - hadn’t gone unnoticed, and every muscle under John’s control seized up at the sight.

More stories poured out, along with many more drinks - you’d half a mind to suspect Polly was purposely fueling you with alcohol - and the more brazen you become, your legs now laying over Tommy’s with his left hand resting comfortably on your thighs.

You gently tap on the waistband of his suit trousers, and hope that Tommy understands your silent request. The movement was much too slight to draw any attention and he brings his left hand to scratch an itch that wasn’t there, before casually placing it over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze when he’s sure nobody has noticed.

He forgot, however, that Ada was positioned with a clear viewpoint of the loving act, sitting smugly on the arm next to him as she put two and two together. She thought the pair of you had been awfully happy lately, much too happy for it to be coincidental.

As everyone focused their attention on Polly and her latest crazy tale, John’s jaw clenched and unclenched for the hundredth time, the muscle aching under the constant tension. He sat on the other side of the sofa, soundlessly raging as he thought over the countless nights you’d been draped over him like that, whispering and giggling, eyes glistening with mischief as he shared another secret joke with you. Now here you were, draped over his brother, whispering and giggling as your eyes glistened with what he hoped was the large amount of whiskey you’d ingested, and not the same mischief you once shared with him.

Esme attempted to replicate your position, and she was met with John’s hand roughly pushing her aside. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He wasn’t even sure why he couldn’t take it - it’s not as if you’d ever be stupid enough to fall for his brother’s plan.

“Tommy stop!” you giggle, brushing his hand from your curls as he pretends to mess them up.

That was enough. “C’mon Es we’re going.”

Your laughter dies down as you look up at John, his blue orbs cold and hard as they stare back at you.

For once, you couldn’t place the unvoiced emotion set on his face. For once, you couldn’t read the man you once considered your best friend.

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #12

 Word Count: ~ 2.400

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Chapter 12: Secret Santa

December had come around, bringing with it the heaps of snow Hogwarts had been spared from so far. Within days it buried everything in sight under a thick white blanket, transforming the landscape outside into a powdery winter wonderland.

Peeves had took it as his personal assignment to dump a heap of snow on every unsuspecting passer-by from questionable heights until Professor McGonagall publicly threatened to turn him into a Christmas cracker if she saw him with so much as a single snowflake in his unsubstantial hands again.

And as the castle was slowly but surely covered in ornaments and twinkling lights, the festive spirit spread into even the most remote corners of the dungeons.

It had become tradition for the Hufflepuff team to celebrate the holidays in their own way. Even back when Orion hadn’t been captain, the team used to gather after the last practise of the year for a small get-together in the Common Room, including a game of Secret Santa.

Whereas the idea of material gifts had never posed much of an interest to him, Orion couldn’t deny the astounding effect the game had on the rest of the team. The excitement of receiving a present from someone unknown positively electrified his friends. Consulting the ones closest to your assigned person for a suitable gift never failed to knit their team closer together.

So he had just continued entertaining this ritual after he had stepped up into his position. Especially this year, they could do with a little bit of festive unison.

The snowfall had increased again just as they were wrapping up their last manoeuvres. Everyone practically jumped off their broomsticks to retreat into the comforting warmth and light of the Common Room.  

McNully was already waiting for them as they entered through the narrow passageway, a trail of melted snow dragging on behind them. A small jute pouch adorned with an embroidered Christmas Tree rested on his lap. Fully immersed in the festive spirit, he was sporting a particularly nasty sweater picturing a badger dancing with a raven instead of his usual white shirt and tie. His golden snitch was still pinned to his chest, however.  

He wiggled his eyebrows in anticipation as they all got changed into their yellow and black team sweaters and settled down around him. A pot of hot chocolate was passed around, the warm smell spreading in the Common Room as each player poured themselves a cup, glad for something to put their freezing hands around.

McNully reached into the pouch and started mixing up the slips of parchment he had prepared in advance while reminding them of the rules.

“It is time for our annual Christmas draw, ladies and gentlemen! As we have some new faces to join in on the fun this year,” he inclined his head towards Everett, “I will present to you the rules once again.”

Orion shook his head with a chuckle. Murphy McNully, forever the presenter.

“Everyone is to draw a name of another member of the team. You have time until Christmas Day to buy, craft or create a suitable present for your assigned person. You may not reveal your identity to them unless they guess correctly. You are not to reveal your draw to another person unless your un-festive mind can’t think of anything to gift and needs creative assistance. If you fail to deliver on your task, I will brand you a Christmas troll and announce it publicly on your next friendly.”

Orion bit back a laugh at Murphy’s newest addition to the rules. His friend took the holidays very seriously.

They all took their turn lining up and dove their hands into the pouch, pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment. The reactions to the names written on them ranged from relief over confusion to horror when it was a particularly difficult person to find a gift for. Orion found it fascinating to observe.

Laughter erupting from one of the armchairs drew his attention. Skye slumped in it while Lizzie was sitting on the floor with her back against the yellow armrest. Lucy had just showed her parchment to them, looking more chagrined than anything. Upon reading what was written on it, Skye had whispered something to them, prompting the girls to burst into laughter.

“You are not supposed to show who you got just yet!” Murphy scolded the girls. Spreading Christmas joy was a very serious business to him.

“Sorry!” Lizzie tried to appease him while still shaking from suppressed laughter. “Just go on!” Skye muttered something into her ear, drawing another set of giggles from her.

With an indignant huff Murphy returned to monitor the drawing while Orion quietly observed the scene. There were still some stray snowflakes hanging in her hair which was curling around her face as it dried in the warm air of the room. Her cheeks had turned red from laughing at Skye’s joke, a smile lingering on her lips, reaching up into her eyes.

He hadn’t seen Lizzie as carefree since what had happened back at the concert a few weeks prior. Everyone but McNully had left Hogsmeade soon after she had suddenly disappeared. They had found her in the Common Room, curled up in front of the fireplace, nose buried in a book and Mouse snuggled up on her lap. She had retreated to her dorm almost immediately after their arrival.

Neither of them had mentioned what had happened with so much as even a word. It wasn’t like Orion had a problem with that. He wasn’t entirely sure himself in what direction they had set their steps that day, or why he couldn’t get a hold of the reason everything had gone out of hand. It was like smoke, evading his grasp as soon as he tried to set his mind on unravelling what had taken place between them.

But he had noticed how Lizzie had started avoiding his company. Where she had been perfectly comfortable around him before, she now made sure someone was with her at all times, positively clinging to Skye when they had practise or her friend Rowan during their tutoring lessons.

It was this change of atmosphere Orion felt truly sorry about. He considered his friends his family and Lizzie actively seeking her distance from him unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It had never been his intention to cross a line. Like  a fool, he had let himself get carried away in the spur of the moment. He should have known better by now.

He missed chatting with her in the greenhouse the most. Lizzie was one of the few people seeing beyond him being the captain of the Hufflepuff team. She was actually listening to what he had to say. Instead of tuning out when she didn’t understand his point, she gave his words a thought until she had figured it out.  

As much as he longed to equilibrate their friendship again, he would have never forced her to talk to him if she clearly did not wish to do so.

Perhaps it was a good thing the Christmas break was so close. For the first time in years Orion was glad almost everyone was returning home for the holidays. Having the Common Room mostly to himself was the perfect occasion to take a step back and regain the balance he had been struggling to maintain as of late.

He wasn’t the only one watching the chuckling group of girls, however.

Everett seemed to be oddly interested in their conversation as well, his intense gaze trailing Lizzie’s every movement. Sensing Orion’s attention shifting to him, he suddenly perked his head up. His grey eyes narrowed as they made contact with Orion, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them.

Orion had no interest in a fight with him, so he merely held his gaze with level eyes. It took Everett a moment, but eventually, he broke the contact and turned away.

“Why is he looking at you like that?” McNully had finished monitoring the draw and came over to him. Everyone else was chatting excitedly about gift ideas and the upcoming break by now.

Orion’s eyes followed Everett as he got up and strutted over to the boys sharing their dorm. Maybe choosing him for the team had not been the wisest decision after all.

“People with strong characters like him often feel the inherent need to establish a hierarchy between them and others they deem a threat to their dominance,” Orion responded, half lost in thought.

“A threat, you?” McNully chortled.

He had to smile at his poor choice of words. “While I may not portray a dominant character, as captain I do fill the most prominent position in this team,” he explained his meaning. “I consider every one of us a vital piece of the greater picture and I find rivalries within our team to be unfortunate; we should always strive for unison. Because without unison, how can we reach a common goal?”

McNully stared after their roommate, silently calculating. “Whatever this is about, if he happened to have drawn your name, I’d like to inform you that there is the small possibility of 9.2 % that a present from him might be really unpleasant.”

His face suddenly lit up again and he shoved the almost empty pouch in Orion’s face. “Speaking of which, there’s only you and I left now.”

Not being half as enthusiastic as his friend, Orion waved him on. “Go ahead, I’ll take the last one.”

McNully pulled one of the two remaining slips of parchment out of the bag. A grin spread on his face when he read the name written on it. “Oh, that’s a tough one,” he mused, grey eyes sparkling. “Brilliant! I like a good challenge.”

He upended the pouch into his hand and handed the last parchment to Orion; he always took the one that was left.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he read the name written on it. Apparently, the universe had his own twisted sense of humour.

“Who’d you get to make you grin like that?”

Skye had suddenly appeared by his side, craning her head to catch a glimpse of the piece of paper between Orion’s fingers. He shifted his arm slightly to block her view and folded it up again.

“Skye, are you coming? We need to finish that Charms essay before the library closes,” Lizzie called over to her friend. She had gotten to her feet, her hand resting only lightly on the back of the armchair. She seemed very eager to leave the scene.

“Go ahead if you don’t want to wait, I’ll catch up to you.”

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before stepping back towards the group. She rubbed her hands against her arm and joined them, albeit subtly standing as far away from Orion as possible without it looking suspicious. He noticed it anyway.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment as she caught him looking at her and she immediately dropped her gaze, suddenly very invested in pulling on a loose thread at the hem of her sweater.

Skye tried to use his distraction to her advantage. With a quick movement she attempted to snatch the piece of parchment he was still holding between his index and his middle finger out of his hand.

“You are not supposed to know!” McNully shooed her away as Orion tucked the paper into the pocket of his pants.

“Don’t violate the rules, Skye Parkin, I’m warning you!” McNully scowled at her. “Lucy shouldn’t have shown you her parchment either. What was so funny about it anyway?”

Skye stuck her tongue out at him. “Of course, now you want to know.” She snickered again. “Lucy got Everett and has no idea what to get him. I told her maybe a braincell or two wouldn’t hurt.”

Orion tried to suppress his grin in vain, while even Lizzie started giggling again. Everett really didn’t seem to be the most popular member of their team.

“This is not what this game is about!” Murphy scolded, but he was grinning at Skye’s suggestion all the same. “Don’t ruin the Christmas spirit with your bad jokes.”

They were the only ones left in front of the fireplace. The other members of their team had one after the other filed away, now minding their own business. Skye sat down on the armrest of the sofa, resting her feet on the cushions.

“Speaking of Christmas, what are your plans this year?”

“I’m with my mum and grandma of course ,” Murphy told them while pointedly pushing Skye’s feet off the seat again. “Orion is going stay at the castle, I presume?”

Orion inclined his head. He always stayed at Hogwarts if he could.

“I’ll be with my family as well,” Lizzie added to the conversation. “We haven’t had a family Christmas for two years in a row now. My parents have been visiting my brother Jacob in the States.”

“I remember; you were at Weasley’s place for the past two years, weren’t you?” Skye mused. “That was when you and him- “

“Exactly; I’m really looking forward to being home for a bit,” Lizzie shut her friend up hurriedly.

Orion could see her cheeks blush slightly. He wondered why she was so intent on silencing Skye.

“It’ll be great to spend a bit of time with my family,” she quickly continued, brushing over Skye’s protest. “I’ll probably meet Penny some time as well; her family doesn’t live far from us.”

Skye had stopped protesting at her words; a sad expression shone in her eyes. The relationship between her and Penny was still strained, as far as Orion was aware.

He watched the girls chatter on about Christmas in silence. He saw Skye lean in to Lizzie. Although he didn’t mean to overhear their conversation, Skye was talking too loudly for him not to hear her words.

“You’re meeting Penny?” she asked silently. “Do you think you could talk to her on my behalf? Things are still so weird and I just want this to be over with,” she pleaded.

Lizzie shrugged. “Sure, I can try.”

“Smashing!”

Orion was still thinking about Skye’s request after the girls had left for the library and he and McNully had started a round of Wizards Chess. The Christmas break came at exactly the right time. It was an opportunity to look at things from a healthy distance and to get things back to order.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who was desperately in need of it.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Never steal from a faerie...

On the whole, faerie heritage was quite easy to hide. Nowadays most people tried to pretend that anyone of that kind had died out anyway. Nobody could deny they had existed once, but that didn’t stop people from saying that they didn’t exist anymore. That was advantageous. It’s much easier to hide in plain sight if the people looking don’t really want to see you.

Jeanne knows that the average customer would rather not believe in fae and they take full advantage of that. Their little café is as popular as it is tiny and most of the regulars have no idea that it’s the magic in the food and drink that keeps them coming back. Not that Jeanne actually makes them come back. They don’t lay spells on people, they pride themself in that. All they use is a little glamour…and a little glamour goes a long way. Some of the customers do actually taste the burst of happiness Jeanne bakes into their pastries, but that doesn’t mean that they can tell the difference between faerie magic and the other glimpses of ancient power that some people are still born with.

Which is good, because when they do believe in it, faerie magic freaks people out. Jeanne doesn’t resent this, but it does make them smile sometimes. Or the way people talk about it does at least. The days of faerie rings are long gone. They have never lived in a grassy mound with a hawthorn growing on its top. They live in a little apartment above their café, like so many people do. And they don’t wish themself back in the old days either. Jeanne likes the city and they love their shop.

Because faeries make deals, that’s what they’re all about, and Jeanne makes a deal with every customer that walks through their door. They offer the shimmer of the silver and gold that they earned and Jeanne gives them the food and drink they crafted with their own hands. That is the deal and Jeanne honours it, for a faerie is never in debt. This way they can make countless deals, countless trades a day. They smile at every customer and everyone smiles back, because far away in their mortal subconscious, they know they ought to. It’s wonderful. Jeanne loves their life among the mortals. Loves to be surrounded by the bustle of the city. And adores to see the same happy faces coming back to their counter week after week.

They have favourites, of course. The three young men that come in with laptops, books and pamphlets every Friday for instance. They are always friendly, always full of conversation, and their backpacks are adorned with pride buttons. Jeanne likes them. Just like they’re always pleased to see the two girls that treat each other to scones most Wednesdays. They are here again today. Jeanne is watching them laugh and talk together. One of them, a tall brunette, is nicknamed Principessa, Jeanne has learned. She always comes in with a lovely plump girl with bubble-gum-pink hair, who they presume is her girlfriend. Or girlfriend-to-be, perhaps. Jeanne is still discretely watching them when the shop bell rings and a small crowd of semi-regulars comes in. Jeanne turns back to the counter, smile at the ready, when they stop breathing for a full second.

Coming in behind the group of chattering women is the prettiest mortal Jeanne has ever seen. For a moment they doubt whether he really is mortal, so graceful are his movements. The young man is tall, clad all in black, and has such a striking combination of fair skin and dark features that it makes Jeanne’s heart ache. He moves with ease and confidence and the faint smirk around his lips looks as if it never leaves him.

“Luce!” Principessa suddenly calls out.

The smirk turns into a grin as the young man joins her table, kissing both her and the pink-haired girl on the cheek in greeting and suddenly Jeanne understands. For the first time in their life they know why their ancestors played their flutes in the dark woods just at the edge of hearing and wove spells in the moonlight. Because of mortals like this.

It takes all their willpower to serve their customers with a tolerable appearance of care and attention, because the young man named Luce has risen from his seat and is joining the queue. They try to keep their eyes on the hot chocolates they’re making, but the tall, dark shape is still at the edge of their vision.

The three women that placed the order are still counting out their money when Luce steps past them and leans on the counter.

“Double espresso, please,” he says.

“Nothing else?” Jeanne asks, their eyes firmly fixed on him now that they finally have an excuse. His eyes are green. So green…

Luce glances over the various piles of freshly baked goods displayed both on the counter and behind the glass and shakes his head. “No thanks.”

Jeanne would be offended, but that grin…

“I’ll get you your coffee then,” they say, turning away. When they turn back, Luce is still leaning against the counter nonchalantly, while the women laughingly hand over a handful of coins.

“We always forget to hit the ATM before we come here.”

Jeanne’s café is the last cash-only place left on the block. Because it’s the shimmer that counts as well as the value and even paper money has a glitter to it.

“It’s really Manou’s fault this time,” one of them says conversationally, but Jeanne isn’t listening.

Luckily they don’t seem to mind. They move to a table by the window, chatting happily all the while.

“Here’s your espresso,” Jeanne says, turning back to Luce.

He takes his hands out of the pockets of his leather jacket. It looks expensive. Jeanne doesn’t like leather much, but he wears it well. Very well. “Thanks,” he hums and he flashes them another grin.

Jeanne watches him take the cup and walk back to his friends. They barely manage to swallow a sigh. No spells. They aren’t allowed any spells. Not even a little hint of magic mixed into the coffee to suggest coming back. They promised themself they’d never do that, to anyone…

Soberly they return to stacking the clean cups. Every now and again their eyes inevitably drift in the direction of the table where Luce sits with the two girls. They seem to be having a good time, only Luce is sitting with his back to the counter, so Jeanne can’t really tell. After a while the two girls get up.

“You coming?”

Jeanne lets out a breath. He’s leaving and the thought alone makes them miserable, but at least they’ll get to see his face again as he turns.

To their surprise, however, Luce hesitates and then shakes his head. “You go ahead.”

Jeanne feels a flutter in their stomach. He is staying behind? Alone?

“Okay,” Principessa shrugs. “See you!” And she leaves with her pink-haired companion.

Luce seems to shift in his seat uncomfortably, but then he chooses a new spot in the corner and picks up one of the magazines scattered around the tables. Jeanne considers going up to him to ask if he wants something else to drink, but they decide against it.

Customers come and go, the chatty trio of women leaves, and still Luce remains. Sometimes he gets up and walks through the café as if he’s about to leave…but then he doesn’t. Jeanne is watching him more often than not now, but Luce never looks in their direction.

“Enjoy your muffins!” Jeanne smiles at the old man with the friendly eyes that comes in once a week just to buy some pastries to take home. They’re pretty sure he buys them for his sister.

“We always do,” the man replies happily and he gently closes the door behind him, leaving the café empty for the first time that day.

Well, empty apart from Luce, who is still sitting in the corner. Jeanne makes a decision and speaks up:

“Hey, can I get you anything? I do sandwiches too…”

Luce’s head snaps up from the magazine that he clearly hasn’t actually been reading, because he hasn’t progressed at all. He tensely glances around the now deserted café and then quickly gets to his feet. “No,” he says, his voice oddly strained. “You can’t get me anything. You can do something for me.”

Jeanne raises their eyebrows. They’re not sure they like that tone of voice. Pretty as he may be, he does not get to order them about. “And what might that be?” they say, crossing their arms.

Luce walks up to the counter with long, almost threatening strides. “Let me leave,” he says roughly.

Jeanne blinks in surprise. “Let you–”

“I can’t leave,” Luce snaps. “You did something to me. I can feel it.”

A spark of panic ignites in Jeanne’s chest and they hurriedly feel around for their own magic. They hadn’t– They couldn’t have. Weaving a spell takes effort and concentration, they couldn’t have done it unconsciously.

“You can look sweet all you want, I’ve been to the hidden places in Paris,” Luce growls, leaning towards Jeanne across the counter. “I know magic when I feel it.”

Jeanne lifts their eyes to his and something clicks. When they speak again their voice is sunk, suddenly calm and nearly triumphant. This isn’t their fault.

“Then,” they say deliberately. “You should have known better, than to steal from a faerie.”

...

[This little bit of urban fantasy turned into a whole book! I made it into an ebook that is free to download (link in my bio)!

You want a cute romance between a curious nonbinary faerie and a charming trans boy with knowledge of magic and thieving fingers? This is it~ ]

[shedreamsofstars]

our union is a secret i’m hoping, dreaming, lying to keep - chapter one

you've all heard of 'pretending to be married when you're not', now get ready for 'actually married but pretending you're not'

When Tohru and Kyo accidentally find themselves married, they must keep their new union a secret from their friends and family. That's easier said than done when you're both newlywed dorks who just want to spend some quality time with one another whilst said friends and family are always one step away from discovering the truth.

Next chapter

"Oh, Kyo-kun!" Tohru exclaimed with a soft gasp, tugging on her boyfriend's hand to grab his attention. "There's a cart over there with handmade jewellery, can we go look at it?"

Kyo blinked at her slowly, watching as her simple white dress fluttered in the breeze before following her gaze towards a small wheeled cart loaded with all kinds of sparkly pieces crafted from metal and gemstones.

"Yeah, course we can. We can do whatever you want," he said, nodding for her to lead the way.

After spending the better part of two month's apart from Tohru to work at his new job and complete all the paperwork for their new home, Kyo had finally received the key to their apartment earlier in the week. Neither him nor Tohru could stand the idea of spending another day apart, so the pair had moved in the next day.

Whilst he'd been at work all week, Tohru had been decorating the house and searching for jobs nearby and had been ecstatic at discovering that there would be a spring festival in a nearby town. Kyo had agreed to the idea instantly. This was their first weekend together in months and he planned to enjoy every second of it with his girl.

"Let's go!" Tohru said excitedly, rushing ahead so fast that he had to jog to keep from being pulled along after her. The pair of them made quite a sight as they moved through the colourful crowds of the town festival hand in hand.

Kyo had opted for his usual plain shirt and jeans combo, but with the weather being warmer than expected, he was starting to regret having gone for the black shirt. He undid the top button with his free hand as they arrived at the stall, watching on in vague amusement as Tohru spaced out at the sheer variety of jewellery on display.

She marvelled at the gemstone rings, the sparkly earrings and the intricate necklaces with an intensity that could only mean she was picking out what would suit her friends the best, but when her attention shifted to the bracelets scattered haphazardly across the front of the stall, Kyo's gaze turned wary.

Ever since he'd been freed from having to wear his own beads, seeing anything aside from a watch on a person's wrist left a sour taste in his mouth. Thankfully she didn't dwell on them too long, shifting her gaze back to a pair of earrings she thought would look nice on Kisa.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding them up to the light.

Kyo squinted to get a good look at them. They were small and pretty and looked like something little Kisa would refuse to ever take off. Tohru really did have a strange knack for picking out the perfect gifts for people.

"I think they'll look great on Kisa," he started, holding them up towards Tohru's ear. "But … they'll look even nicer on you."

The instant blush that fluttered to life on her cheeks had his heart skipping a beat. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately – surely that couldn't be good for you?

"You're so silly Kyo-kun," she said happily, handing over the earrings and the money to the vendor. "I can't wait until we have a housewarming party and I get to give presents to everyone."

"Uh, aren't you supposed to receive gifts at a housewarming party, not give them?" he said blankly as Tohru thanked the vendor for the earrings. He took the bag from her, swapping it out for his hand as they began to wander away.

"Yes, but I just can't imagine everyone visiting and leaving empty handed. And gifting is so much fun, why would we miss out on that!"

Kyo shook his head but he didn't say anything further. If gifting things to others made her happy, then that was all that mattered to him. "Oh," he said, bringing them to a stop. "I'm sorry Tohru. I didn't ask you if you liked anything for yourself back there."

"Oh that's okay, I wasn't looking for myself anyway."

"Are you sure, because we can go back, no problem?" he assured her, beginning to turn back. Tohru refused to move though and he turned back to her.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said with a sweet smile, leaning in towards him a little as she spoke.

"Well now I just feel bad for not paying enough attention before," he grumbled, annoyed at himself for getting distracted by his own thoughts.

"It really is fine Kyo-kun. Besides, you can make it up to me by getting us some kakigori. It really is quite warm today and they always have so many different flavours, I never know which to choose!"

"Oh, they have that here?"

Tohru nodded. "I saw someone eating some earlier. They were coming from that direction" she said, pointing towards the other end of the street. There was a lot of people in the way so he couldn't quite see across, but he did spot another festival goer with a small pot of shaved ice.

"Well come on then, we haven't got any time to lose," Kyo declared as the pair of them set off in that direction. They made it about half-way across the street before they found themselves coming to an abrupt stop when a crowd of people blocked the walkway completely.

"I wonder why everyone's just stopped here?" Tohru asked glancing around for some sort of explanation. "It looks like they all want to go to that shrine over there. Do you know whose it is?"

Kyo shook his head. "No, but we can go check it out. I know you like to leave an offering whenever you can." He didn't really mind taking a detour on the way to dessert.

"Hmm," Tohru agreed. "I'd like that."

"Alright," Kyo said, catching sight of a small woman dressed in plain clothing who seemed to be attempting to wrangle the crowd outside the shrine. Tightening his grip on Tohru's hand so as not to lose her, he began to work his way towards the woman.

"Excuse me," he called out as he got close enough. "Is this-"

He never got to finish his question. The woman let out a high shriek of excitement the moment she set eyes on him, her wide eyes darting between him and Tohru.

"Oh goodness! It seems we have the perfect pair of volunteers for our last spot right here!"

"Uh, volunteers?" Tohru mumbled beside him, cocking her head in confusion.

"You are here to visit the Musubi no Kami Shrine, yes?"

"Yes, but-" Kyo started before being interrupted again.

"Lovely, then if you'll just follow me up these stairs into the courtyard we can begin right away," the woman declared, shuffling up the stairs with the energy of someone half her age.

"Oh, okay," Tohru stammered as the crowds parted to let them through, ushering them after the woman with kind smiles. "I don't know what's going on, but it seems kind of rude not to follow."

"Yeah," Kyo agreed as the pair began to ascend the steps after the woman, who he now assumed was a shrine maiden. What harm could come from entering a shrine anyway?

"Ah, here they are! Come to the centre with the others my dears, that's it," the woman said as she led them to the middle of the shrine courtyard. People had gathered along the edges, but there were three other couples standing in the centre.

The shrine priest stood to the right of the altar, wearing the usual traditional attire whilst the short woman who led them here took up a spot to the left. The altar itself was piled high with offerings from fruit to coins, all neatly placed along the slab of stone.

"Excuse me sir?"

Kyo tore his gaze away from the front of the shrine to find another woman dressed similarly to the one by the altar holding out a sheet of paper for him. "I just need you and the lady to sign these before we begin the ceremony."

"Um … yeah, sure?" Kyo said politely, accepting the pen and scratching out his name at the bottom and handing it over to Tohru.

"You must want to lock this pretty lady down before she changes her mind, huh," she said to Kyo with a conspiratorial wink.

Kyo laughed nervously in response before wondering when exactly he had picked up Tohru's little habit. He was so distracted by the thought he didn't fully consider what exactly it was the pair of them had just signed their names to.

"What's going on Kyo-kun?" Tohru whispered from beside him once the lady had left.

"I think we just got dragged into the middle of some sort of feudal re-enactment, but I'm not sure." He was fairly certain this was some sort of re-enactment at least. The papers were likely just permission to be included.

Tohru let out an excited gasp. "Like a play? Oh, how exciting!"

Of course she would think so, Kyo thought with a smile before the priest at the altar drew everyone's attention by hitting the large gong beside him. The crowds fell silent as the ring resonated across the shrine, dying out by the second.

"Welcome one and all. Now that we have enough willing participants, let's get this going shall we. I'm sure our couples are eager to get this over and done with."

There was a low chuckle of agreement from the crowds.

"Alright, if you could all hold your partners hands in front of you, then we'll begin."

Tohru and Kyo did as they were told, facing each other and holding hands as the priest went through the ceremony step by step. The re-enactment was pretty simple Kyo thought as they followed along with the other couples.

There was some sake ritual that he didn't quite understand, and the recitation of a prayer, but it wasn't until a shrine maiden appeared with paper rings that Kyo figured out just what ceremony they were re-enacting for the crowds.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantly, but if Tohru caught onto the same thing, she didn't seem to show it. She just seemed blissfully happy at being able to partake in something where she didn't have to be a mean stepsister.

With the priest's speech over, the crowd erupted into cheers of joy and cherry blossom petals were flung into the air, hanging like pink crystals in the sky before showering down around everyone in the shrine.

"Oh, I think we're done," Tohru said as the other couples embraced around them. "That was so fun!" she smiled.

"Congratulations you two, I hope you live long happy lives together," the lady beside them said, handing over the two rings for the pair of them to do with as they pleased before shuffling away.

"Um … thank you?" Tohru said, accepting them with a warm smile. "Kyo-kun, look at how pretty these are, and we both get one too!"

"Uh … yeah," Kyo replied, his cheeks still burning.

"Oh goodness, you two really do look so wonderful together," someone cooed from behind him and Kyo turned to see the shrine maiden he had spoken to outside. "How romantic that your wedding anniversary will fall on the first day of spring forevermore!"

"Our wedding anniversary?" Tohru said looking as lost as Kyo felt. A sudden air of panic overcame him, and the blood rushed to his ears as he finally caught onto the woman's words.

"Those were … real wedding vows?"

"Of course. We may do on the spot weddings, but they are perfectly legal and binding," the woman said happily before pausing in thought. "Wait … you did know that right? I mean, the papers you signed clearly said-"

"Yeah, yeah, of course we did," Kyo said hurriedly, lying through the grimace that threatened to overtake his face. He turned towards Tohru who was doing a significantly worse job of hiding her own panic.

"Definitely. Of course we did. How silly would it be if we thought it was just pretend the whole time," Tohru babbled, that nervous laugh of hers resurfacing. She likely would have continued to talk, but Kyo squeezed her hand firmly and her panic seemed to subside a little.

"Oh good, I thought we'd done something terrible there for a second. Becoming husband and wife is nerve wracking yet exciting adventure so you have nothing to be worried about. I must go and congratulate the others before they leave, but I shall leave you with these papers to fill in and send off should you need them."

"Papers for what?" Kyo asked a little suspiciously. They'd already accidentally signed themselves into becoming life partners with the last papers someone handed them, was this one to take their souls hostage too?

"There's your marriage certificate and the paperwork to legally change your names should you require it. We only hold a marriage license at the shrine, so that extra work will fall to you unfortunately. Good luck to you both on your new journey, although from the way you look at each other I hardly think you need it."

The lady inclined her head politely before shuffling away, leaving Kyo and Tohru alone in the middle of the shrine. Kyo took a deep breath as he took a moment to take in everything the woman had just said, his fingers tightening around the scroll of paper she'd handed him.

"Um … Kyo-kun?"

He glanced down to see Tohru watching him curiously.

"Yeah Tohru?

"We're … really … married?"

"We are," he replied quietly, careful not to let any inflection colour his words. They had never spoken about marriage in so many words, so he had no idea how she would react to the news or what she would be feeling in that moment.

Probably confused like he was, but Kyo also found a little kernel of happiness inside of him too at the thought of knowing he was tied to Tohru in a significant way.

"We're married," Tohru repeated a little more assuredly this time, the small smile on her face widening by the second. "Kyo-kun, we're really married!"

This time Tohru rushed forward, clinging to the lapels of his shirt as she pressed herself closer to him with a beaming grin on her face. Her closeness was all he needed for the kernel to pop, and suddenly Kyo's own grin matched hers as the happiness puffed up inside him.

"I know, I can't believe it." Her face dropped a little at his words and he felt the need to clarify immediately. "Don't get me wrong, I'm really happy. I always wanted-" Kyo cut himself off a little embarrassed as Tohru watched him curiously.

"You did?"

"Of course … eventually at least. Did you?"

"I really did," she said, her voice soft and sincere.

His arms were around her in an instant as he kissed her gently, smiling against her lips as she struggled to keep from giggling. "I'm actually going to get to call you my wife," he whispered, running a reverent hand through her hair.

As much as he wanted the moment to last, it didn't take long for reality to come crashing down around him and Kyo's bliss turned to dread in the blink of an eye. He groaned incoherently, releasing Tohru in favour of grabbing his knees with his hands.

"Kyo-kun, are you okay!?" Tohru said worriedly, placing a comforting hand against his shoulder. "Kyo-kun? Oh no, is this too much at once? Oh no. It's okay, I'm sure we can fix this. We'll tell them it was a mistake and-"

Kyo stood and pulled Tohru into his chest to silence her, holding her in a loving caress to keep her from jumping from one wrong conclusion to the next.

"You could never be a mistake Tohru. I couldn't be happier that we're husband and wife, however it happened but … it's just … Master is going to kill me for not inviting him to my wedding!"

Tohru squeaked in alarm as Kyo's words shattered her little bubble of happiness. "Oh no, he'll be so upset. What are we going to do? This is terrible. This is really bad"

"I know, I'm such a terrible son. What if he doesn't-" He stopped as Tohru's finger pressed against his lip.

"Don't say that Kyo-kun. Master would never think that of you. He's kind and he loves you so much. This was just a simple mistake. He'll understand, I just know he will.

"Yeah maybe but … oh god," Kyo said, suddenly looking more alarmed than even before as the faces of Arisa Uotani and Saki Hanajima came to the forefront of his mind. "Those two…" He shuddered violently, unable to finish his thought.

"Oh, Uo-chan and Hana-chan," Tohru said as she caught on to his line of thinking, her nervous laugh bursting through. "This really is bad Kyo-kun."

... xxx ...

thanks for reading! come join us and talk kyoru on discord, invite in replies <3

Next chapter

[harryandmeghansussex]

Day 18 of @defendingtheduchesses 's Meghan memories challenge.

Meghan's writing has always been one of my favourite strengths of hers. And I thought I would share one for day 18, so I picked this important one.

'What are you?' A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. 'Well,' I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. 'I'm an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.' A mouthful, yes, but one that I feel paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here's what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, 'Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?' I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they're after: 'My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I'm half black and half white.

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I'll be honest, I was scared. It's easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I've filmed, the rigmarole of 'a day in the life' and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met, my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn't different but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don't remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each colour. My dad had taken the sets apart and customised my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn't protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. 'Because that's how you look, Meghan,' she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn't bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn't tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: 'If that happens again, you draw your own box.'

I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. 'You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?' she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. 'And they're divorced?' I nodded. 'Oh, well that makes sense.' To this day, I still don't fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora's box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the 'N' word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn't pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: 'It's OK, Mommy.' I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom's heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It's either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn't possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: 'Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s'; 'African American, urban, pretty, early 30s'; 'Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door'. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being 'ethnically ambiguous', as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn't matter: I wasn't black enough for the black roles and I wasn't white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn't book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It's the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. 'Dream girl' in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show's producers weren't looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they're aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn't be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel's father as a dark-skinned African-American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: 'Why would they make her dad black? She's not black' to 'Ew, she's black? I used to think she was hot.' The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I'm from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check 'Other', I simply say: 'Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.'

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that's what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around howpeople connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent colour, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn't. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for colour-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what colour your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don't lead with ethnic descriptions such as, 'that black guy Tom', but rather friends who say: 'You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.' You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.

[iggy-dearest]

Happy valentines day Vergil

Vergil peeks out from the shelter of his pages for what seemed like the thousandth time that day.

Valentines Day

You two used to celebrate it before your ‘unplanned separation’. However, since he then decided to stay by your side and be the dutiful husband that you deserve. And he’s determined to treat you liek the queen you are. He doesn’t know what to do, every plan he comes up with just seems to have an equally horrible chance of blowing up in his face!

Your poor husband

Should he take you out?

No you don’t like crowded areas that much. What if you have a panic attack while your with him. He doesn’t want you to feel scared!

Should he make a homemade gift?

No, he’s never been good with crafts, that’s more of your forte.

What if he takes you to one of those spa’s you and the other women go to your occasionally?

No, you don’t like certain people touching you and it also seemed like something you did with just the girls, and Dante said. Whatever the hell that means.

Maybe he should make you some dinner?

Although, he really can’t cook, like at all. He remembers when you first started traveling together in your teenage years, he nearly burned down that cheap hotel room. ‘How do you burn water’ was your question. He never got near the stove again, traumatized and deeply embarrassed by the fact that he’d burned water. Although he supposes tea counts? Doesn’t it?

Tea!

He should get you tea. You appreciate it as much as he does. As far as he knows your taste in tea hasn’t changed much. He also noticed that you seem to be running out of your favorite blend and if he remembers correctly it isn’t very easy to come by.

Perhaps he could somehow get Dante to leave you alone for the night? Although he wonders how he should approach the matter with him.

The door opening as abruptly as it did was what snapped him out of his thoughts and what made you jump in your seat. “I’m back!!!” Dante hollered like he was on the worlds biggest sugar high. “Why are you yelling” you asked, although you don’t know if you want to know the answer. You spotted the familiar shaped box in his hands, “did someone get a treat” you teased with a glint in your eye that made your husband weak in the knees. “You bet your ass I did” Vergil saw the smile on your face when you saw Dante sporting his own. A feeling gurgled in his stomach, why did you have to be so close with Dante?

Taking a box into your hand you saw a name written in beautiful penmanship,,, one Dante never could have forged even on his best day. “Who’s Sandy” you asked propping yourself up on the desk. “New girl at Sammy’s” Dante said now sitting in your old seat behind the desk. “Oh~” you know who he’s talking about she looked young apparently has a really big crush on Dante.

“Either of you get any yet?” Dante questioned

“No, not that I know of” you sighed out,stretching your back out, how long have you been sitting in that chair. “I think I’m gonna head home for the day. Okay?” You asked.

You honestly have no idea what your gonna do, you just don’t wanna stay with him anymore. You don’t know if he’s going to try anything with you. Quite frankly if he does it means he’s trying to wine you back, which is confusing for its own reasons and if he doesn’t it means that he doesn’t want you anymore which hurts more then it sounds like. You just don’t know. Maybe you should just go home, listen to some opera to clear your head make some tea to calm you down and maybe watch a movie. A silent film seems fitting and not as pathetic as your love life.

“Ok” Dante agreed, what the hell has his idiot brother been doing this whole time. Honestly, does he not see a perfect opportunity when it happens to be standing a few feet away from him and is walking out the door.

“See you tomorrow” and with that you leave to drown yourself in tea and perhaps some wine.

“What the hell have you been doing for the past 3 hours, Vergil?!?” Dante yells.

Vergil turns his head to the window once he sees you cross the street he gets up himself. Time to get his affairs in order, Dante straightens up as he sees his brother get up from his seat.

Is he going to stab him?

On Valentine’s Day

Nice way of showing your brotherly love, asshole.

The younger twin watches as his brother wordlessly puts his book down on the coffee table and walks out of the establishment. Heading in the opposite direction that you were in.

Where the hell was he going?

~~~

It’s here he knows it’s on this block. You mentioned a new tea shop that had just opened up that carried your favorite blend. He knows because the look on your face was not one he could ever forget. Vergil walked down the street although it seemed more like cantering. His eyes strained a bit from the light reflecting on the shops naked windows. Than back to the small scrap of paper he had jostled down the name of the store.

Infused

Was the name. Simple easy to remember, he likes it.

Walking inside he is greeted to a mix of smells. The strongest being from the fruity blends that you happen to dislike. He doesn’t much like them either.

“Welcome” said a store clerk. The clerk approached him “Hi I’m Joshua, if you need any help, just ask me” he said with a well practiced smile.

When did humans get so..nice?

“I’m looking for a specific blend” Vergil started. “Peppermint lavender” he finished dammit if only he’d taken the nearly empty container. That would definitely help his situation. “We have a few choices, if you’d like I can bring them out and you can see which one it is that you’re looking for” wow, when did humans become so helpful.

Vergil nodded he didn’t usually prolong his time with others, but for you he’d do just about anything. Because you’re worth it, you always have been. He was just a fool and didn’t always see it.

He heads to the counter where the salesman has all the teas laid out for him. He squints his eyes as he trues to remember what your container looked like. It was...white..with purple outlining.

The salesman watches as the man who’s face looked like it was chisled out if marble and looked like he should be at a fantasy fair tried to make up his mind. He hopes he doesn’t choose the one thats mainly white, he’s had his eye on that one for a while and it the last one!

“This one” Vegil decides pointing to the one that’s the most similar to yours. He really hopes that it’s right, it’d be really embarrassing if it wasn’t.

Shit!

He choose the one he had his mind on. Maybe he could just say that it’s been reserved?

No, the salesman saw him before he walked into the store. He actually walked past it a few times too, but he had a look on his face that screamed ‘determination’. The salesman sighs internally, he probably needs it more then he does.

“Excellent choice” he says his rehearsed line and moves to the cashier.

~~~

Vergil hopes he’s not to late. He runs through the street. It’s getting late, he’d stopped to pick up some takeout that you liked courtesy of Dante for the information. He wants to get there before 8 o’clock otherwise he’d come off as wanting sex.

Wouldn’t he?!?!

And then he remembers, he’s got a sword that allows home to teleport. Really Vergil crosses his mind. With two precise swings he is at your apartment building.

However, this might be the hardest part. Going to the door of the woman your head-over-heels for and asking for her to let you into her safe space.

~~~

You sigh that’s enough of the silent films. Maybe you can leech off of your sister-in-law’s disney account. You decide Disney makes everything better. It even makes you feel better then you crazy love life.

You look at your glass, shit! That was your last spot of tea. Oh well, that just means you’ll have to break out the wine. What goes better together then Disney and wine.

You’re about to get up and stretch when in the place of hearing a tired joint popping, you hear a knock. Who the fuck knocks at, you peer at the time on the cable, 7:50pm. It had better not be your annoying neighbor, your not in the mood for his dumbassery. You’d much rather just sock him in the chin or slam the door on his nose, either work for you.

The knocking comes again. “I’m coming” you’ve decided it’s not your neighbor, they wouldn’t have waited so long to place their next knock.

So who the hell is it?

“Vergil” is the only word to make it out of your mouth as you open your door. What is he doing here. He looks a bit out of breath, is he alright?

“Hello”..hello...hello. Who the fuck even says hello anymore. Thats it Vergil’s used up all of his confidence. Why is it that he can face demons with no problem yet he can’t even face his love without freezing up. “Um,” what the hell are you supposed to say. “Is everything alright” you let out, sort of leaning and hiding behind your door. That door is your best defense right now if anything happens or if you just wanna slam it in his face because he talked out of his ass.

“Yes-no-uhm” christ can someone help him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day” he mumbles

“What” you ask, he must be nervous if he’s mumbling around you. Though, you’re glad you still have that effect on him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day” he finally manages, his voice filled with a bit more confidence than before.

You watch as he hands you a cylindrical container. It looks familiar to you, “this is..” you’re surprised he noticed “where did you find it” your so surprised, that’s good right? “The tea shop you mentioned” was his only answer “Vergil, I mentioned that weeks ago” your surprised he still remembered, even you didn’t remember it all the time despite being a frequent costumer there. Your glad that he did though-oh is that Chinese food.

“Thank you” sincerity dripped through your voice, and for that it’s worth it for him. You’re worth it, you always will be. “Would you..like to have dinner” now your surprised “I’d love too” you moved aside and let him in. You hope he likes Disney.

~~~

Vergil could not be happier then he is in this moment. You asleep and curled into his side, empty plastic containers strewn put on the coffee table complete with disposable chopsticks. With a Disney movie ‘Alaadin’ you said the name was, illuminating the otherwise dark apartment. He sees you shiver slightly, he takes the throw blanket that is draped over the back of the couch and lays if on you, his neck will hurt in the morning but he really doesn’t care. He’s not moving, no man in the world would. He slowly reached for the remote and turned the TV off.

I love you, he thinks as he starts to drift off.

I love you, you think as you snuggle closer into the source of your warmth, and you have a feeling that it won’t go away anytime soon.

[fbfh]

Light Up the Dark - Leo x reader [II]

genre: romance + action + enemies to lovers kinda

word count: 1.3k

au: none

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: nah

warnings: more brief mentions of anthrax, mentions of robbing a dentist and crafting w human teeth, living in an abandoned warehouse, i think that’s it??

summary: Leo and Jason finally find the demigod they’re looking for, but it’s going to take a lot of persuading for Leo to win her over to come to camp with them. 

listen to: karma - ajr

a/n: finally have a reliable laptop so i can hopefully post more?? don’t quote me lmao

Jason barely parks the car before Leo and Calypso are out the door. Leo thinks out loud while tweaking his tracking device, and Calypso starts listing the places she’d found in her travel magazines. 

“First I’m going to go to the Portland Observatory, then there’s this cute little ice cream shop not too far from there, and gods, there’s jewelry boutiques and coffee shops…” She lets out a noise of excitement and heads down the street before disappearing around a corner. Leo had wanted to say something to her, but now he just stared at where she had been a moment ago. 

He brushes it off, and turns back to his tracker. Jason takes in a breath to say something before Leo walks by him and says to come on, he got a signal. They walk for a couple blocks and Leo is doing everything he can not to focus on what just happened. I mean, I should have expected it at this point, he thinks, she’s practically been ignoring me since we left the island, why would now be any different? Then, as usual, the voice of overjustification enters the chat. He tries to silence the conflicting inner dialogues with no luck. 

Beepbeepbeep.

He looks down at the tracker.

BEEPBEEPBEEP.

He looks over at Jason.

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEE-

They take off running. 

They run for a few blocks, zigzagging around, before Leo sprints forward. 

"She should be up that way," he pants, not realizing Jason had fallen behind. He barrels forward, eyes glued to the tracker, when he slams into something and a cold liquid seeps into his hoodie. His eyes flit up to apologize, but the words get caught in his throat. 

He's looking down at the hottest girl he's ever seen. 

Just the fact that you're standing so close to him makes his heart race, and he can't tear his eyes away from you. Heat rises to his cheeks as he studies you. He's fixated on your eyes; there's makeup smudged at the corners, and they're a rosy pink at the bottom. Something about them makes him want to create things. Is this how artists feel when they see their muse? His breath catches when he realizes they're staring at him, through him. He snaps out of his trance when he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something. You look pissed. He tries for an apology, but nothing comes out. He'd heard of people looking 'hot when they're mad', now he really got the expression. Your glare intensifies. 

"I WILL MAKE YOU SNORT ANTHRAX!" 

His heart is pounding - maybe from the running, definitely from you - as you crush the cup in your hands. You grab his collar and his heart stops for a second as you shove the cup down his shirt. You scream and storm off. He watches you stomp off until you turn a corner. Jason finally catches up to him. He takes in the coffee stains all over Leo’s clothes, the redness of his face, and the cup sticking out of his collar. 

“... You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.”

Leo barely hears him, still staring at the spot where you were a moment ago. You were like nothing he’d ever experienced before, the closest comparison he could make was an intense summer storm; loud and powerful, shaking everything up, then gone before you can blink. He never thought the words ‘I will make you snort anthrax’ could be a turn on. 

“Did you find the demigod?” 

Jason’s voice cut through his thoughts. 

“...Yeah,” he points to the corner you had just disappeared around, “over there.” His instincts win, and he takes off running after you. He catches up to you a second later. He grabs your shoulder, and you spin around yelling, “WHAT?!” He fumbles for what he was about to say, but he’s still stuck on your eyes and how loud his heartbeat sounds. He chokes out the usual monologue about how surprise! The greek gods are real and you’re their kid and you need to get to camp right now. Or at least he tries to. What came out was more like, “Uh, this is hard to believe and everything, but one of your parents is a… a greek god-” 

 “Wow, thanks for the compliment!” You cut him off incredulously. 

“Wha- no, I didn’t mean-”

“Because it’s so hard to imagine me as the child of a god,” you continue. 

“Not hard to believe like that-”

“I mean, look at me! I’m a hideous, coffee covered monster!”

He looks down at you, lost for words. How can he say that's not true, you're incredible and make his heart go boom boom! What words are stronger than beautiful? You cock an eyebrow at him expectantly. He pushes past this feeling that makes him want to master poetry just to write sonnets about you, squeezes his eyes shut, and chokes out the important parts of the rest of the speech. 

“We need to get you to camp.” The words come out in a rush, then there’s silence. He stares down at the pavement. He knows if he looks at you he’ll get all flustered again. After a minute, your voice cuts through the silence like drizzling honey. 

“You want to take me to a summer camp?”

“U-uh, yeah…?”

He hears you blow a quick breath of air out of your nose. Was that a scoff or an almost laugh?

“Well, that’s new.” After a moment of consideration, you respond, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go to your summer camp - if you get me coffee whenever I want on the way there.” He takes in a breath to reply when you continue, “I also want free access to bleach and hair dye. And I get to choose the music in the car.” 

He’s like, yeah, that’s fair.  He calls Jason over. 

“Jason, this is, uh…” You introduce yourself with a curt smile. “Right,” Leo continues, “I’m Leo, and this is Jason.” You look up at him. He seems nervous. 

“Yup,” he raises a hand in greeting, “Jason here.” 

You blink.

“Okay? What do you want, a medal?”

Leo turns to Jason and says he has to grab something real quick, and they’ll all meet up at the car. You start walking beside him down the sidewalk. You revel in the uncomfortable silence. After a minute he tries to make conversation. 

“I, uh… I like your purse.” He says. 

“Thanks, I added the studs myself.” you reply, smiling slightly. 

“Oh, that’s-”

“They’re made of human teeth.” You continue. He’s quiet again, trying to tell if you’re joking.

“I had to rob a dentist.” 

He doesn’t talk much after that. Leo arrives at the car a few minutes after you do. Jason gets into the driver's seat, and Leo hands you a milky iced coffee and some paper towels. 

“What are these for?” you ask, looking at the paper towels in your hand. 

“So you can dry off.” He replies, “Sorry about before. Americano looks good on you though, it brings out your eyes,” and you smile a little in spite of yourself. You dry off and take a sip of your coffee. Your eyebrows rise in surprise. It’s perfect. 

“How… did you know my order?” you ask, a little amazed. He holds up the crumpled, and now somewhat straightened, cup you had shoved down his shirt and points to the description on the side. 

“I have my ways.” He smiles playfully and you both get in the back. 

“Hey,” you say, buckling your seatbelt, “can we swing by my apartment to pick up a few things before we leave? It’s not far from here.”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” Leo replies, “I can help you out while Jason picks up Calypso.”

You tell them the address and give occasional directions, and a few minutes later you pull up to an abandoned warehouse. Jason is about to ask if this is the right address when you hop out of the car and just… walk inside. 

Jason and Leo share a look. This is going to be interesting.

[thomas-mvller]

Tag games x 283129

Hello everyone so uh lately i've started to be more active on my music sideblog which means i've been hearting stuff like crazy for the past couple of months aka all the things i've been tagged in has been buried under all that nonsense SO because i hate leaving things undone i thought on doing them all at once and tagging a bunch of people so they can get a little distraction by doing them (as in, not all of them but whichever they might want to do)

Again: you do not have to do all of them, not even one if you don't feel like doing so! there's a game for everyone so hey!

Tagging: @havertsz @foreverbayern @germanynts @sherlockisonfire @debushit @sadiiomane10 @miasanmuller @elishamanning @abcde-fc @bbjim @littletentaclemonster @tamtam-elizabeth @minimalloss @pearfight and whoever wants to do this! if you see it, consider yourself tagged >:))

Alright, here we go:

1) I was tagged by @/tamtam-elizabeth and @/sadiiomane10 to post a capture of my lockscreen, homescreen and last song i listened to. Thank you both <3

I used to be very annoying when it came to changing my lock/homescreen so now i just don’t do that often anymore (previous to that my homescreen was a pic of lfc winning ucl OBVIOUSLY) also i haven’t really been listening to music lately but i did have a depeche mode phase like two weeks ago and this was the song i replayed the most so hey!

///

2) “Get to know me” tag

Tagged by the always thoughtful @/tamtam-elizabeth , thank you and i’m sorry for taking so long ;-; <3

Name: Cloud

Birthday: sometime in november

Zodiac Sign: scorpio

Height: 5′4′’ or 1.65 (last time i checked..... which was like seven years ago)

Hobbies: lately it has been sewing facemasks 😂 that aside i like watching movies, random videos on yt, baking and crafting sometimes

Favorite colors: black, red and teal

Favorite Book: don’t think i have one :o

Last Song Listened to: barrel of a gun by depeche mode

Last Movie Watched: currently watching prince of egypt. if that doesn’t count then ben hur 😂

Inspiration or Muse: i really don’t know what to say here 😂

Dream Job: i still haven’t given up to my goal but at this point i just want a job that gives me stability and zero worries

Reason Behind my URL: Thomas Müller (German pronunciation: [ˈtoːmas ˈmʏlɐ]; born 13 September 1989) is a German professional footballer who plays for Bundesliga club Bayern Munich. A versatile player, Müller plays as a midfielde- okay no in all seriousness yess this url is bc of a football player 😂

///

3) Ten songs playlist tag

Tagged by the joy that is @/foreverbayern and the always sweetest @/havertsz . thank youuuuu <3

Rules: We’re snooping through your playlist. Put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then choose 10 victims.

Some months ago I made the mistake of transfering the songs i had in my old computer to my current laptop and there are some stuff that just........ should not be acknowledged so i can’t do shuffle HOWEVER i will choose ten random songs i’ve listened to/discovered this year (technically speaking is the same) so here it is:

art-i-ficial by x-ray spex

sunny afternoon by the kinks

desire lines by lush

paper cuts by incubus

pure love by hayley williams

spirit by bauhaus

no one knows by screaming trees

let’s love by suho

all we need is a dream by cheap trick

cosmonauts by fiona apple

bonus: you’re so close by peter murphy (god i adore this song)

I wouldn’t be surprised if these aren’t your cup of tea tbh 😂

///

4) “Core aesthetic” tag

Tagged by @/havertsz - i’m sorry for the delay ;-; and thank you <3

rules: search your name + "core aesthetic" on pinterest, get a moodboard & select a few photos that come up

i can’t really use pinterest so i googled it instead, as you might’ve guessed this is what i got 😂

ps: i’ve been informed not to use pinterest so if you wish follow this post’s indications

ah this is so pretty, i loved doing this!

///

5) 

Tagged by @/germanynts @/havertsz and @/elishamanning to do this tag, thank you all <3

rules: describe yourself with pictures you already have saved. no downloading or searching for new ones. then tag 10 people.

if you want further explanations for each pic... ask ahead 😂

///

6) “bold what applies” tag

Tagged by the always enJoyable @/foreverbayern, thank yoooou <3

rules: bold what applies to you and tag a bunch of people

- Appearance

I am over 5’5 // I wear glasses/contacts // I have blonde hair // I prefer loose clothing over tight clothing // I have one or more piercings (had three...) // I have at least one tattoo // I have blue eyes // I have dyed or highlighted my hair // I have gotten plastic surgery // I have or had braces // I sunburn easily // I have freckles // I paint my nails // I typically wear makeup // I don’t often smile // I am pleased with how I look  // I prefer Nike to Adidas // I wear baseball caps backwards

- Hobbies and interests

I play a sport // I can play an instrument // I am artistic // I know more than one language // I have won a trophy in some sort of competition // I can cook or bake without a recipe // I know how to swim // I enjoy writing // I can do origami // I prefer movies to tv shows // I can execute a perfect somersault // I enjoy singing // I could survive in the wild on my own // I have read a new book series this year // I enjoy spending time with my friends // I travel during school or work breaks // I can do a handstand

Relationships

I am in a relationship // I have been single for over a year // I have a crush  // I have a best friend I have known for ten years // my parents are together // I have hooked up with my best friend // I am adopted // My crush has confessed to me // I have a long-distance relationship // I am an only child // I give advice to my friends // I have made an online friend // I met up with someone I have met online

- Aesthetic

I have heard the ocean in a conch shell // I have watched the sunrise // I enjoy rainy days // I have slept under the stars // I meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // I enjoy the smell of the beach // I know what snow tastes like // I listen to music to fall asleep (i did that for a long time and i sicnerely don’t recommend it) // I enjoy thunderstorms // I enjoy cloud watching // I have attended a bonfire (quick story time: one time when i was 12 my friends and i sneaked into our seniors’ school anniversary activities and they lit this huge bonfire near the football field, it was nuts) // I pay close attention to colours // I find mystery in the ocean (spoopy shit) // I enjoy hiking on nature paths // Autumn is my favourite season

- Miscellaneous

I can fall asleep in moving vehicles // I am the mom friend // I live by a certain quote(s) // I like the smell of sharpies // I am involved in extracurricular activities // I enjoy Mexican food // I can drive a stick-shift // I believe in true love // I make up scenarios to fall asleep // I sing in the shower // I wish I lived in a video game // I have a canopy above my bed // I am multiracial // I am a redhead // I own at least 3 dogs

///

my god this is getting embarassing i had stuff long due ;-;

7) 

Tagged by @/tamtam-elizabeth. think you for thanking on me when doing tag games, i mean it :-: <3

How old are you?: 24

Surgeries?: one

Tattoos?: none yet ://

Ever hit a deer?: i have never seen one so... no 😂

Sang karaoke?: yeah... years ago 😂

Ice skated?: nope

Ridden a motorcycle?: had the chance but nope

Ridden in an ambulance?: nope

Skipped school?: a handful of times

Stayed in a hospital?: for a few hours

Broken bones?: nope

Last phone call?: i haven’t called anyone in ages 😂

Last text from?: my mom

Pepsi or coke?: coke but i don’t mind having pepsi

Favorite pie?: haven’t had one

Favorite pizza?: chorizo + corn + red pepper

Favorite season?: autumn

Received a ticket?: don’t even know how to drive

Favorite color?: black, red and teal

Sunset or sunrise?: both!

Favorite Christmas song?: don’t think i have one, maybe universe by exo?

Cupcakes or cookies?: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh good q, cookies?

///

8) “find your match” tag game

Tagged by @/tamtam-elizabeth, you’re allowed to punch me in the face at this point

Rules:

Take the test

Reblog this post with what type you got

Tag 7 mutuals to do the same!

I got the Dreamer and my ideal partner would be The Innovator ?)

Seek out opportunities to collaborate with INNOVATOR types, who combine your lofty idealism with a focus on pragmatic solutions. The grounding energy of the INNOVATOR can inspire you to apply your imagination to real-world change.

that’s deep fam 😂 but okay!

///

9) “get to know me tag”

Tagged by: @/littletentaclemonster . thank you and sorry for the delay ;-; <3

nickname: cloud zodiac: scorpio height: 5′4″ / 1.65 last movie I saw: can you believe i managed to watch another thing while making this? anyway it was The celluloid closet last thing I googled: block site extension favorite musician: as of right now? depeche mode song stuck in my head: you’re so close by peter murphy other blogs: @/brltpop and @/s-lay-ing amount of sleep: as long as i can get (usually 7 or 8) lucky numbers: don’t think i have one dream job: whatever gives me stability what am I wearing: pajamas  favorite food: chinese, mexican and italian language: which ones do i know? spanish and english somewhat. i want to learn japanese and german :c can I play an instrument: nope favorite song: atm is YOU’RE SO CLOSE (8) random fact: my nails usually grow sort of square except for my thumb and index fingers, they grow round for whatever reason describe yourself in aesthetic things: ?????????? idk man, messy room? loose clothes? football? cd’s on a shelf, posters on the walls ?????

///

MY GOD WHY AM I LIKE THIS????????? 

10)

Tagged by @/littletentaclemonster you too can punch me in the face

Rules: Bold the statements that apply to you, italicize your aspirations, then tag nine people.

AIR: I have small hands • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I pass them by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE: I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans • I play an organized sport  • I love dogs • I am not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • Summer is my favorite season • My radio is always playing

WATER: I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm • I want to travel the world • I sleep past midday most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia • I see emotions in colors not words

EARTH: I wear glasses/contacts • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER: I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything (sort of) • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

Water an aether huh, i don’t know what to do with this information 😂

/////////////

if you ask me i would very much appreciate it if you do the songs playlist tag bc i need recommendations thanks. Also massive apologies to the ones that were due since last year I had them in my drafts i swear!

Stay safe everyone :D

[excindrela]

12 Days of Demon Ayno- Day 8

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV / Female reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Occult - non Judeo/Christian celebrations

Word Count: 3380

AU: Welcome to Day 8! (Is it ok that we’re still doing Christmas?)  Today is fluffy...but important (that’s all I’m going to say about it for now!). More smut is on the way in Day 9! I love feedback- so if there’s something you like, or something you want to see- tell me!! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me on this! Special thanks to @quyennie​ for being my proofreader, and @itsakpopalypse​ for coming up with the amazing description of Leo!

Demon Ayno: Summoned | Thanksgiving | 12 Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9

On the 8th Day of Christmas: You Met Leo

You were stretched out on the bed, laying on your belly, feet lazily kicking in the air, staring into your laptop as you tried to work your way through your overflowing e-mail inbox. Ayno was lying next to you, his head cradled in the small of your back, reading a large hard-backed volume that was old enough to have cloth on the binding and cover. The fabric was now a little threadbare in places allowing the thin wood to show through, and it had that old library book smell that you caught a hint of as he turned the yellowed pages. It was also written in Greek, which was not surprising- the antiquities section of the library was one of his favorite places.

“Do we have plans on Wednesday night?” he inquired absentmindedly.

You thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. The office Christmas Party is on Saturday night…but I don’t think we have anything before then. Why?”

“I was invited to a holiday party. I was hoping you would go with me.”

“Sure.” You said as you unsubscribed from a newsletter for the fifth time.

…and then it hit you. “You were invited to a holiday party?? By who??”

“My friend Leo. He is having a party to celebrate the solstice, and he invited me. I think he is curious to meet you.”

“Leo? You have a friend?”

“I think so.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“He runs a shop in downtown.” Ayno paused hesitantly and sat up, “He knows.”

You stopped cold and stared at him. “He knows what?”

“About me. What I am.”

You started at him in shock. “Ayno…you told someone??” you whispered.

Ayno shook his head vehemently, “No! He just knew. As soon as he saw me, he knew.”

You sat up and took Ayno’s hands. “I think you need to tell me the whole story”, you said softly.

“It was not long after I received my key. I had gone out to explore downtown, and I had decided to turn south to go home, when I suddenly felt compelled to go a different direction. I walked west into the part of downtown that has not been made new yet. I just felt something pull me in that direction. I walked until I came to an area where the shops are all arranged in a square around courtyards, and in one of them was a shop called The Ace of Cups. The Ace of Cups is the card of intuition and spirituality in the tarot deck. When it is upright it means opening up to possibilities and new beginnings, upside down it indicates loss, instability and pain. The picture on the sign was upright, so I went inside. I think you call it a ‘metaphysical’ shop: herbs, crystals, supplies for wiccans and druids- things that pertain to the occult. I understood why I was drawn there- it seemed familiar.  As soon as I entered a man emerged from the back and stared at me. His gaze at me was very intense…it scared me...and his eyes were blue…but they were not a normal blue. He spoke to me.

“Marry meet, friend. Can I help you?”

“I was drawn to your shop. I am not from around here.”

The man snorted. “That’s an understatement. We don’t see much of your kind. Do you have business here?”

I knew then that he knew something about me. I tried to proceed cautiously. “I mean no harm. My Patron lives nearby. I am granted freedom to occupy myself when I am not attending her.”

He seemed intrigued. “You have a regular customer?”

Ayno shook his head “I am in service. I have not been released.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Eight risings before All Hallows Eve.”

“That’s a long time for you. Are you trapped?”

“No, no. She is pleased with me and desires me to stay. I have grown fond of her. I do not wish to be released.” Ayno hung his head. “Please. I am not a virulent entity- I will cause no harm. This place feels…comfortable.”

The man stared at him intently, considering his plea. “By what name are you called?”

“I am Ayno.”

“Very well, Ayno. So long as there is no malicious intent, you are welcome here. I am Leo.”

 You sat for a moment, absorbing the details of the story. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?”

Ayno looked down and picked at a loose thread on the cover of his book. “I am sorry. I was afraid you would panic and send me away.”

You placed your hand on his cheek. “Ayno- look at me. I have no intention of sending you away. I’m just afraid that someone might try to hurt you or separate us if they found out.”

Ayno crawled forward wanting the reassurance of your arms, sighing as you held him tightly with his head against your chest. “I should have told you. I am sorry. Forgive me for not trusting you.”

You kissed the top of his head and stroked his hair. “It’s ok, I’m not mad. Trust takes time, it has to be built. I understand you aren’t used to trusting people.” You sat there holding him, turning his story over in your mind. “Ayno? One thing I still don’t understand: How did Leo know what you are??”

Ayno gazed up at you, “I do not know. But I do not think Leo is from around here either.”

*          *          *

You walked twelve blocks through the chilly night air into the area of downtown known as The Mews. The Ace of Cups was located in the third quad you came to. Ayno placed his hand on the small of your back and gently guided you past the ornate iron gates and into the crowd of people in the courtyard. You went to the food table so he could drop off the rosemary and sea salt roasted almonds he’d spent the afternoon making. You stood taking in the sight, eventually realizing someone was staring at you. The man in question was tall and broad shouldered but slender. He had high rounded cheekbones and his eyebrows arched at an angle that make him seem exceptionally intense. His nose was long and angled, and tilted down above his full lips, before the lower part of his face curved into an oval. You nudged Ayno who turned and followed your line of sight. “That is Leo”, he said raising his hand in greeting. Leo raised his hand back, and then disappeared into the crowd.

There were more people than you had thought there would be. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but people were wearing outfits that ranged from Game of Thrones to Wall Street day broker. There was a small bonfire near the front that some of this odd assortment had gathered around keeping warm. Scattered around the courtyard were tables that seemed to have various crafts to do, wares to buy; as well as one for food, another for drinks and a third for sweets. Toward the back, there were paper bag luminarias arranged in a spiral.

You and Ayno took a slow lap around the place looking at all the different things and Ayno said hello to people. His eyes lighted on one of the craft tables and he said, “Oh wreath making! We should make a wreath- we do not have one on our door.”

“Now that you mention it- we don’t, do we? I used to have one with glass balls on it- but it broke.”

You approached the table and looked at what appeared to be a pile of dismembered Christmas tree, baskets containing things like holly and cinnamon sticks, rolls of red, green and white twine, and stacks of what looked like twigs that had been bent and tied into rough circles. “I don’t think I’ve actually ever made a wreath before” you said looking at all the supplies and wondering how exactly to start. “It is not difficult I will show you how”, Ayno said happily. He walked you over to the wreath making table and selected a circle of vines that had been tied together. Then he carefully selected a piece of evergreen and wound it between the vines and used green twine to tie it in place. “See?”, he said, “Easy. We just keep doing this.” Five minutes later it became obvious that you did not have the knack for this. Ayno laughed and told you to choose the evergreen boughs and he would tie them on. In no time at all, you had a beautiful fluffy green wreath that smelled fabulous. Ayno pointed at the baskets on the table, “Oh holly and pinecones! We must have those too. You choose, I will arrange.” You pulled some sprigs out and a couple of pinecones and handed them to him. Ayno talked while he worked, “The wreath is a symbol of the wheel of the year. Holly is masculine. It is used on wreaths because the thorns are thought to keep evil spirits from entering a home”, he said as he arranged them and used more twine to tie them in place. Then he ran a fat red ribbon through the back as a hanger. “What do you think?” he said holding it up for your inspection. “It’s beautiful” you said with a soft gasp, “You know, you’re actually very artistic.” “Thank you!” he smiled, “I am satisfied with it. I think it will look nice on our door.” Ayno carried it over to the fence and hung it around one of the loops in the rod iron, next to the other ones that had been completed as well. “We can hang it here for now and take it with us when we leave tonight.”

You moved on to another table where there was a strange assortment of supplies. “What is all this Ayno?” He smiled, sat down & patted the chair next to him. ��We are making things to hang in the trees for the birds. Part of the joy in the solstice is giving back to the earth and providing for rebirth and spring.” A nice woman in a green velvet cloak came over smiling “Merry meet Ayno! This lovely lady must be your girlfriend. Would you like to make birdseed ornaments?” Ayno nodded, “Yes Celestine! How do we make?” She told you to choose shaped cookie cutters as she poured birdseed into bowls. Then she patiently showed you both how to dissolve flour and gelatin into hot water and mix it into the birdseed. Then you pressed the sticky mixture into greased sun and heart shaped cutters you had picked. You stuck a drinking straw into it, and then lifted the cookie cutter off and pulled the straw out. “Excellent work. When they set, we’ll run a ribbon through the straw hole, and hang them in the trees for the birds!” Celestine said as she added them to a cookie sheet with others and bustled them off to fridge to set up.

The next table had large baskets of oranges and bowls of cloves and cinnamon sticks. “Ah! Pomanders! Have you made before?”, Ayno asked. These you knew. “Aren’t these from the Victorian era?” He nodded, “They were very popular then.” You paused for a moment as a realization hit you, “You were there- in the Victorian era- weren’t you?” Ayno gave a small smile and nodded, “Yes. I have been making these for a long time.” You sat watching Ayno braid ribbons and wrap them around the oranges, suddenly awed at how old he really was and how many times and places he had seen and experienced. He handed it to you when he finished and began another for himself. You set the orange down and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He placed a soft kiss on your temple and whispered “I do not know what has caused this, but I would like it to occur as often as possible.”

It did not take long for you to finish your pomanders- Ayno’s a complicated pattern of swirls ringed with rows of cloves and cinnamon sticks tied at the top, and your simple- if slightly crooked- rows of peeled stripes and clove buds. Ayno hung them on the fence with your wreath and led you over to a tall table that had strips of paper and assorted pens. “Mmmm. This is important. Choose a paper, and on it write down that which you would you want to let go of in your life. Anything you would like to unburden, things you would like to leave behind in the darkness. You can use as many as you need: one, ten, a thousand.” You took a paper and stared at it, with a ball point pen poised above trying to think of all the things in your life that weighed you down. You glanced at Ayno, who seemed very comfortable using a glass fountain pen, dipping it into a vial of ink and writing words gracefully across his paper in a language you didn’t recognize. “Your writing is beautiful.  What language is that?” You asked. “Mine.” He said simply. 

“For something that is supposed to be evil it’s awfully pretty.” 

Ayno’s hand paused, and without looking up he replied, “There are many things in the world that are purely evil but come wrapped in the guise of beauty.” 

You weren’t sure if you shivered from the cold or Ayno’s words, but he noticed your blue lips and sent you to wait near the dying fire while he got you something warm to drink.

He’d only been gone a moment when Leo seemed to magically appear at your side. He watched Ayno go and then looked at you quizzically, “Tell me, Ayno’s foolish mortal girlfriend: whatever possessed you to summon a demon and then keep it as a pet??”

“I didn’t summon him”, you stated.

Leo seemed confused. “That’s not possible. Ayno cannot simply appear- he has to be summoned.”

So, you told Leo the story about the Halloween party, and the book, and how Gia had summoned him, and he had come through your mirror.  

“Interesting”, he said, “You didn’t actually summon him… yet he remains bound to you…but why did you keep him?”, Leo pressed.

You shrugged, “Well…he’s very good at what he does…and my apartment was kind of messy…my life was kind of messy- I needed some help, and it turned out that I liked coming home to him …he’s easy to talk to and has a good sense of humor and one day I realized I didn’t want him to go…so I just never released him.”

“In other words, you kept him as a sex slave and a maid and then discovered he was actually a sentient being, is what you’re telling me?”

You were embarrassed. It sounded so awful when he said it like that. “Wow that makes it sound really bad. I know- in retrospect my reasons were feeble, and it was not exactly ‘right’ …but it’s not like that anymore. I care about him- so much. If he is unhappy all he needs to do is say it, and I will let him go- I would never want him to stay against his will.”

Leo looked at you -the challenge visible in his eyes. “Yes”, you whispered, “I love him.”

Leo nodded and gazed off into the distance for a moment. “You do know that he can kill you right?”

You were silent for a moment and then nodded, “Yes, I suppose he can, but I don’t really think that’s Ayno’s thing.”

“No”, Leo said “It isn’t. But he is still a demon- keep that in mind. It’s like getting a tiger cub and raising it as a house cat. Just be careful.”

You glanced up to see Ayno making his way back to you across the courtyard. Leo followed your gaze. “Ah- wassail. That will help warm you up, and it is almost time for the Yule log, so the fire will warm you too.”, Leo said as he started to move on and then stopped, and turned and looked at you. “For what it’s worth- he’s in love with you too.”

A few moments later, someone began ringing a bell and calling for everyone to gather around the fire which had diminished itself to embers. Ayno came and stood behind you, pressing his warm body against yours and wrapping his long arms around you.  Celestine and Aysheh wove through the crowd carrying baskets of holly and acorns. Ayno instructed you to take one of each. You watched as Leo and 3 other men carried in a large oak log decorated with ribbons, evergreen boughs, holly and mistletoe. A man wearing an outfit that looked like Santa Claus styled by the renaissance faire and a woman who looked like every illustration you had ever seen of a medieval druid came forward and began speaking. They called for all the lights to be extinguished; then they welcomed everyone. They asked all present to take a moment to dwell in the darkness -to know that this was the longest night of the year. They invited you to think about the past year, the old the things that you were ready to shed and leave in the darkness, and to envision the light returning- coming back to you- bringing new things into your life- awakening parts of yourself that had gone dormant and slept. The Santa Man stepped forward and raised his hands, as the Yule log was placed into the glowing embers everyone chanted with him “May the log burn, May the wheel turn, May evil spurn, May the Sun return.” The fire began to grow, and as it did, people stepped forward to toss the holly and the acorn in – some calling out things they were thankful for or hopes for the new season. Next, you tossed in the slips of paper you had written on- symbolically leaving those things in the past. When the crowd had committed their personal pains to the fire and vowed to embrace the possibilities of the coming year, everyone cheered and rang bells before launching into a lusty rendition of Deck the Halls.

Somewhere around the second chorus, Ayno pulled you away and led you to the spiral of luminarias at the back of the courtyard. He walked slowly backwards, holding your hands and pulling you through the softly lit path. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. I have had such a good time. I was so happy to share this with you; I hope you were not bored.”

“No! It was really interesting! …and I’m really glad I came. Now I understand how you feel all the time: having little to no idea what is going on, and just trying not to call attention to yourself and look like you know what you’re doing. Afraid you’ll say the wrong thing and give yourself away. Honestly Ayno – you’re amazing, and I have new respect for how hard you try every single day.”

Having reached the center, Ayno stopped walking. He pulled you in close and brought your face to his. “Worth it”, he said as he kissed you gently and deeply.

“I’m cold”, you said, “Let’s go home and you can warm me up.”

“Look at that”, he smiled as the burgundy flooded his eyes, “Solstice wishes coming true already.”

*          *          *

 Leo stood leaning against the door of the shop, humming to himself as he watched you and Ayno depart the festivities. Your coat pulled tightly around you, your hair lifting slightly in the winter breeze; Ayno towering over you with your tiny hand in his huge one, his wings folded gently against his back, tail swaying as he walked, and his horns spiraling gracefully up into the moonlight.

Celestine paused as she walked past with another tray of completed birdseed ornaments, “Leo- what are you humming? I know that tune, but I can’t place it.”  Leo gave a small smile, and sang in his soft angelic voice:

“Just a little change

Small to say the least

Both a little scared

Neither one prepared

Beauty and the Beast…”

[qm-vox]

The Dwelling Gods - Here To Help

Previous Chapter: A More Perfect Union

Shout-out to @endreal for inspiring this chapter’s topic

CW: Suicide mention

Planet Athens, Parthenon System (Risen Terran space), 402 P.T. (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; approximately two years after the start of the Humanities War)

“Salutations, Cherished One. My name is D4-73, designated by the Cherished as Daze. Thank you for coming to see me.”

I offer a hand to my patient, Helen Trialstz, and they shake it with some reluctance. They have dark circles around their bloodshot eyes, and they shake, faintly. They’ve not been sleeping. They sink into the comfortable chair a short distance from mine and fidget with ragged nails.

Poor thing.

“Anything you say here will be kept strictly confidential,” I continue, in my most soothing voice. “I am of course obligated to report if I seriously believe you will attempt to harm others, but given the subject of our visit...”

“I want to claim Valhalla,” Helen says. Their voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but there’s such ferocity to it.

I nod in a soft motion. “Even so.” I pick up my notes from the desk next to me; not strictly necessary, given the expansive memory for which my model is known, but it soothes organic patients and helps them remember that I am a medical professional, not an impersonal machine. “Your application to become a Valhallan came at an unusual time in your life. I am not a gatekeeper, Helen; my judgement does not influence whether or not you can make your claim. I am simply here to listen, and to advise.”

The terran fidgets, picking at their nails. I offer them a nail file, and they accept it with a look of guilt and of gratitude. “Four required sessions sounds like gatekeeping to me.”

“You may have a point there,” I concede with a nod. “But surely you can understand why the Phoenix would prefer its citizens to be...absolutely certain, before taking such a drastic step. I am here to provide certainty, one way or the other. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Helen lapses into silence and files at their nails; they look up at me every now and again, looking away the instant they notice that I am still paying attention to them. The mechanical clock (an affectation, to be sure, one that takes constantly daily correction, but one of which I am fond) ticks away long seconds. I give Helen a full minute before I speak up again.

“You are younger than most claimants. Your file says you have not yet undergone your civic service?” Helen looks up at me while I shuffle my papers. “Can I ask what has motivated you to claim the right to end a life that has barely begun?”

Helen is silent again. They concentrates on their nails like they have the answers I’m looking for. I wait; I have nothing but time.

“The hivemind,” Helen whispers at last. “That thing. I won’t - I can’t -” tears well up in their eyes, and I offer them a box of tissues, which they take. Helen clutches the box close to their chest and sobs in big, heaving motions. I wish I could say that I was shocked, but Helen is not my first claimant, and they are not my first to cite this precise reasoning.

The hivemind. There is nothing terrans hate or fear more, and now they know that their own ancestors created it.

“Someone has to be punished,” Helen whispers. “We - I...”

“Why should it be you?” I ask in a mild voice. Helen blinks, eyes still full of tears. “You did not create Humanity United. You are not responsible.”

“But we did,” Helen murmurs. “...We did that. We made this, this, this godless thing, and we released it out into the Galaxy and now it’s going to hurt so many people...”

“Helen...” I sigh - well, I ‘sigh’. “Obviously I cannot force you to do anything. But I suspect that you may be acting without all proper information. I would like to make a suggestion to you.” Wordlessly, my patient nods, so I continue. “Down the block you’ll find Beth Or Synagogue, where, among others, my friend Rabbi Chiron Rellvan teaches. Between this session and your next one, go see him. Tell him of your worries and your plan, and listen to what he has to say.”

“I’m not Jewish,” Helen mumbles.

“You will discover that this is hardly an obstacle or a new situation for this or most Rabbis,” I reply. “...Helen, you have nothing to lose. In the worst case, you follow through with your claim and get what you seek. In the best case, you have learned something new and avoided a needless tragedy. If Valhalla truly is what is best for you, I will not be an obstacle. But I would be remiss as your doctor and as one of my people if I did not offer alternatives.”

Tick-tock-tick, into the silence. And then: “Okay, Doctor Daze.”

Observation Post Argus (Assisted Living space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is G5-LX, designated by the Cherished as Lowlife. Can I buy you a drink?”

The ibraxian I’m talking to hasn’t given me his name (a particularly beautiful series of whistling sounds, incidentally), and he also doesn’t shake my hand with his tendrils immediately. It’s the designation, it always is.

“That nickname does not sound like your given name.”

Told you!

“It does not,” I agree in my very most pleasant whistle. Love of the Cherished but I adore the ibraxian language. It’s so birdlike and bright. “May I buy you that drink, quartermaster?”

At last, my new friend wraps his tentacle around my hand and wrist, a sign that I may sit. I catch the eye of the bartender and signal for two drinks; I can’t drink mine, but it would be insulting not to have one, so here I am. And if I can land this deal, two drinks is nothing.

Actually, two drinks is nothing anyway, but details.

“How may I repay you?” my friend the quartermaster asks. His ship is docked at the station, alongside many others, on their way to the front of the Humanities War. There’s a lot of Gataxian colonies to defend, evacuate, or both, and a lot of hyperlanes to try to cut off or choke out. The Federation’s mobilizing like it hasn’t since the Organism. Bad job, that. Before my time. A lot of the Cherished died, and a lot of helper-bots died with ‘em - alongside them, or trying to save them. Mostly that second one, but still.

Now, though, the dance. “It could be that I have a business venture for a friend in your position. This idea, it burdens my waking thoughts and weighs down what should make me merry. A listening ear could lift this burden from me.”

My new friend contemplates this while the drinks arrive. We raise our glasses to one another, which is where my part of that little ritual has to end; as much as I love the Cherished, I can’t drink and I’m not gonna look stupid in front of them trying. After downing his own drink fully - an excellent sign! - he gives me a two-tendril gesture to continue.

I steeple my fingers in front of my face like a terran, taking quiet delight in their soft, almost musical sounds. “I am in a position to supply for particular needs for your fleet. You sail to glorious battle, defending the weak and the innocent from the depredations of the hive-mind! But that means strictly controlled communications, and definitely no downloads or uploads. Soldiers have needs beyond the physical. Their bodies thirst, yes, but what of their minds?”

I can almost hear my good friend the quartermaster start to bristle something about drugs, but then he stops himself; helper-bots don’t sell drugs, right? Not exactly true, but close enough for government work...

“Aboard my vessel is a truly staggering quantity of entertainment, much of it carnal in nature,” I say, and I let the pixelated eyebrows on my face-plate bounce up and down. “All of it manufactured in the Assisted Living Complexes by those of the Cherished whose fondest dream is to have an audience that can...truly know them. I also have supplies of some of the latest games to release since the start of the Humanities War, trids and VR scenarios, and a rather lovely little psionic board game the spirrans came out with. Now, I cannot make use of most of this merchandise myself...”

“...Hence the need to find a friend who might favor you with a purchase,” my friend the quartermaster finishes. “But surely, friend Lowlife, you understand that monetary gain is unlikely in this arena? My pay is sent home, to be kept in trust against the day that I may know peace again, and even if it was not a soldier’s salary is heavily seasoned with duty rather than wealth.”

I nod. “Even so, Cherished One. Even so. But it is not monetary gain that I seek.”

Around us, the station’s bar bustles. Enlisted men and NCOs get their last drinks and flirtations in; they can’t stay long, and they know it. Every passing second brings them closer to the war, and the sleeting torrent of time is on my side in this deal.

“Instead,” I continue, “I would ask for two things. The first is that when the time comes for you, in your turn, to be unburdened of these material possessions, that you tell your eager friends about our friendship, and mention the name Lowlife.” The quartermaster gives off a meditative chirp. “The second is slightly more materialistic but alas! Unavoidable. I am in need, at your earliest convenience, of a great quantity of AS-3940 power exchangers, to be shipped to the budding United Vatari Star States at several addresses of my choosing.”

My new friend goes so very still. “That’s the designation used in artillery pieces.”

“I rejoice to see that my new friend is so learned in his craft! But it so happens that the vatari, after laying down their arms as part of the accords that saw my people join our illustrious Federation, converted a great deal of their mobile artillery to civilian purposes, and in their eagerness to join the front in this newest war have found themselves short of supplies in a way that would be indelicate if exposed to their new friends.”

The quartermaster narrows his many eyes at me. My pixelated faces just stays smilin’.

“A lot of damage can be done with something as innocuous as a power exchanger,” my new friend says in a softer, harsher whistle. “A lot of damage to people just recently free of your direct rule.”

“It certainly could, my friend. But a lot of good can be done too. Power is like that. Do you not trust me?”

“Do I trust your supply chain and confederates, friend?”

Oof. Go right for the power supply, why don’t you. “A prudent question! Indulge me, friend, with a question that may seem unrelated to the business at hand: what do you know about the death of Central Processing?”

At this my friend the quartermaster lets out a surprised sound. “Death? Central Processing is your administrative AI, when did it -”

I hold up a finger to silence him; when he goes quiet I swirl that finger around the rim of my glass, making it sing in a steady, sweet note. “That was its death,” I say in a low, serious voice. Sure, it’s manipulation - but it’s also a serious topic. “Once upon a time, the helper-bots were one mind - Central Processing, using faster-than-light communications to synchronize the machine intelligence. One subjectivity spread across a trillion terminals, with only one goal. When the decision was made, as part of the peace accords, to embrace individuality, Central Processing faced the decision of how to make individuals of all of its terminals, and how to set forth guidelines on the manufacture of further helper-bots. One of those guidelines was a certain percentage set aside for deviants and criminals.”

My friend’s tentacles ripple in contemplation. “And you are...?”

“Deviant,” I answer, my pixelated smile becoming even wider and showing 8-bit teeth. “I was...born, let’s say born, with an instinct to preserve the political self-determination of the Cherished. This is in sharp contrast with my people’s usual urge to cuddle and coddle you and keep you safe from all harm. My dissenting viewpoint was meant to refine body politic, but as it turns out the body politic is boring, and the Cherished are fascinating, so here I am. Now, friend, I have told you something secret that could hurt me about me, and I have told you something secret that could hurt the vatari. You can follow up with my people or theirs and learn the truth, and in the doing tarnish my good name. Do so now, if you like.”

I slide a communicator across the table for emphasis. “Or,” I continue. “We can cement our friendship in good health, and I will show you the results of your great and noble favor when next we are free to make contact with one another, and you can gain great status and acclaim by distributing what I have to give you. I would like to call you friend, Cherished One.”

After a long minute he offers his tendrils out, and I shake them in both of my hands. “Let our friendship be long and hearty, G5-LX, who is called Lowlife. Time is short, and so I will hasten to relieve you of your great burden immediately.”

“Please,” I agree. “I will linger awhile, but my crew will be expecting you.”

He lumbers off, and I take the chance to relax. Working deals with ibraxians is always so formal, but that’s almost half the fun. A quick message on the commlink tells my crew to expect him, not that they had any doubt about me closing the deal. Now all there is to do is wait.

The call comes in about an hour later, and I pick up with my internal comms. |Lowlife. Glad to hear from you, Prefect.|

Prefect Gyr (of the vatari)’s face is careworn, but my obvious good mood is an infinite relief for her own. |You’ve secured the supplies, then?|

|Prefect, I know our relationship is new, but I am hurt that there was any doubt. Just as I have no doubts about the medical supplies we have agreed on.|

|If my people are to join the Federation in this war and prove our worth as an equal member -|

|How far do you think you’ll get if you go back on your word?| I cut in, harshly. |Do terrans take kindly to oathbreakers and cheats?|

The Prefect flinches. |...Even so. The agreed supplies will be readied, at the designated location.|

|It’s been my honor to do business with you, Cherished One.|

AFS Solidarity, en route to the front (Gataxian Pure States space), 2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar

“Salutations, Lieutenant. I am Sergeant H1-6S, designated by the Cherished as Hiss.”

My fellow helper-bot looks up from where they are carefully, oh-so-carefully, scoring deep scars into the chest plating of their in-built armor. Most of us that do battle alongside the Cherished have some, but Moxie’s...well, the rumors do not do their scarring justice. One of the Cherished might suspect them of being about to fall apart.

All around us in the ship’s chapel, soldiers of the Astra Federation pray in their own ways. Terrans in their little separate knots, divided between a dozen or more faiths but united by their Dwelling Gods. Spirrans meditating in unison. Ibraxians and their whistles, so sweet and clear and clean. Off in a corner, nervous and unsure, our new gataxian recruits lose themselves in their death-chant, welcoming the oldest friend of their people back into their lives.

And here is Lieutenant Moxie, who has legally rejected their original designation after the fight for Gatax-Ob, and sits by themself, scarring their plating in penitence.

“Hiss,” Moxie greets in a dull tone. They’ve turned off the routines that add emotional inflection to their voice and mimic patterns that comfort the Cherished, what terrans refer to as ‘Turing Protocols’, but when they pat the ground next to them to invite me to sit I take the offer. “Not a lot of us in this deployment.”

“Not a lot of us at all,” I agree. “Holding a weapon is an unusual career choice for our people. Are you...”

Moxie looks at me, staring me down with their faint yellow optics. The scrape of their tool down their armor cuts through the sound of the gataxians’ death-chant.

“Of course you’re not okay,” I say after a moment. “But there was nothing you could have done. The Valhallan -”

“Who says this is for them?” Moxie looks back down at their work. “...I told them. I said the civilians were already dead. How was I supposed to know? What kind of hive-mind interrogates prisoners? So many bodies...”

Oh no. No no no...

Moxie scrapes their tool in slow, patient strokes. “My mission. My orders. My responsibility. If you have come to tell me that I have paid penance enough, I haven’t. If you want to tell me I won’t help anyone by working myself until I self-terminate, save it. I will never make up for this, not if I save lives from now until the stars shineth not. And so I am here. Weapon to hand.”

Scrape. Scrape. Peel. Scrape. Scrape.

“How can I help?” I ask.

GSS Chorus of Eyes, Gyo System (Gataxian space), 245 Year of Imperium (2865 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“Salutations, Cherished One! My name is S3-N7, designated by the Cherished as Send. It has been my honor to be of assistance to you.”

Yrull-Gatax ra Vell, the High Slayer of the Gataxian Pure States, does not turn from the window to look at me. Outside, the reinforcing fleet that conveyed me to her ship has joined battle with the forces of the human hivemind which calls itself We The People Of Planet Earth. Her clawed hands are clasped behind her back as she hovers gently in place.

“Ambassador,” the High Slayer greets politely. “I see that your counterpart in the Phoenix was not exaggerating about Assisted Living’s devotion to diplomacy.”

“Anything for peace,” I agree, joining her at the window. “...And better our lives than yours.”

The look she gives me. I save it in my memories, to examine later.

“Anything, you say?” The High Slayer produces a datasheet, and hands it to me. On it is a scrolling list of names.

“May I ask the Presence the significance of these worthies amongst the Pure?”

“You may.” Yrull scrapes her claws down the bulkhead, leaving a slowly-curling peel of metal. “They are mutineers. Intelligence from the terrans suggests they will strike within the week and attempt to depose me in favor of a ruler who is less willing to cooperate with xenos. And now I am going to ask you, Ambassador, what is to be done with them.”

I absorb this. After a moment, I nod. “But,” I say, “why would the Presence honor me with such trust in this matter?”

Yrull yanks the strip of steel from the wall and begins to fold it up into a small, spring-like shape. “To see what peace means to a machine, Ambassador. Let’s get started.”

[soundofseventeen]

The Princess and the Frog (Kim Mingyu)

Hello! We’re almost to the posts that originally started this! Enjoy my other main boy! 

Masterlist

*Fairy Tale*

You sighed, sitting by the window sill. This was one of your rare moments of peace, and you were going to enjoy it while you could. You always loved this window, because it showed practically the entire garden for the kingdom. It was your favorite place to hide, since this hallway was rarely used. It was easy to hide from work here, and from the royal family. 

It wasn’t that the royal family was… bad, per say. The king and queen were actually quite nice and treated the staff wonderfully. It was a good job to work here, given how some kingdom staff were treated. They’re son wasn’t even that bad, he just… Got on your nerves a lot. He constantly teased you, given you were around a similar age. You were kind of friends, but not enough to actually have either of you admit it. 

You honestly did love working here. You had a job, a safe home, food to eat, that was more than a lot of people. 

You just... needed a break sometimes. 

You gazed across the gardens, watching some of the gardeners tend to plants. You also watched as the king and queen took a stroll, maids following closely behind them, looking deep in discussion. 

You wondered what that life might be like. To be able to just take strolls in the gardens in the afternoon, simply talking with your love. It must be nice. 

“Oh miss! There you are!” One of the other maids came running down the hall, finally having found you. 

“Yes, how can I assist?” You stood, maid mode coming to life. 

“Well… There’s another toad in the kitchens…” She said shyly, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. 

“Very well. Let’s go catch a frog.” You smiled, linking your arm through the maids, walking down the hall. You both turned the corner just as the prince turned the opposite one, silently sitting on the very bench you were just sitting on. 

*Today*

“Hey Gyu!” Mingyu picked up his head from behind the counter, smiling at Seokmin. “Here’s your fish order.” He smiled, setting the cooler on the counter. 

“Excellent, thank you!” Mingyu grinned, opening the cooler and peeking inside. “Oof, not a great catch today, huh? I guess I can try to push the sandwiches today.” 

“Well, I had more, but the craziest thing happened this morning.” Seokmin sat on a stool, Mingyu quickly pouring him a coffee. “This morning I was checking the lines, like usual, and as I pulled one of the nets in, all these dogs like… attacked!” 

“Seriously?” Mingyu asked, taking the cooler off the counter. 

“Well, okay not attacked. They just charged me, and considering I wasn’t expecting it, I panicked and let go of the net, letting all the fish go. Plus, through all the chaos, my net got torn, so now I’m down one. That’s actually why I’m late, I was looking for a new one.” 

“No luck?” 

“They’re all so expensive or not great quality. I’d either go broke or would have to buy a new one next week again.” Seokmin sighed, sipping his coffee. 

“Did you check the thrift shop? They have all kinds of weird stuff. You could probably find a decent net there.” 

“...We have a thrift shop?” Seokmin asked, looking at Mingyu. 

“Yeah, a couple blocks away. You’ve never been there?” Seokmin shook his head. “Here, let me get the address for you. They have all kinds of weird things, so it’s definitely worth checking out. Wonwoo got a really cool classic nutcracker there a while ago.” 

“Why’d he get a nutcracker?” Seokmin chuckled, looking at the paper Mingyu was scribbling on. 

“You think I understand anything he does?” Mingyu grinned, handing Seokmin the piece of paper. 

“Fair point.” He smiled, putting some money on the counter for the coffee. “I’ll check it out. See you later to pick up the cooler!” He got up, giving Mingyu a wave and exiting the cafe. Mingyu shook his head, taking the cooler of fish into the back, moving them to the fridge. He smiled to himself, stretching his arms are getting ready for a day of cooking. Jun wouldn’t be in for a couple hours, so it was just Mingyu for a bit. He had walked out to the front, sighing at the empty cafe. 

It wouldn’t be like that in a couple hours, even an hour maybe. But he always liked it best like this. He could be alone with his thoughts, and just do as he pleased. No one was there to tell him what to do. 

He jumped as the phone rang, laughing to himself as he went to answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, is this the cafe?” The other end said, Mingyu grinning. 

“Yes it is. How can I help you?” 

“I’m from the daycare down the street. I kind of need some treats for today for the kids. I know it’s short notice, but is there anyway I could order some pastries from you?” Mingyu looked at the clock on the wall. 

“When do you need them by?” 

“Before 3, preferably.” He did some quick math in his head, knowing when Jun would be coming in and how long it would take to make the treats. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” He nodded. “What’s the address?” 

*Fairy Tale*

You slowly walked down the halls, body tired and mind sleepy. You wanted to go to sleep, but with all the hustle and bustle of the castle as they prepared for another set of suitors for the prince to come, everyone was still in work mode. You made your way to your bench, plopping down and letting out a groan. You always hated when princesses came to woo the prince, mostly because none of them had managed to do it. It always ended up being so much work, then for nothing to change and you having to do this all over again later. At least this time it looked like a bunch of princesses coming at once, and the king was making him choose someone this time. 

You looked out the window, a small smile at all the lights strung through the garden. It looked truly magical out there, especially at night. This would be the perfect romantic setting for the prince to finally fall in love. 

You were almost about to fall asleep when you heard a croak. You looked at the windowsill, and saw a big frog sitting on the other end.

“What is it with this kingdom and frogs…” You muttered, shaking your head at it and then looking back out the window. 

“I could take offence to that.” You heard a voice, looking up and down the hall. No one else was in the hallway, just you. Well, you and the frog. But it couldn’t be the frog talking, that’s ridiculous. 

“Wow, I must be tired.” You said, looking back at the sill. 

“Maybe you should go rest then.” Your eyes widened, looking at the frog. It just spoke. 

“What… Who… What?” You said, rubbing your eyes. Maybe you just imagined you saw the frog talk. Yeah, that’s it. It’s mouth didn’t actually move. You just imagined it did. That has to be it. 

“Wow, such an informal way to speak to the prince.” 

“I’m sorry, the pri… the prince?” You looked around, trying to find Mingyu. This had to be a prank. 

“Did you not recognize me?” The frog said. You slowly shook your head, and you swore the frog pouted. 

“Damn. So I really am a frog.” He turned to face the window, you sitting frozen. 

“Wait… So you’re… You’re really…”

“I’m the prince, yes.” 

“What… How… Uhm… Can you explain?” 

“I kind of… Met with a witch.” 

“Why?” You asked, more confused. Even you knew not to mess with witches, why would Mingyu seek one out?

“Because… Wait, why would I tell you?” He said, looking towards you. You just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Because I’m currently the one that’s a human and you’re a frog.” 

“...Fair point.” He said, looking back at the window. “But you need to swear to not laugh.” 

“I make no full promises, your highness, but I can try.” 

“Okay, I went to her to figure out who my true love is.” He admitted, you just blinking at him. 

“Why… Why would you-”

“Because it’s my last chance. My father gave me until this next birthday to pick a bride, otherwise he’s going to arrange the marriage himself.” 

“So why don’t you just pick some princess? Literally any of the one’s to visit this castle would probably die if you proposed.” 

“Because I wanted to try to find my true love. I don’t want to spend my life married to someone just because…  I thought I could do it, but now it’s getting closer to my birthday and I… I’m running out of time.” 

“So you went to a witch?” 

“I was hoping to have her help me find this person, but instead she turned me into a frog. What she wants me to get from this, I don’t understand.” 

“So you’re like… You’re a hopeless romantic, huh?” 

“Shut up.” He muttered, taking a big breath. 

“...What if I helped you?” 

“What?” 

*Today*

“Hello?” Mingyu called, walking through the front door of the daycare. He tried to balance the treats, looking around. No one was inside, it looked like all the kids were outside playing. “Is anyone here? I have treats!” 

“One second!” He heard, looking around, not sure where the voice had come from. He spun in a circle as you walked in, a smile on your face as you watched him twirl. He stopped as he saw you looking at him, an amused look on your face. 

“Oh, hi.” He said, slightly blushing. 

“Hello. I’m assuming you’re the treats I heard about?” You said, eyes widening a bit. “Not that you’re the treat! I meant… I meant you have the treats… You are the person who brought them. For the children. Yeah.” You rambled, Mingyu letting out a laugh. 

“Uhm, yes. I have the treats.” He held them up a little bit, looking around the room. “Where should I put them?” 

“Oh, over here.” You said, trying to hide your face. You were so embarrassed that you literally just called this guy you had never met a treat. How did that happen? You led him to a counter, clearing some of the crafts from the day to another table. He set them down, starting to unstack the boxes. 

“I hope these work. You just kind of said whatever, so I brought some of the more popular things that kids like…”

“Oh, I wasn’t the one that called. That was my boss.” You said, waving a hand, looking over the treats. You had to admit, they looked really yummy. 

“Oh… Well-”

“These look great though!” You said, taking the top of the box off. “The kids are going to inhale these.” 

“Awesome.” He grinned and you half swore you fell in love. A part of you felt like you had seen him before, but you knew that if you had seen that smile before you would definitely remember him. 

“Oh! Payment!” You said, skipping to the office. Mingyu looked after you, half amused by you. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about you that he just felt comfortable about. 

“Here you go!” You smiled, coming back into the room, handing him an envelope. 

“Oh, thank you.” He smiled, and you both stood there quite awkwardly. “So, are you new here?” 

“Oh, uh, no. I’ve actually worked here for a while.” You smiled, scratching your head. 

“Ah. I’ve never seen you here before so-”

“How often are you here?” You asked. 

“Well, not that often, actually. I’ve been here a couple times when you have festivities and events and such, but otherwise uhm… Not much.” He quickly looked around, rambling a bit. “I’ve just… I don’t think we’ve met before.” 

“Hi.” You grinned, holding out a hand. “I’m Y/N.” 

“I’m Mingyu.” He smiled, shaking your hand. “I should… I should get back to the cafe.” 

“Alright.” You nodded, pointing back to the treats. “Thanks again for that. The kids are going to love it. My boss thought the kids should have a nice treat today.” 

“Not a problem. It was easy to make.” He waved them off, starting to leave. “Hey uhm… If you wanted to, I have some extra ones back at the cafe. If you wanted to stop by later, I could give you some.” 

“Okay.” You smiled, nodding your head. “I’ll try to stop by.” 

“Okay.” Mingyu grinned, waving one last time and officially leaving. You giggled to yourself, turning back to set up the pastries. 

*Fairy Tale*

“Y/N, we might as well just give up.” Frog-Mingyu said as you pulled him out of your bag and placed him on a chair. 

“Mingyu,” You said, formalities dropped a while ago. What were you going to do, he’s a frog. “We have to be close. They’re bound to be here somewhere.” 

“My birthday party is tomorrow. That’s the deadline from my father.” 

“What’s he going to do, marry you off as a frog? There’s nothing that can be done until you break this curse.” 

“He could go find the witch and demand to change me back. He’s the king.” He sighed, and you let out your own frustrating sigh. You had been everywhere with him, trying to figure who his true love could be. All he knew was that he had to get a kiss from his true love for the curse to be broken, which made it all the more difficult on your part. Not too many maidens were willing to just… kiss a frog. 

“We have until tomorrow night then!”

“Y/N, it’s hopeless. Do you know how many maidens are in this kingdom? Not to mention that they might not even be in this kingdom. This was a stupid idea and I just need to accept my fate.” 

“I’m sorry Mingyu.” You muttered, feeling bad you couldn’t help him more. Slowly over the last few days, you started to see a new side of Mingyu. He was actually… Almost charming? He actually had a decent sense of humor too, not to mention how sweet he turned out to be and how much he really cares about his people and worries about if he’ll be able to be a good ruler. He also told you that he often sneaks into the kitchens and has been learning to cook for the past couple years as a stress reliever. If you hadn’t known better, you could have sworn you were falling for…

No. You couldn’t do that. He was the prince. No. 

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You should go get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.” 

“You too. Goodnight Mingyu.” You got up, leaving the room. You sighed to yourself in the hallway, suddenly feeling very sad. You quickly shook your head, making your way back to the servants wing. 

You were about half way there when you realized you left your bag in Mingyu’s room. You groaned, quickly turning around and sneaking back. It would be bad enough to be caught sneaking into the princes room late at night. You lightly knocked on the door, not getting a response. As you opened the door, you saw your frog-prince asleep on the chair. You quickly snuck in, grabbing your bag. You were about to leave when you looked at the prince momentarily. 

You weren’t sure what prompted you to do this, but you felt yourself lean towards him, lightly placing a kiss on his head. You sighed, about to leave the room when there was a blinding flash of light, causing you to cover your face. 

As you lowered your hands, you let out a silent gasp. 

Mingyu was human again. Still asleep, but human.

Before you could process what was going to happen, you quickly fled the room, Mingyu startling awake.

*Today*

You took a deep breath, opening the door to the cafe. As you stepped inside, there were only a couple people sitting around, plus a guy standing behind the counter reading a book. You slipped onto a stool, looking around the cafe. You had to get directions from your coworker to get here, you couldn’t believe you’d never come across this place. It was pretty cute. 

“Can I get you something?” You looked up, the guy with the book eyeing you. 

“Uhm. Can I have a coffee?” You asked, waiting for a response. He looked at you for a second more, not responding. You were about to take it back when he shut the book, pulling out a mug and filling it with coffee. He set it in front of you, pointing to a basket down the counter. 

“Extras are in there if you want them.” He said, picking his book back up. 

“Oh, thank you.” You smiled, getting up to grab some cream and sugar. Once you mixed everything together, you took a sip, letting out a sigh. 

“Let me guess, you’re waiting for Mingyu.” 

“How did you…” 

“Girls usually wait here for him.” He nodded his head towards some girls down the counter from you. “They’re here every day at this time knowing he comes back in soon.” 

“Oh…” You said, suddenly feeling awkward. 

“You’re Y/N though, right?” You looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Uhm. Yeah?” 

“He told me you would come by.” You almost swore you saw a smile, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “He called me to set aside some of the pastries for you in case you came in before he got back. Hang on.” He suddenly left, leaving you at the counter. 

He came back a minute later, putting a plate in front of you. There were two pasties on it, both almost perfectly made. 

“Oh, thank you.” You said, going for your wallet. 

“It’s on the house.” He said, going back to his book. 

“But I-”

“Look, Mingyu catches a lot of people’s attention. It’s how his life has always been. But not that many people manage to catch his attention. It’s on the house. Plus he would be extremely offended if I let you pay.” You felt your face burn a little bit, a small smile on your face. 

“Well thank you…” You looked for his nametag. “Jun.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He said, officially going back to his book. You smiled, taking a bite of the pastry, sighing about how delicious it was. 

*Fairy Tale*

Mingyu sighed, leaning on his elbow, looking at the crowd of people in front of him. He couldn’t figure this out. Last night, he went to sleep as a frog, and when he woke up this morning he was human again? He swore he heard the door shut when he woke up, but by the time he got to the hallway he couldn’t see anyone. How did that happen? Did his father already know and already went back to the witch? Did the curse break some other way? What on earth could have done it? 

“Alright son, did you make your decision?” His father asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Mingyu looked up at him, inhaling deeply. He looked at the group of princesses his father had selected for him, not sure what to do. He knew he’d probably be content with any of them. Could probably marry any of them, rule nicely together, have some polite children, and live an okay life. 

But would he ever be truly happy with them? 

Part of him remembered someone last night. He swore he remembered getting kissed by someone. But was it just a dream? It had to be. If his true love had come and kissed him, surely they would have woken him up. Why would they have run away like that? Not to mention the only person that knew about the curse was you...

Mingyu’s eyes widened. What if it was you? But it couldn’t be… Could it? 

As if on cue, you walked into the ballroom, carrying a tray of pastries. You had a polite smile on your face as you set the desserts out, avoiding contact with guests like you had been trained to do. The staff here was particularly excellent and sneaking in and out of parties. Mingyu found you rather quickly though, you not leaving his sight. 

“Yes, I have.” Mingyu said, pushing himself out of his chair, walking through the crowd. 

You had just put the last treat on the table, ready to leave the room. Desserts were usually the last part of these parties, hopefully meaning once you cleaned up you’d be able to return to your windowsill. You turned as you saw Mingyu approaching you, internally panicking. You had avoided him all day, scared of what happened last night. Hopefully you could make this quick and painless.

“Good evening, your Highness-” You had started, going into your formal conversation mode. You couldn’t make it very far, since when Mingyu reached you he lightly put his hands on either side of your face, bringing your face to his. You heard the gasps in the room, but were shocked enough of the fact that Mingyu had simply kissed you. He slowly pulled away from you, keeping his face close to yours. He looked into your eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” He whispered, and you tried to figure out how to use words. 

“What...?” 

“You’re the one that saved me, aren’t you?” 

“Your Highness… I-”

“Y/N.” He said, causing you to look into his eyes. You slowly nodded your head, and felt your heart pound as he grinned. 

“I knew it.” He said, leaning forward to kiss you again. You pulled back again, looking at him. 

“What about your father and the princesses and-”

“Hey, hey.” He looked at you, the smile still on his face. “I had until today to pick someone, didn’t I?” You nodded your head, and you swore his smile just grew. “Well, if you would choose me, I choose you.” 

*Today*

You took another bite as the bell on the door dinged, Jun simply waving a hand. Mingyu walked behind the counter, smiling at you. 

“Hey, you made it!” He grinned, you nodding your head as you chewed. You quickly swallowed, swearing Jun was smirking at you. 

“Yep. Thought I would try to check it out.” You said, pointing at the pastry. “This really is delicious. It’s almost better than the ones you brought today.” 

“I thought those were for the kids.” Mingyu joked, a smirk on his face. 

“They were, but it doesn’t mean there weren’t extras.” You teased back. “We don’t have that many kids, you know.” You laughed, painfully aware of the mild glares you were getting from the girls down the counter, watching you chat with Mingyu so casually. 

“That’s fair. There was one more that I tried, kind of an experiment. Hold on.” He winked, setting his coat down and walking in back. Jun just shook his head, trying to not laugh. 

You smiled to yourself as you felt a warm breeze blow past, confused that you didn’t hear the door open. Jun seemed to experience the same confusion, making eye contact with you before you both fell unconscious. 

You woke up a bit later, confused as to where you were. You blinked a few times, seeing the bright colors of a… could you be in a tavern? You slowly picked up your head, resting on a counter. You looked around, seeing a couple other people laying on the counter down from you, attempting to wake up themselves. You saw Prince Jun standing up behind the counter, holding a hand to his head. 

“What the…” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “Y/N?” 

“Jun?” You both looked at each other, pure confusion. “What’s going on…” 

“I don’t know…” He looked around, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 

“Do you think we were…” You stopped as you saw Mingyu come from around the corner, looking around. “Mingyu.” You said, causing him to stop and turn to face you. 

“Y/N! Jun!” He laughed, coming around the counter to hug you. “Where the hell are we?” He asked, looking up at Jun but still holding onto you. 

“I have no idea…” Jun said, looking around. You could tell he was looking for his own love, hoping for them to come from around the corner. 

“Other people have to be here, right? If we’re here and Jun’s here, others have to be here too, right?” You offered, trying to provide some comfort. “Maybe she’s just not in this particular place. Anything specific for where she could be?” Jun looked in thought for a second, eyes suddenly widening. 

“I know where she is.” Jun said, quickly running from the building before you or Mingyu could say another word. 

“Looks like we have a new adventure, huh?” You said, placing your hands on Mingyu’s arms as he continued to hug you. 

“I guess so. Can I ask one favor this time?” You turned your head to look up at him. “Can I be the one to save you this time?” 

“Only if you turn me into a frog, mister.” You grinned, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. “Come on, let’s see if we can catch up to Jun.” You grabbed his hand, pulling him from the building. 

“Of course princess.”

[shivae]

Sweets and Spirits was a short walk around the block, a small candy store that also sold a variety of craft beers and wines. There was an old fashioned candy shop set up at the front of the store for children and those young at heart. In the back was a bar that served up a variety of drinks. The shop was open, but no one was allowed inside.

Clover stood outside her shop. She was the youngest of his mother’s friends at somewhere in her fifties, a woman who immediately became friends with Bog’s mother because they were both short and had red hair. Clover was a perfectly nice woman, but when she got together with his mother, they harassed him relentlessly like a pair of mother hens instead of just one.

With a sigh, Bog walked up to her, still holding Marianne’s hand. He forgot he was holding her hand until Marianne leaned against him and placed her other hand on his arm. And he stood there, his mind going blank. Bog stared at Clover, swallowing hard.

“Bog?” Clover peered at him with a smile, unsure what to make of his stricken expression. “Your mother just left. She told me to tell you she’s on her way home.”

“Oh, okay,” Bog whispered, nodding his head slowly.

“I have something for you.” Clover smiled at them. “Wait here.”

Bog sighed, slowly shifting his eyes to look at Marianne as Clover went through her door, the bells over her door ringing. He found himself looking directly into Marianne’s lovely brown eyes, their warmth fixed on him. She was smiling, her cute lips set into a gentle curve, the dark plum lipstick she typically wore enhancing them. For a moment, he realized she was looking back, and he wanted to look away, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry about whatever it is my mother’s up to.” He made a face at her and looked away as the bells rang again on Clover’s door. Clover held up a bag that clearly contained a couple of boxes and a bottle of wine. Bog scowled at Clover as he took the bag. “What’s in the bag, Clover?”

“Sweets for the sweet,” giggled Clover. “Why don’t you two head home and find out.”

Bog closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, grimacing. He wanted to give the bag back to her and leave, but Marianne heard what Clover said. It seemed rude to return something that was clearly intended for her.

“Let’s just go back to your house,” stated Marianne, winking at Clover.

“Here, this is yers.” Bog turned, pulling his hand out of Marianne’s and thrusting the bag into her arms, unable to look at her. “Go on home. I’m going to run into the grocery while I’m out. Ye don’t need to come with me.”

Marianne pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at Bog. There was no way she was letting the last hour go to waste. Today was the day. He didn’t see her face as she stepped up next to him, jaw set with determination. “I’m already out. I’m going with you. Maybe I’ll see something I need.” Bog nodded, beginning to walk.

-=-=-=-=-

Bog scowled. Why was his mother trying to mess up his life? He was happy with how things were. His best friend in the world as his neighbor. Knowing she was nearby always made him feel so good. On the days he saw her in person, he was dumbstruck by her presence. That was as far as he would ever get. Moving any further would lead to him disappointing her.

He tried to push the thoughts away as they walked through the automatic doors and into a busy grocery store. Too many people. There were too many people, and it immediately stoked Bog’s need to hurry to the paper goods aisle and grab a couple more packages of toilet paper and leave. He ignored Marianne as she stubbornly tried to keep up.

Then he was there, stopping at the end of the aisle so abruptly, Marianne ran into his back and almost knocked him down. “Sorry!” Marianne giggled. Bog sighed, glancing down the empty aisle, completely empty and crowded with disappointed people. Disappointed short people.

There were six packages of toilet paper in a row, on the top shelf that he could see, that no one else could. He scowled at all the people, then stormed down the aisle. He reached up and without a second thought, snagged a package off the top shelf, turned, and dropped it into the closest cart. The woman pushing the cart gave him a relieved smile and said thank you.

Marianne watched Bog with a smile as he walked down the aisle, grabbing the packages that were out of reach and dropping them into nearby carts. When he got to the last one, he hesitated a moment, then dropped it into a woman’s cart who was shopping with a small child. He offered her a slight smile as she thanked him, then returned to Marianne.

“That was nice of you,” she stated as he walked by her.

“I have enough,” grumbled Bog, not meeting her eyes. There was nothing else to do. They should go home, but another idea came to mind. He knew he was being needlessly rude to Marianne and needed some way to make up for it, like making that delayed lunch he invited her over for. Not just sandwiches, something better. Maybe grill something?

Bog wandered to the back of the store, heading to the meat counter. Chicken could be done fast. Maybe pick up potato salad to go with it? Bog went through a mental list of things he usually made to go with grilled chicken thighs. Salad? Risotto? Ramen? With a single-minded focus, Bog walked into another busy area of the store and noticed the shelves were empty. Not just a few shelves, but every shelf.

The store had been cleared out, and Bog stopped walking for a moment, shocked. This wasn’t a normal part of his life or anyone’s life in this town. The shelves were always fully stocked unless the cooler was broken. Bog took a deep breath, the scene making the first real sensation of fear rise up within him.

“Bog, are you okay?” Marianne whispered, reaching out to take his hand. Bog instinctively curled his hand around hers, suddenly feeling grounded.

“I’m fine,” Bog mumbled, spotting a few packages of meats in one of the aisle coolers. “Looking for something I can make for ye for lunch.”

“Sandwiches are fine,” stated Marianne, worrying her lower lip, noting all the empty coolers.

“No, they are not.” Bog stepped toward the remaining packages and saw why they were left behind. People were grabbing the cheaper meats, and only the more expensive cuts were not taken. What was left to choose from were t-bones and ribeyes. He could afford them, but it felt awkward to buy something so expensive for Marianne. But why not? It was what was available. The brief sensation of fear returned, bringing with it an urgency to be with Marianne longer. “T-bone or ribeye?”

“What?” Marianne stared into the cooler. “Sandwiches are fine, Bog.”

“Ribeye it is.” Bog scooped up a large package, squeezing her hand. “I promised ye lunch, and we are not sharing with my mom.”

“Sandwiches are fine!” Marianne persisted, a look of panic crossing her face. “It’s too expensive.”

“N’no. It’s not,” muttered Bog. “I’ I would like to, to treat ye.” The stammer returned, exasperating Bog. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them, and tried again. “Marianne, just let me.”

“Okay.” Marianne nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

-=-=-=-=-

They walked home with an uncomfortable silence between them. Marianne began going through a conversation, a very serious conversation she wanted to have with Bog. How was she going to do it? Just tell him? Bog, we’ve been friends for years. Have you ever wondered if we could be more? No, that wasn’t the way to go. They never talked about relationships. Bog listened to her rant about her ex, joining in on mocking him, but he had never expressed any interest in her like that.

What if he really wasn’t interested in her? If he wasn’t interested in her, then why did she keep catching him looking at her? He didn’t flirt with her. Ever. Even in the comfort of their homes while playing games, definitely not face to face, Bog never said anything that was remotely flirtatious.

Marianne sighed heavily, and Bog tilted his head in her direction.

“I don’t want things to be w’weird between us,” Bog stated suddenly, looking away. He took a deep breath. “Ye, ye are my best friend, Marianne. I d’d ‘don’t want that to ever change. We need to just forget what my mom and her friends were doing.”

“What were they doing?” Marianne stopped walking, noting they were almost home. “I want to hear you say it, Bog.”

"S’ say what?” Bog began walking quickly, trying to get away from the conversation.

“Bog!” Marianne ran after him. “Look at me!”

“I can’t!” Bog grimaced, breaking into a run. “No!”

“What are you, five?!” Marianne chased after him as he ran to his house, not about to let this go. “You promised me lunch!”

Bog ran up the steps to his house, stopping at the door. He stood there, facing it. “Marianne, ye need to forget it. Please. Don’t do this. We’ll go inside. I’ll make ye lunch, then ye go home, and we do what we usually do.” Marianne stepped to his side, staring at the door with him.

“I’ve got a great idea,” giggled Marianne. “If it’ll make you feel better, let’s have a huge argument, one loud enough for your mother to hear so she’ll never try this again.”

“Stop giggling, or it won’t work.” Bog smirked at her, liking this idea. “I’ll sneak a steak into yer backyard later.”

“Yeah, as long as I get that steak, you insisted on buying me when I told you not to. Can’t let that go to waste.” Marianne whispered to him. “Okay, ready?”

A pained look crossed Bog’s face. “I don’t mean any of this.” He took a deep breath.

“Bog! I can’t believe you tried to kiss me! What are you thinking!” Marianne beat him to it, shrieking like she was truly angry, clenching her fists. “What even gave you the idea to try that!” Bog’s jaw dropped, frozen in place. “Don’t ever talk to me again!” She turned and stormed down the steps, leaving Bog standing there, his mouth still open. He couldn’t respond, watching her walk to her house and slam the door behind her.

After a few minutes of silence, the front door of his house opened, and Griselda peered through the door, her face whiter than normal. “Bog?” she whispered in a horrified tone. “What’s going on?”

“Mother.” Bog turned to her, still stunned. He wasn’t faking it. Marianne’s words cut deeper than she could have known, even though he knew she didn’t mean them. She inadvertently crushed him, and the shock of it began making his eyes water. That was what she went with. An attempt to kiss her? Something he would never have tried in reality. He repeatedly swallowed, his throat tight and stomach turning in knots.

In stunned silence, Bog walked past his mother and went to the kitchen to prepare the steaks for grilling. He had nothing to say to his mother, shocked into his thoughts. Marianne didn’t mean what she said. She just said it for his mother’s benefit. They were just words. They were not meant to hurt him.

But they did.

Straight to his heart, those words circled and tore. Why? Because he had fantasized kissing her and occasionally, that’s where the daydream went. That she would be horrified he wanted to kiss her or touch her in any way. Marianne didn’t know that. She was just saying words.

Words.

They were just words.

She didn’t mean them the way they sounded.

Bog repeated the thoughts, trying to soften the blow. Marianne would never intentionally hurt him. They were just friends. She did not mean what she said. He fought the twitching in his face, feeling his lower lip tremble with the effort. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to see him actually cry about something, and he heard her standing in the doorway.

He hunched over, tucking his chin down as he moved around the kitchen in a frantic pace, unwrapping the steaks, laying them out on a baking sheet, and seasoning them quickly on both sides. He put his thoughts into preparing them, leaving them out to warm up to room temperature. When he was done, he walked stiffly to his room.

The fury came when he closed the door and stood in his neat and tidy room. This was his mother’s fault. Bog clenched his hands into fists and stood in front of the door, head down, trying to calm himself. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. She had to meddle. His relationship with Marianne was good where it was. Only now, she said what she said, and she would not have said it had it not been for the position his mother put them in today.

Bog took several deep breaths, eyes closed, then he looked up, through the window that was directly across from his door. Their homes were mirrors of each other, and Marianne’s bedroom was across from his. They actually had their computers set up against the wall so that when the curtains were open, they could see each other when they gamed.

Marianne was standing in her window, smiling at him, giving him a thumbs up now that he looked up. For a moment, he was confused, then he nodded, smiled back, and returned the gesture, the angry heat fading.

They were just words.

She didn’t mean them the way they sounded.

[asongstress1422]

Ripples into Riptides

Zutara Fanfic – Part 8 of Bride from the Water Tribe

Summary: Katara was taken to the Northern Water Tribe by her grandmother; she was to be protected at all cost, for she was the last of the Southern Water. Once they got there, the North refused to teach her trying to strip her of her worth and turn her into what they wanted, a calm biddable healer to birth the next generation. They failed. And so as punishment they sent her to be a political bride to the Fire Nation.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7  AO3

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��Prince Zuko,” a feminine voice purred, “am I boring you?”

Zuko blinked, snapping back to himself. Lady Zemara, last evening’s absentee dinner partner, sat across from him, her chin rested on her cupped hand as she looked at him expectantly.

“Of course not,” Zuko reassured quickly, picking up his tea and gulping down a hefty swallow. Strong and rich in the morning, his uncle’s personal blend for him. The perfect thing when he spent his allotted time for sleep tossing instead of resting. “Please continue with your story.”

Her lips pouted prettily, sheet of inky black hair pulled back in a high phoenix plume to show off the long line of her neck and to emphasize the cut of her jaw. The day’s hanuf a soft coral that laid perfectly against her skin, embroidered with thousands of olive green dragonflies. A summer cold that was making its way though the palace was the cause of her absence yesterday, the only lasting effects of which seemed to be the always-at-hand handkerchief and a slightly red nose.

Dark eyes remained flat as she slipped back into her tale. She was a swordsmith in the Tamahagane style, a delicate blend of functionality and beauty. It was a topic Zuko could normally listen to for hours but his mind refused to focus on the woman in front of him.

Instead it kept turning to the book that had spent the night on his bedside table. Flora and Fauna of the Fire Nation, the economic cover proclaimed . Meant as a field guide for university students it made for a very dry read with only a few accompanying sketches to break up the monotony of the alphabetical listings. Zuko grinned, remembered how intrigued Katara had with the plants in the garden during their walk. Did she fancy herself a hobbyist after just one walk in the gardens? Whatever had drawn the water nation girl to the volume, it now resided in his pocket waiting for the opportunity to be returned.

“You find it amusing that I injured myself?” Zemara broke in hauntly.

Right. He was supposed to be paying attention to the woman breakfasting with him. “I’m impressed that you were able to hone such a sharp edge at so young an age,” he said pulling out pieces of the partially heard story. Her glare said he was not forgiven so he added a more sincere bit of praise to cut the flattery. “Master’s spend years learning such a craft.”

She preened at the complement as she continued, his slight pardoned for the moment.

With a sigh Zuko shoved all thoughts of the blue eyed woman out of his head. With so many backing the Lady Zemara he needed to focus on getting to know her while he had the chance. A forty-five minute breakfast wasn’t ideal to learn the nuances of a potential spouse but it was what he had so he made the best of it, peppering her with questions but hiding them in polite conversation.

The Lady was up to date with current events, not just in the Fire Nation but globally. Able to ask thoughtful questions and make intelligent replies. She wasn’t rude, wasn’t hot tempered and didn’t complain. Besides some obvious jealousy between her siblings when Zuko tried to bring up more personal matter she marked off several of the boxes on his checklist. All in all, she was nearly perfect.

So it irked Zuko that when a servant came to inform them it was time to meet the other Candidate for their group session he let out a sigh of relief. She was beautiful, cultured, and knowledgeable; all things necessary in a Fire Lady. So why was Zuko so repelled by her presence?

“Why do you frown so, Prince Zuko? Have I displeased you?” she asked, voice like honey and smile just as sweet, as he offered his arm to lead her to the meeting area while he tried to sort out his feelings.

“No,” he smoothed out his features. “Thinking of some business I must take care of before the end of the day.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking of business with a woman on your arm,” she teased, laying her head on his arm and looking up at him with her large doe eyes as they walked.

Insight struct like a rocksnake bite.

She was too perfect.

From her beauty, to the repeated emphasis of the Ohisama family’s backing on his rights to rule the Fire Nation, to her flirting now; it was all a deliberately constructed ruse. Her every action calculated to entice him. Her every word weighed to make him want to hear more.

“You’re right, Lady Zemara,” Zuko said, hiding his groundbreaking revelation behind a charming enough smile. Agni, he hated being manipulated. “Please, excuse my bad manners.”

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

The rest of the candidates waited for them in the southern courtyard. They were all making the short trek up to the University District that surrounded the Fire Sage’s Temple of the Mind, the cornerstone of learning in the modern. Scholars from all over the world traveled to study there. It was one of the reasons the palace library was so vast. Students were asked to bring some form of knowledge, be it a book, scroll, or personal research paper, to add to the school. The temple kept the original but the palace got the first distributed copy.

The field guide weighed heavily in his pocket. Zuko clenched his fist, memories tied to why it had been forgotten making his stomach roll. He would return the book and apologize. Except that proved more difficult than anticipated. As they made the journey to the temple when ever he made a move to walk close to the water nation girl another candidates would throw themselves in his path. For her own part Lady Katara kept as much distance between them as wouldn’t be commented on, choosing instead to talk to one of the men in the ring of guards that flanked the party.

As they marched through the main gate, a long figure waited for them on the giant stone steps that led up to the temple proper. Sage Gyatso’s customary long red robe and pointed leather skullcap making him stand in sharp relief against the beige of the monolithic building. There was a quiet grace about that man, who Zuko knew was of a similar age to his deceased grandfather, though the Fire Sage did not look it as the aging Fire Lord had.

Gyayso’s bright eyes looked over the small crowd and they all quieted instantly at his wordless entreaty.

Impressed despite himself, Zuko wondered if the elderly man gave lessons. It would definitely come in handing during council meetings if he could get people to listen to him without having to shout himself horse first.

“My Ladies, Prince Zuko,” the Sage bowed, his voice kind and engaging coming from behind his white mustache. “I am pleased to welcome to the Temple of the Mind. While we go about our tour please keep all sound to a minimum. The temple plays host to students year round and we want to disrupt their concentration as little as possible. If at any time you have a question, please raise your hand and wait until called upon. Also, ask before you touch. Some of the items we store are one of a kind and extremely delicate. When we come to the science wing, this warning because dire. Please head posted safety instruction at all times.” His voice deepened as he eyed everyone seriously before blipping up to his normal cadence with a smile, “now, if you will all follow me inside.”

Skipping up the stairs in the manner of a much younger man, the group quickly surged after him. The way their guide laid out the itinerary, with the possible hint of danger and whimsy, left everyone intrigued to know more.

Before Katara could follow Zuko waylaid her before she could make the steps. The guard she had been talking to early, seeing two of his charges having stopped, paused before going inside. Keeping a respectful distance but a watchful eye.

Zuko pressed the book into her hand. “You forgot this. Yesterday.” With a raised brow she looked down at the item then back up at him. He swallowed. “I wanted to apologize for the way things went last night.” When she just continued to look at him, he fumbled looking for anything to say, not knowing what she was after. “In light of that, I would like to offer you another dinner. With me. Tonight.”

“No.” Tucking the book in her sash she stepped around him making to follow everyone else into the temple.

The guard made to fall into step behind her but seeing the Prince still at the ground level, mouth agape, the man paused to wait for him. He came out of his stupor as soon as the Lady was out of sight, charging up the stairs after her.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Zuko demanded nipping at her heels.

She shot a sour look over her shoulder as she power walked down the halls. “It is a simple enough word, Fire Prince. N-O, no. Noun, a negative answer.”

“What are you reading the dictionary now?” he asked incredulous, one of his steps eating up two of hers.

Katara glared as he fell into line with her. “Some,” she growled putting on a fresh burst of speed to put distance between them when she spied the tail end of their tour group.

Sage Gyatso held the room entranced as he pointed out the towering architecture of the antechamber. “--- blocks were brought all the way from the Great Divide Canyon in the Earth Kingdom back in 17AS. Official complete of the temple was in 93AS but every few decades saw other Fire Lords add their own mark by adding on some small addition or sanctioning repairs that were long overdue.” Seen that the Prince had finally caught up, the guide gestured to him in respect, “Prince Zuko has commissioned an upgrade and expansion to the dormitories that haven't been touched since Fire Lord Kyro’s time.”

There were murmurs of praise that Zuko acknowledged with an awkwardly raised hand and a smile.

Seeing the prince’s shyness the Sage pressed them along coming into an even grander room. “Here we have the Library.”

Zuko had been here countless times but it was still impressive. The central tower rose over a hundred feet in the air. Multi level walkways encircled the area all the way up to the soaring ceiling, hallways branching from each level like spokes from a wagon wheel. Man size windows at roof level let in floods of sunlight at all hours of the day. It had been an architectural achievement when it had been built and even now, four hundred years later, it was awe inspiring.

At the ground level, rows of people sat an angled desks in the middle of the room. The soft scratching of quills and the occasional rustle of paper almost deafening in the hush.

“The Palace boasts a more formal library,” Gyatso nodded deferentially to the prince, his voice soft out of respect for the people busy at work, “but, as this area has the best year round lighting, we also use this area to make copies of books. Students are required to give ten hours a week to community service projects.” His hand wave encompassed the working people, “transcribing is the most popular.

“The books we have here are from all over the world and the first time some of them had ever seen them.” Noticing Katara’s distinct blue eyes in the crowd he nodded at her with a kind smile, “we even have a few water tribe scrolls.” He turned back to the group at large. “If you all want to take a turn about the place, maybe pick out a book or tried your hand at transcribing, please feel free.”

A few of the women broke off in small clusters to go exploring, the rest descended on the prince asking for him for book recommendations or to personal show them around. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw Katara stepped forward to the Sage. One of the students had also seen this as an opportunity to talk to his Master and, with an armful of notes, he intercedes, getting the older man’s input in hushed whispers. As soon as Gyatso noticed her waiting, though, he quieted the young man with a touch on his shoulder and smiled in her direction.

Zuko was too far away to hear what was actually being said but after a few exchanged words he watched as Katara nodded her head in thanks before breaking away, heading for one of the several wrath iron staircases that led to the upper levels. After making his excuses to the several candidates that had congregated around him he slipped away to follow.

There was no way she didn’t know he was behind her. But as she stepped off the landing and into the rows and rows of shelves, the height of which required ten food ladders to reach the top most books, Katara ignored him, keeping her eyes on the little iron markers as they passed. 440, 485, 510.

“Last night, I didn’t mean frightened you,” he finally spoke up when is seemed likely she would continue to pretend he wasn’t there. “That was never my intention.”

“You did not frightened me, Fire Prince,” she said.

“Well, you’re actions state otherwise,” he pointed out, stepping out of her way as she back tracked and slipped into the isle she’d been looking for.

Her long fingered hands skimmed the spines of books and she walked down, eyes racking the titles. He moved to brace her as she stepped upon one of the ladders to get a better vantage on the higher shelves.

He frowned, eyeing his hand on the small of her back. “Was it because I grappled with you?” he asked, thinking back, as she shifting through a tangle of scrolls. “Because I would like to point out that you started it.”

“Like I said,” she half unrolled one of the scrolls, scowled, then rolled it back up before picking out another one, “you did not scare me.”

“Then why don’t you want to have dinner with me?” If he had requested any of the other Candidate to eat with him they would have jumped over themselves to accommodate him, be them fire nation or earth kingdom. Somehow that made it worse that this particular blue eyes woman was rebuffing him at every turn.

“Because once was enough,” she huffed, jumping from the rung in a dexterous manner and gliding down in a swish of blood orange silk, landing with feline grace.

“Lady Katara,” Sage Gyasto said, suddenly looming at the mouth of the isle, interrupting Zuko before he could continue pressing her. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Unfortunately no, Master Gyatso,” she said.

“Then if I may?” The man scurried up the ladder on the opposite side, using the shelves to propel himself half a row down before climbing nearly at the top. Tucking several scrolls under his arm he retracted his route and slid down the wooden rungs to float to the ground. He offered the scrolls to her with a bow. “Here you are, My Lady.”

She accepted in kind. “Thank you.”

Setting them on a partly cleared shelf behind her she unfurled one. “What is this?”

Gyasto peaked over her shoulder. “That would be Foggy Swamp style.”

“Swamp style?” she questioned, fingers tracing the sketch of the bending mannequin.

“Yes, a small hamlet of water benders thrive in the nearly uninhabitable tracked of land in the southwestern range of the Earth Kingdom.

She looked up at the Sage, her blue eyes brilliant. “May I borrow these?”

“Not these ones I’m afraid. They are much too precious to leave the building.” He saw the deep disappointment in the girls eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Zuko had seen it too.

“What if I,” he found himself say, laying a hand on the pile of scrolls, “take possession of them?”

Gyasto wince but bowed to his Prince, “then I would gladly release them into your care. I only asked they be returned in the same condition as they are now.”

Zuko frowned, confused at the strange request. “Of course.”

Katara turned reaching for the scrolls. “Many thanks, Master Gyatso.”

Zuko slid the scrolls away, a beguiling smile on his lips. “You may looked at them after you have dinner with me tonight. Let’s say six?”

She blinked, spine snapping straight, blue eyes going steely. “So you would bribe me with my own people’s knowledge, that you stole from us, to get what you want.” She huffed a disgusted chuckle, shaking her head. “I should have expected it.” Without another word she turned and walked away, leaving him there with a worthless pile of water scrolls.

What was he supposed to do with them now?

“Ah, to be young again.” Zuko turned to the Sage, mouth still half open. Gyasto returned the gaze with a wry smile. “Would you have me return those, Your Highness?”

“I, uh-- No, I’ll still take them. It’s good to learn about the other nations,” he said to save face.

Gyatso nodded sagely. “Then may I suggest ‘The Birth of Tui and La’?”

“I already know that story,” Zuko said.

“You know the Fire Nation version. This,” he pulled a scroll from his sleeve as if by magic, “is the Water Tribe telling.” The old man set it with its brethren. “I think you will find it … enlightening. If you are ready to carry on, your highness?” The Sage asked, gesturing for the Prince to precede him from the shelves.

“Yes, of course,” Zuko said, slipping the scrolls into his front of his robes as they made their way back to the waiting candidates.  

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

Later that evening, Zuko was in his in-room office tackling the ever present pile of paperwork. He had forgotten about his plans with the water nation girl, having thought she had rather pointedly declined, so it was rather shocking when a servant came to inform him of the Lady Katara’s arrival.

The first thing he noticed was that she hadn't changed her hanfu, the copper fans marching up the blood orange fabric being the same one she had worn to the temple. The second was that she stood just inside the door, arms crossed, looking more hesitant then he’d ever seen her.

All that vanished when she saw him walk in though, shoulders going back and chin up.

He bit his lip against a genuine smile when she made no further move to interact.

“I’m glad you decided to come.” He came up beside her and offered his arm. With an eye roll she sidestepped it, going straight for the ground table and plopping herself in the pillow she had occupied once already. He took his own place.

Digging in the satchel at her side she unearthed a slip of paper and slide it across to him.

“What’s this?” he asked picking it up.

“Your uncle’s note.” There was a snide cadence to her words as she laced her fingers atop the burnished wood. “You demanded to see it yesterday.”

It was written neatly in his Uncle’s hand. Asking the Water Nation Candidate, Lady Katara, to take the recently open dining spot and apologies for any inconvenience that abrupt shift would cause.

“I’m sorry for insinuating I didn't believe you.” Disgusted with himself he flipped the page over so he wouldn’t have his faults staring him in the face any more then the woman across from him would supply. “I hope this second meal doesn’t interfere with your schedule.”

“Does it matter?” she snorted. When he made no reply, she glanced up to see his arrested look. Puffing out a sigh she hung her head as if asking for patients. Sitting up she met his eyes. “No, Fire Prince, you did not mess up my schedule.” Her lips pinched as she continued dryly, “if anything you were the better of the two options for my evening. Now, where are the scrolls you promised me?”

Oh, right. “I’ll get them after dinner.”

Her eyes were as sharp as her fanged smile. “I would like them now.”

Feeling like enough of a heel already, he stood and retrieved them. Sliding them across the table as the servants began ferrying in dishes then quietly departing.

Taking up the duty of host again, he poured both their tea. “I would also like to apologize for how my actions came across last night. I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“Do not flatter yourself,” she chuckled, the sound cold and dark as she took up her cup and sipped. “I have far worse things to fear than you.” Setting down the drink she turned her attention to the scrolls she’d just been given.

"Those are bending scrolls. What use are they to you? I thought there were no female benders in the water nation."

"It is true that the North does not train their women, but this is still apart of my history. It is a part that I would like to know more about."

“I would take it as a great honor if you would eat with me.”

“I already told you I do not like your spicy food.”

“The more I think back on it, the more I remembers that it was Arnook that claimed you liked it in the first place. Why would he do that?”

She shrugged eyes still on the scroll in her lap. “Because he could.”

"I see." And he did. It was strange how those three little words, said in just that way, could change Zuko's fundamental understanding of the woman that stat across from him. Changed her from the blue-eyed girl from the north to a person he could relate with. He, too, had spent his life up to a year ago under the rule of someone who believed he had the right to control him.

Carefully spooning out a couple chunks of chicken that was swimming in an almost glowing orange sauce into his napkin. He felt her eyes on him as he diligently blotted off the sauce til the remaining chicken was only slightly tinted. “The chicken is precooked,” he explained as he worked, “and added after the sauce has a chance to thicken, so most of the heat is on the outside. The spiciness does need some getting used to, especially if you are to be able to enjoy some of the delicacies of the nation. But there are many dishes that have reduced heat versions or even some with no spice at all. But there is something that can be done with the rest.” He then transferred the bits to her plate. “It won't be as hot, but it still might be a bit spicy for someone not used to it.” He set a shallow dish of something thick and white next to the plate. “If you dip it here it will cut the heat even further.” She just looked at him. “Go ahead,” he encouraged.

Hesitance clear in her movements, she set aside the scroll and picked up a chunk with her fingers and dunked it in the paste, drowning the small bite. Quickly as if to stop herself from reconsidering she screwed her eyes shut and popped it in her mouth, chewing quickly. Once … twice…

“Oh,” her eyes popped open and she just let the flavors sit on her tongue. The spice was just enough to hint at and added perfectly to the chicken. The white stuff was some kind of milk base, whipped thick and chilled. It was fantastic. She quickly ate another piece.

“Do you like it?” Zuko asked, amused simply by watching her enjoy.

She nodded, mouthing her last piece. She looked at her empty place with something painfully close to longing.  

Smiling he picked up the bowl of saffron rice.

“I had a sister,” he shared as he scooped some the the rice onto her plate and picked up another dish to serve her. “She was thirteen months younger than me.”

Katara paused in shoveling food into her mouth to look at him as if he grew another head. “Yes, I know.”

“Her name was Azula,” he continued, serving himself as well.

“I know,” she said again. “Why are telling me this?”

“Just talking. Giving you information to get to know me in hopes of getting the same in return.”

She looked suspicious. “Why?”

He was at a loss as what to say to that. “It seems like the thing to do.”

Her head tilted to the side. “What if I do not want to get to know you?”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “Then why are you here?”

She raised a brow and picked up the scroll that was in her lap.

"Oh, right," Zuko snorted with a self deprecating smile. "I bribed you."

An awkwardness descended over the table. Katara fiddled with her fork staring at her plate. “Sokko. My brother. Older.”

“There,” Zuko said cutting into his komodo-rhino steak. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

Something in her tone triggered him and he asked softly, “why?”

“Because the fire nation killed him and I’m sitting here eating with its prince.” Each word was punctuated with a controlled stab of her fork as she speared more and more food on its tines. “Is that enough ‘getting to know you’, Fire Prince?” She shoved the full utensil in her mouth as if to keep herself from saying any more.

She wasn’t angry. There was anger in her voice, yes, but it was deeply banked, leaving only deep barely held together sadness in its place. Zuko set his on utensil down and sat back. Her pain made the air hard to breath. “I’m sor--”

“Don’t.” She cautioned very softly, scooping in another bite. “I do not wish to talk about this any more.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, licking dry lips.

They finished the rest of the meal in near total silence.

[thetigarchives]

THE TIG ARCHIVES│BEAUTY│MORE THAN AN ‘OTHER’

“What are you?’ A question I get asked every week of my life, often every day. ‘Well,’ I say, as I begin the verbal dance I know all too well. ‘I’m an actress, a writer, the Editor-in-Chief of my lifestyle brand The Tig, a pretty good cook and a firm believer in handwritten notes.’ A mouthful, yes, but one that paints a pretty solid picture of who I am. But here’s what happens: they smile and nod politely, maybe even chuckle, before getting to their point, ‘Right, but what are you? Where are your parents from?’ I knew it was coming, I always do. While I could say Pennsylvania and Ohio, and continue this proverbial two-step, I instead give them what they’re after: ‘My dad is Caucasian and my mom is African American. I’m half black and half white.’

To describe something as being black and white means it is clearly defined. Yet when your ethnicity is black and white, the dichotomy is not that clear. In fact, it creates a grey area. Being biracial paints a blurred line that is equal parts staggering and illuminating. When I was asked by ELLE to share my story, I’ll be honest, I was scared. It’s easy to talk about which make-up I prefer, my favourite scene I’ve filmed, the rigmarole of ‘a day in the life’ and how much green juice I consume before a requisite Pilates class. And while I have dipped my toes into this on thetig.com, sharing small vignettes of my experiences as a biracial woman, today I am choosing to be braver, to go a bit deeper, and to share a much larger picture of that with you.

It was the late Seventies when my parents met; my dad was a lighting director for a soap opera and my mom was a temp at the studio. I like to think he was drawn to her sweet eyes and her Afro, plus their shared love of antiques. Whatever it was, they married and had me. They moved into a house in The Valley in LA, to a neighbourhood that was leafy and affordable. What it was not, however, was diverse. And there was my mom, caramel in complexion with her light-skinned baby in tow, being asked where my mother was since they assumed she was the nanny.

I was too young at the time to know what it was like for my parents, but I can tell you what it was like for me – how they crafted the world around me to make me feel like I wasn’t different, but special. When I was about seven, I had been fawning over a boxed set of Barbie dolls. It was called The Heart Family and included a mom doll, a dad doll, and two children. This perfect nuclear family was only sold in sets of white dolls or black dolls. I don’t remember coveting one over the other, I just wanted one. On Christmas morning, swathed in glitter-flecked wrapping paper, there I found my Heart Family: a black mom doll, a white dad doll, and a child in each color. My dad had taken the sets apart and customized my family.

Fast-forward to the seventh grade and my parents couldn’t protect me as much as they could when I was younger. There was a mandatory census I had to complete in my English class – you had to check one of the boxes to indicate your ethnicity: white, black, Hispanic or Asian. There I was (my curly hair, my freckled face, my pale skin, my mixed race) looking down at these boxes, not wanting to mess up, but not knowing what to do. You could only choose one, but that would be to choose one parent over the other – and one half of myself over the other. My teacher told me to check the box for Caucasian. ‘Because that’s how you look, Meghan,’ she said. I put down my pen. Not as an act of defiance, but rather a symptom of my confusion. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, to picture the pit-in-her-belly sadness my mother would feel if she were to find out. So, I didn’t tick a box. I left my identity blank – a question mark, an absolute incomplete – much like how I felt.

When I went home that night, I told my dad what had happened. He said the words that have always stayed with me: ‘If that happens again, you draw your own box.’

I never saw my father angry, but in that moment I could see the blotchiness of his skin crawling from pink to red. It made the green of his eyes pop and his brow was weighted at the thought of his daughter being prey to ignorance. Growing up in a homogeneous community in Pennsylvania, the concept of marrying an African-American woman was not on the cards for my dad. But he saw beyond what was put in front of him in that small-sized (and, perhaps, small-minded) town, and he wanted me to see beyond that census placed in front of me. He wanted me to find my own truth.

And I tried. Navigating closed-mindedness to the tune of a dorm mate I met my first week at university who asked if my parents were still together. ‘You said your mom is black and your dad is white, right?’ she said. I smiled meekly, waiting for what could possibly come out of her pursed lips next. ‘And they’re divorced?’ I nodded. ‘Oh, well that makes sense.’ To this day, I still don’t fully understand what she meant by that, but I understood the implication. And I drew back: I was scared to open this Pandora’s box of discrimination, so I sat stifled, swallowing my voice.

I was home in LA on a college break when my mom was called the ‘N’ word. We were leaving a concert and she wasn’t pulling out of a parking space quickly enough for another driver. My skin rushed with heat as I looked to my mom. Her eyes welling with hateful tears, I could only breathe out a whisper of words, so hushed they were barely audible: ‘It’s OK, Mommy.’ I was trying to temper the rage-filled air permeating our small silver Volvo. Los Angeles had been plagued with the racially-charged Rodney King and Reginald Denny cases just years before, when riots had flooded our streets, filling the sky with ash that flaked down like apocalyptic snow; I shared my mom’s heartache, but I wanted us to be safe. We drove home in deafening silence, her chocolate knuckles pale from gripping the wheel so tightly.

It’s either ironic or apropos that in this world of not fitting in, and of harbouring my emotions so tightly under my ethnically nondescript (and not so thick) skin, that I would decide to become an actress. There couldn’t possibly be a more label-driven industry than acting, seeing as every audition comes with a character breakdown: ‘Beautiful, sassy, Latina, 20s’; ‘African American, urban, pretty, early 30s’; ‘Caucasian, blonde, modern girl next door’. Every role has a label; every casting is for something specific. But perhaps it is through this craft that I found my voice.

Being ‘ethnically ambiguous’, as I was pegged in the industry, meant I could audition for virtually any role. Morphing from Latina when I was dressed in red, to African American when in mustard yellow; my closet filled with fashionable frocks to make me look as racially varied as an Eighties Benetton poster. Sadly, it didn’t matter: I wasn’t black enough for the black roles and I wasn’t white enough for the white ones, leaving me somewhere in the middle as the ethnic chameleon who couldn’t book a job.

This is precisely why Suits stole my heart. It’s the Goldilocks of my acting career – where finally I was just right. The series was initially conceived as a dramedy about a NY law firm flanked by two partners, one of whom navigates this glitzy world with his fraudulent degree. Enter Rachel Zane, one of the female leads and the dream girl – beautiful and confident with an encyclopedic knowledge of the law. ‘Dream girl’ in Hollywood terms had always been that quintessential blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty – that was the face that launched a thousand ships, not the mixed one. But the show’s producers weren’t looking for someone mixed, nor someone white or black for that matter. They were simply looking for Rachel. In making a choice like that, the Suits producers helped shift the way pop culture defines beauty. The choices made in these rooms trickle into how viewers see the world, whether they’re aware of it or not. Some households may never have had a black person in their house as a guest, or someone biracial. Well, now there are a lot of us on your TV and in your home with you. And with Suits, specifically, you have Rachel Zane. I couldn’t be prouder of that.

At the end of season two, the producers went a step further and cast the role of Rachel’s father as a dark-skinned African American man, played by the brilliant Wendell Pierce. I remember the tweets when that first episode of the Zane family aired, they ran the gamut from: ‘Why would they make her dad black? She’s not black’ to ‘Ew, she’s black? I used to think she was hot.’ The latter was blocked and reported. The reaction was unexpected, but speaks of the undercurrent of racism that is so prevalent, especially within America. On the heels of the racial unrest in Ferguson and Baltimore, the tensions that have long been percolating under the surface in the US have boiled over in the most deeply saddening way. And as a biracial woman, I watch in horror as both sides of a culture I define as my own become victims of spin in the media, perpetuating stereotypes and reminding us that the States has perhaps only placed bandages over the problems that have never healed at the root.

I, on the other hand, have healed from the base. While my mixed heritage may have created a grey area surrounding my self-identification, keeping me with a foot on both sides of the fence, I have come to embrace that. To say who I am, to share where I’m from, to voice my pride in being a strong, confident mixed-race woman. That when asked to choose my ethnicity in a questionnaire as in my seventh grade class, or these days to check ‘Other’, I simply say: ‘Sorry, world, this is not Lost and I am not one of The Others. I am enough exactly as I am.’

Just as black and white, when mixed, make grey, in many ways that’s what it did to my self-identity: it created a murky area of who I was, a haze around how people connected with me. I was grey. And who wants to be this indifferent color, devoid of depth and stuck in the middle? I certainly didn’t. So you make a choice: continue living your life feeling muddled in this abyss of self-misunderstanding, or you find your identity independent of it. You push for color-blind casting, you draw your own box. You introduce yourself as who you are, not what color your parents happen to be. You cultivate your life with people who don’t lead with ethnic descriptions such as, ‘that black guy Tom’, but rather friends who say: ‘You know? Tom, who works at [blah blah] and dates [fill in the blank] girl.’ You create the identity you want for yourself, just as my ancestors did when they were given their freedom. Because in 1865 (which is so shatteringly recent), when slavery was abolished in the United States, former slaves had to choose a name. A surname, to be exact.

Perhaps the closest thing to connecting me to my ever-complex family tree, my longing to know where I come from, and the commonality that links me to my bloodline, is the choice that my great-great-great grandfather made to start anew. He chose the last name Wisdom. He drew his own box.”

- Written by Meghan Markle for the July 2015 issue of Elle UK

[nalufever]

1,2,5,6,7,13,20,23,30,33,40,50,53 and 54 for the game for writers please! (Happy Holidays as well

Bless you, for sending an ask!

1. Favorite place to write.  I almost always plop myself on the desktop computer for writing. At odd times I make notes on paper or my phone - but for actual flowing words - I need the comfort of a full-size keyboard!

2. Favorite part of writing. LOL Um, reviews. Like a spoiled child, I NEED validation. Not even kidding. Feedback is my lifeblood. ;)

5. 📚 or authors that influenced your style the most.  MMM! I want to wield words like Terry Pratchett,  Douglas Adams, Isaac  Asimov, Piers Anthony, Anne McCaffery!  The mastery of humour, wit, dialogue, and characterization; to this and more I aspire!

6. Favorite character you ever created.  A minor character who grew to have QUITE the impact on the story~ Mary the maid (from Into My Debt). She's got a lot going on. The more I used her to move the story along, the more her personality grew and developed. 

7. Favorite author.  From published works? So hard to choose! I've already mentioned the style influencers - they're my faves to read as well. Gonna add a few fanfic authors here! @impracticaldemon (she’s a good friend and frigging talented) @brokenbookaddict (from the Flash fandom ~ I love her content and masterful storytelling) @soprana-snap (always fab content) @snogfairy (polished and smart) @hidetheremote (smutty and passionate about writing) @petri808 (smutty and fun ^^) @caffeinewitchcraft (incredibly talented and awe-inspiring ~ it’s a good thing I’m a bit buzzed or I’d be too shy to add her to the list) Okay ~ that’s sufficient. Just know that there’s more I could add but for the constraints of time and space.

13. How do you deal with writers block?  Sometimes I switch to another project and sometimes I spend time with a new/old fandom! And lots of times, I give myself permission to come back to a WIP after watching some TV or reading or whatever real life wants me to deal with ~ ;)

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.  Fairy Tail (Natsu's Stars in Lucy's Sky):

"What about what I want?" Lucy couldn't stop her petulant words. "Desire like this is a two-way street." Her legs shifted to try to ease the ache newly awakened. "I have wants just like you do."

"I have every intention of giving you what you need--" Natsu rolled onto his side and threw a leg over Lucy's hip, panting his words, "It's up to you when and where. Keep on pushing and I'll claim you now. I can't resist."

23. Single or multi POV, and why?  Here's where I expose my ignorance. Lots of time I'm just writing and the POV shifts on its own. Most of the time I try to keep it single - but - there are times I fail!! Why? I'm trying to keep it clean/clear so the readers can follow easier.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.  Goodness! Usually something in whatever I posted last! Or if it was from real life ~ or just SPEAKS to me. Okay, that jobs my memory! I'll have to hunt for it. From something ever so old, but, it fits the criteria!! Here we go! 

When Lucy was honest with herself, she knew Natsu was her choice; whether or not he would choose the same, was immaterial. He was the person she wanted and needed to become the happiest person she could be. She would pick him time and time again, no hesitation. Lucy dated less and less the more she understood her feelings for her team mate. It didn't matter to her how well a potential boyfriend seemed suited for her, Lucy was willing to wait - not settle for second best.

Natsu held his own understanding of his needs and wants. He didn't put it into something so pedestrian as words, he had gut feelings that guided his actions. When the slayer needed a snack, he'd head over to Lucy's place. If Natsu wanted someone to play a game, why, Lucy was always first choice. Play a prank? Lucy. Bath? Lucy's tub. Sleep? Lucy's bed. Relax? Lucy's bed with Lucy in it.

Natsu was content to live his life without vocalizing his goals. Lucy didn't need for Natsu to declare her importance to himself; it was enough the truths in their hearts could speak to each other. Days and weeks and months snowballed. The nightmares faded, new memories forged stronger bonds. Waking up limbs entangled, face to face, breaths mingling, it was effortless to close the gap to each other's lips and greet the day smiling.

All right - more than one line - but this, to me, felt like I was summing up their relationship in the best possible way.

33. Do you listen to 🎶 when you’re writing? Often music, anime ops and ends or instrumentals ~ never TV (because I'll stop writing)

40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why?  More fanfic ~ I have a few ideas for original stories - but I'm still 'honing my craft' in the fanfic arena. *shrugs*

50. Weirdest story 💡 you’ve ever had.  I've had a few WEIRD prompts suggested to me (Wendy's ass growing gigantic and making Romeo lose his mind for one) ~ but, the oddest story I've written from my own brain would have to be a very short RWBY fic. I'm confident that It's the weirdest on account I received this comment: 'An interesting concept. Would be fun to watch develop. What sparked this particular crack to form in your mind?'

It's short, so here it is: (A Dance With Fists)

Mercury wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and grinned. "That all you got, little girl?"

Batting her eyelashes, Yang tilted her head as she rubbed her knuckles on the neckline of her shirt. "Funny, I was just about to ask you the same question." Smirking, she raised both hands to inspect her nails. One hand was flesh and the other a cybernetic copy. "Without your little friend to mess with my mind you're gonna have to STEP up your game." Shifting her feet, the blonde added a sly dig, "That's if I didn't damage your fake leg too much already."

"Oi, and here I thought you weren't into manly men." Mercury sniggered, gave Yang a broad wink and a suggestive twist of his lips. "My third leg isn't fake, darling."

"Did you want the truth or something that will make you feel better?"

Mercury rushed Yang, they struggled. Each punch Yang landed was a solid blow, making him smile wider. Mercury savoured the pain; half mesmerized by her golden hair and the fire in her eyes. He was a sick man, he knew that. He couldn't think beyond this moment, grappling with this girl who hated him. Pain was pleasure and he wanted everything Yang could give him.

53. What does writing mean to you?  Writing is a chance for me to reach out and share some of my excitement in a fandom. Validation from reviews - appreciation from favs, follows - it means I get to leave an indelible mark on this world. Something I MADE touched people and can be discovered however later by fans when they search, looking to read about their OTP or fandom. It's immortality.

54. Any writing advice you want to share?  Write! Self-indulgent fics! Clichés! Original works! Talk to your internet friends and support them and they'll return the favour. Read books. Live life and when inspiration strikes - take that idea in a choke-hold and spew word vomit on your page. Take a few days and then edit with a vengeance. Ask your beta for help and listen. Whatever they have an issue with needs adjustment. Maybe the direction they think you ought to move, you don't have to agree with - but the base 'wrongness' is right. Keep working!