#but mostly just for fun and to have a LENGTHY explanation at hand whenever these come up

[niuttuc]

Hydra's Tear

Recently, I've created a magical item for one of my MtG characters, and I tend to spend a lot of time refining unnecessary details for these, so I felt like writing down what I've got on it. Feel free to include it or a variation on it in your own creations. I'll put up the story side of things with the historical model and a short description first, then go into the unnecessary details under a read more.

The Myth:

The legend associated with the Hydra's Tear harkens back to days long past, and long forgotten, on the plane of Theros. It is but one small part of the tale of the Founding of Meletis, the story of the Aesthelith. It is known to only a few yet, woven as it is into the story of Kynaios and Tiro, the Guardians of Meletis.

After defeating the tyrant Agnomakhos at the goddess Ephara's behest, the two lovers founded a city who the goddess would be the patron of. To show their love to each other and devotion, they declared that the first ceremony to be conducted in Ephara's temple in Meletis, as soon as it would be finished, would be the kings' wedding.

Ephara was pleased by their dedication and success and delighted at this announcement. She set forth to find a wedding gift fit for two kings, and for a goddess to grant as well. After giving humans magic to fight in the war against Agnomakhos, she wanted to show the good magic could also bring in peace.

Knowing his skills with magical crafts, Ephara went first to her cousin Purphoros, god of the Forge, with her requests. Purphoros assented to help her, but only if she procured for him the centerpiece of a creation he had in mind, but escaped the grasp of even the god: a tear from a hydra. Cunning Ephara assented, with already a plan to extract it from such a beast.

In Nyx, she found the great hydra Polukranos in its lair hidden in the stars. There, she waited for it to sleep, then started telling him the story of Kynaios and Tiro, of their bravery, but more than anything, of their love. The story was so beautiful that the sleeping hydra wept a single tear. The goddess was swift to claim her prize and return to Purphoros's forge.

In Purphoros's hands, the tear became a gem, and holding it firmly, the god split the green stone in twain. From its halves, Purphoros fashioned two gold brooches to his and Ephara's design. She thanked her cousin, and took the jewelry to the city of Meletis, where a wedding was being arranged.

When the day came, the goddess officiated the wedding herself, and gave to each of the kings one of the brooch. "Behold," she declared, "by my word, you who were two are now one. These are a symbol of your love, and of mine. While a brooch can fasten clothes, these will fasten people together. Like the hydra it hails from, for as long as you keep it against your skin, you will be as two heads of the same body. You shall see what the other sees, hear what the other hears, and feel what the other feels. Never again shall you be alone, in life or in death."

And as she spoke, so it was. Through the magic of the brooches, even when their duty sent one of the kings to a far-off country, they were never alone. Never separated from the other's voice, or touch, for the rest of their lives.

Then, as it does for any mortal, their time came. Tiro died first, and on that day, Meletis wept, and Kynaios grieved. And nowhere on his body could the brooch be found. Ephara had spoken true, and the brooches, created by the gods, were not impeded by death. By the next night, Kynaios smiled once more, hearing his husband's voice, seeing through his eyes the groves of Ilysia, and feeling his touch.

With his husband's counsel, it is said that Kynaios reigned in his last few years with wisdom beyond compare, for he had seen sacred Ilysia, and could through his husband seek advice from heroes past. When his own turn came, he passed with a smile, and once again, his brooch couldn't be found.

Legend tells that they used their magic still that day to find each other in the vast and lush groves of Ilysia. And that they still wore them in the centuries thereafter, their love as strong or stronger as the day of their wedding.

In Practical Terms:

Hydra's tear sensory brooches, or Aestheliths, are pairs of rare magical items that allow the wearer of one to share one of the primary senses of the other, and vice-versa. The main uses are to share hearing, sight and touch, but taste and smell are also possible. Some more nebulous uses might be possible, but if they are, their use isn't as simple. All the current examples known of the items can only share one set of senses back and forth at once.

Having two sets of sensations for one sense is quite disorienting and overwhelming at first. It takes days of training with any one before one can learn to act normally with it active, and weeks or months before being able to make reflexive use of it.

It is entirely voluntary on both ends, and can be used by anyone, even if they cannot wield magic. While the item can be controlled with a hint of magic with thoughts, it can also be set and used by hand. It is done by turning parts of it to select the sense, and pushing lightly on the gem to activate it or accept the activation from the other of the pair. The effect can be interrupted from either end with a directed thought.

Despite being called brooches, these typically sit directly on the body of the user, under any clothes in the way. They don't have traditional pins or clasps, but they stick to one's body magically, and can be moved around their skin easily with a finger to slide it around.

Besides the lack of magic necessary to operate them, they are notable against other forms of magical communication devices because of their incredible reliability. They are almost impossible to disrupt or intercept, instantaneous, and can work even through planar boundaries and other magical limits. On Theros (and probably Kaldheim and other planes with similarly physical afterlives), this includes allowing direct contact between the mortal realm and the Underworld, which is otherwise particularly difficult. Of course, getting it there involves someone dying with one of a pair, and still wanting to contact the person on the other end after their deaths, so that makes exploiting it a bit harder a task.

The Unnecessary Details:

The Gem:

A Hydra's Tear is some form of magical gem. Whether or not it actually originates from hydras and their tears is unknown. It has a rough appearance due to its property to regenerate from its largest fragment when splintered or cut, a dark green lump of irregular shape. As such, extracting it from rock is fairly easy, you can just smash the rock and get the bit that regenerates from there, but further sanding or cutting it into shape is impossible, and each Hydra's Tear will have a unique natural shape.

When cut into two exactly equal pieces, the magic of the stone doesn't regenerate it, it instead acts magically as if the stone was never cut in the first place. This link transcends distance, Realms and Planes, and is almost impossible to disrupt, offering room for interesting enchantments.

However, cutting such a stone exactly in two is an incredibly difficult task, and has only been achieved by Gods or master craftsmiths with a divine favor. Even for those, it has required a lot of trial and error and sometimes days of work. As a result, the following experiment of further cutting the two halves into exact halves (quarters of the full thing) has so far never succeeded. It might not be fully impossible, but since each stone is unique, it would require succeeding in this arduous task twice in a row, and it's impossible to tell whether a failure is due to it being outright impossible or just the result of a minor mistake. The gem is pretty rare in the first place, as are those able to cut it once, so experiments such as those have been few in numbers.

Notably, once a gem is cut in this way, it doesn't lose its regenerating properties, but as far as its magic is concerned, it is still a single gem, so chipping or breaking it doesn't cause the link to fail or anything of the sorts. It simply regenerates whichever half got chipped or broken into its proper half.

The Brooches:

The most common (but still incredibly rare) item created from cut Hydra's Tears are brooches modeled and enchanted after the mythical pair, though not all those that have made them knew the myth. Those are called Aestheliths after the Theran term, or sensory brooches. As was mentioned earlier, they allow the wearer of both brooches to pick a sense they both have, and experience at the same time their end of that sense and the other wearer's. It is disorienting at first.

It does not function when the sense only exists for one of the wearers due to different species, but it does function if one of the wearers has that sense impaired but would otherwise have it, such as with blind or deaf humans, who can see or hear through the other wearer's senses. If both wearer share a sense but differ greatly in its characteristics, such as being able to perceive different wavelengths of light or a much wider sense of smell, it will still function but will be even more disorienting and difficult to parse for both people involved.

They technically can work with any sentient creatures, but are only really practical with sapient ones. Training an animal to wear, activate the brooch and then not immediately panic at the flood of sensations and interrupt the connections has proven beyond the skills of any who have tried it.

With the typical design, as far as manual (non magical) use, a ring of sorts surrounds the gemstone, and can be turned to select a sense, then pushing on the gem sends a "call" to the other wearer that makes them aware of the initiated link, that they can accept with a push of their own end of the gem, or dismiss with a thought. The sense shared is always the same on both ends, and there can only be one shared at a time.

The brooches adhere to skin, but can be slid around freely on there, like a magnet would behave on a large magnetic surface. They are impossible to pry off without removing the skin they're attached to when active, and require quite a bit of effort to remove by a third party even when inactive. The wearer can remove their own with much less effort if they want to. Much like other controls, they can be moved around one's body with a though and a hint of magic channeled at it, if the wearer is able to channel magic.

Here are some notes on stuff to expect with the typical senses.

Sight:

Sight is perhaps the most disorienting of senses to share at first. It helps to acclimate someone to it to start with both people involved keeping their eyes as close to each other as possible, and looking in the same direction. Learning to move your body according to a point of view that is not centered on your own head takes practice, and when that point of view is itself moving, it can lead to nausea at first.

While the brooches allow one to focus on a different part of the other's vision than they are, it doesn't allow one to move the other's eyes, or head. As a result, it can be a confusing and frustrating experience to want to look at something at the edge of the other's vision, when you physically can't turn your head or pivot your eyes to see it better.

Because sight can only be shared on its own, communication is difficult with it while in different locations. Many pairs of wearers eventually develop a code, often based on blinks for humans and similar, for some common actions... Or to switch to hearing for more complex discussions.

Between species with similar sight characteristics, there can be slight differences of color in how the world is perceived, or large ones in the case of some color blindnesses.

Between species with different sight characteristics, the mind of each will eventually adapt to recognize more colors they wouldn't usually perceive, but the process can be slow and headache-inducing.

Some have reported an unusual feeling upon seeing themselves through the eyes of another, likely linked to the fact people usually only see their own face through a mirror, whereas the brooches do not mirror the images they show.

Hearing:

Hearing is possibly the most often shared of the senses with Aestheliths. It allows conversations at any distance or simply seamless eavesdropping.

It is not typically as disorienting to share hearing as sight, though it can be when trying to locate the source of a sound. Your mind will associate the location depending on the position of the ears of the other wearer, not your own. This is even more disorienting when standing in the vicinity of the other wearer, but looking in different directions.

One of the quirks of sharing hearing is that both wearers hear a different voices than they expect for the other (and themselves), but not any other person. Because people hear themselves through not only their hear but the resonance of their own body, the voice they hear for themselves and the voice others hear are different. As a result, when sharing hearing with someone else, one will hear the "internal" voice for the other when they speak, and the "external" voice for themselves as well if they speak anywhere the other can hear. The speech of any third person will be heard the same as normal.

Due to sound moving relatively slowly in air, there can be a slight feeling of echoing when speaking and listening while sharing hearing, particularly as the distance between the two wearers grows larger (but still within range of hearing the same sounds).

When hearing is shared between two species with different hearing ranges, similar to sight, the mind slowly expands to understand sounds beyond the normal reach. But, similarly, those sounds can only be heard through another's ears still.

Touch:

Touch has a lot of unique traits as far as being shared. It goes beyond just being touch and some other characteristics are shared as well. Some elements of proprioception as well: sharing touch involves knowing the position of the other's body and how it feels in many places, though the mind will try to assign that perception of the other person's body to the wrong position in space. This can be changed with trust and training, and a learned pair sharing touch can move around each other without ever getting in one another's way or looking at each other.

While touch will share many physical sensations, be they pressure, temperature and pleasure, it also has a special handling of pain, that is... Othered, in a way other shared sensations through the brooches aren't. When sharing touch, you *know* the pain the other is in, but you don't feel it as your own. This peculiarity of the enchantment is very purposeful, and one of the reasons replicating the enchantment is an intricate and involved process.

Touching the other wearer while sharing the sense of touch with them feels like touching your own body in many ways, since you receive both the feeling of touching and being touched at the same time. A fascinating experience.

Smell and Taste:

Smell and Taste are separate, but I'll address them here together, as they're similar in being more rarely used, and less unique in their handling.

Smell can be very useful if one of the wearers has a much more developed one than the other, such as when a human and a leonin are paired. Similar to sight and hearing, one learns to decode those new signals with time and headaches. Unlike with hearing and sight however, some of those might become recognizable without needing to be sharing smell anymore eventually, as faint but present. It might even allow one to become receptive to pheromones they normally do not notice or react to.

Taste has a bit more to it being shared, like touch, in that you can also get the texture and warmth of what is being tasted through the link. Interestingly, individual preferences also are translated through the shared sense of taste. If something is found delicious by one of the wearers and disgusting by another, how it is experienced by both will depend on who actually eats it, it will feel either disgusting to both or delicious to both.

Other senses:

Beyond the five traditional senses, some might be able to be shared with the brooches, though they might require being able to magically choose the sense to share, as the selector ring doesn't typically cover anything beyond the five main ones (and an standby position to avoid accidental activations.)

Other senses that can be shared this way include magnetoreception (the perception of magnetic fields), thaumasthesia (the perception of magic), vestibular sense (perception of balance and acceleration, generally pretty useless and nausea-inducing to share with another), and more... As a reminder, both wearer need to have the sense, or the potential for it, to be able to share it this way.

There are rumors that one can also share a sense of self through the brooches, in a way that would allow two people to perceive each other's thought processes. While there has been successful activations with this idea, the process is so overwhelming, disturbing and disorienting that everyone that tried it ended the connection after a fraction of a second at most. It is possible something like that could be sustained, but it would take years if not decades of very brief and lengthening contacts to be able to maintain a usable link for any reasonable amount of time. And there are worries that doing so would permanently alter both wearer's personalities and thoughts to match the other closer in the process.

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #16 / #wolkrileweek Prompt #3 (Echo)

Title: Third-Rate Azem

Wordcount: 1288

Spoilers through: Shadowbringers (5.3), Eureka

Alternate Universe: WoL!Fordola

Relationships & Characters: Fordola, Krile (Azem), little bit of implied Krile/Tataru

Summary: After defeating Elidibus and returning from the First, Fordola has some pointed questions for Krile about their shared abilities.

(A follow-up to my previous entry! As with that one, this is a blend of both challenge prompts. Apologies for the sheer lack of context with this AU… I did my best to make it comprehensible, but I’m not sure how well I succeeded. Mostly, I just wanted a chance to write Krile and Fordola bantering again. They’re surprisingly fun together!)

.

When Fordola dumped handfuls of multicolored, constellation-etched crystals onto a table in the Rising Stones, Krile knew her time was up. Until now, she'd managed to keep her ancient memories secret, keep up the facade that nothing about herself had changed. But no longer.

Krile looked down at the mess and took a deep breath. “Tataru, would you be so kind and put tea on for two? I suspect this may be a lengthy conversation.”

“Tea for two, coming right up!" Tataru affirmed cheerfully. "Still, if it's Scion business, I don't suppose I could listen in, could I?"

Krile paused. If she was going to tell Fordola, Tataru deserved an explanation just as much, if not more.

And yet… she’d grown so close to the faithful secretary these past few moons of caring for the Scions. The long hours spent gossiping together in the quiet of the Rising Stones, the delicious meals the other woman always brought her whenever Krile had been at her wits’ end… they had been a lifeline back to normalcy while the rest of Krile’s life had been turned back to front and upside down. 

She would tell Tataru eventually. She would tell all their friends. But she wasn’t ready yet.

“I’m sorry. I would prefer this conversation remain private. It will be somewhat… personal.”

“Oho?” Tataru hummed, clearly intrigued, but then she shrugged. The Scions did much business she could not be privy to, for all sorts of reasons. “Well, suit yourselves!”

Fordola didn’t take her eyes off Krile as the tea arrived, watching her like a hawk even as Tataru bustled between them with the cups and pot. 

The moment the door closed, she launched into her accusation. “These belonged to Elidibus. They’re memory crystals, used to raise up new Ascians. And the crystal you left for me - the one that allowed Ardbert to lend me his strength - it’s no different.” As always, Fordola was exceedingly blunt. "You're an Ascian wearing that girl's skin."

Krile’s eyes widened, but Fordola left her no opening to speak. 

"I don’t want your excuses. I just want to know: was it always you? And if so, then what am I?”

Having said her piece, Fordola sat back to judge Krile’s reaction.

The Lalafell let out a small snort. Then a giggle. Then, unable to stop herself, she devolved into full-on laughter. “By the Twelve, is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”

Fordola sulkily looked away and crossed her arms. “It’s a reasonable conclusion given the evidence.”

“Then let me set your concerns to rest: I am no Ascian.” Krile patted her chest. “‘Tis true that my soul was once part of a whole borne by a citizen of Amaurot. But that is naught worthy of special note. Arenvald, Mikoto… Minfilia and Ryne… save the Resonant, all those who walk in memories are the same. As are many even without the Echo.”

Fordola’s expression remained skeptical. “I don't see Arenvald carrying around magicked rocks. Least none he's ever shown me.”

“I suppose that detail does merit an explanation.” Krile nodded. “Do you recall our investigation of the Isle of Val?”

“Aye. Could hardly forget all the run around just to get in the bloody Arsenal.” But Fordola tilted her head. Curious despite herself.

“I discovered the crystal amongst my grandfather’s papers. A final gambit by Emmeroloth - though how it came to be in her possession, I cannot say. In any case, the magick achieved its purpose.”

Unimaginable suffering. Unending tragedy. The Echo was but a faded remnant. The reality Krile could now remember was so much more visceral. A beloved city, in flames. Friends and family, slaughtered before her eyes or stepping forward to sacrifice their own lives. Their absence scarring wounds deep in the heart that none now had the understanding to heal.

Wounds that were hers, and yet, were not.

“So that’s how it is.” Fordola winced. Their training sessions had done much to improve her control, but the stronger the emotion, the more difficult the Echo was to deny. “You’re like that girl what used to be Loghrif.”

“Gaia?” The name sprung unbidden from the vaults of Krile’s memories, though Fordola had not spoken of her before. “Mitron’s lover?”

Fordola shrugged. “Ryne’s lover, now. Didn’t want her memories, nor Mitron neither. ”

“I see.” Krile blinked. The fragments swimming at the surface of Fordola’s thoughts painted a familiar picture indeed. One of a painful dilemma, a soul torn between its old life and its new. “Indeed, I’ll not deny it. Like her, I was of the Convocation. Mine was the seat of Azem, my duty to travel the star, to come to understand the joys and sorrows of all peoples in all places. Thus was I selected due to the nature of my gift.”

She lifted her head to meet Fordola’s eyes. “Our gift.” 

Then her gaze fell back to the gently steaming cup Tataru had so eagerly prepared for her. “But that duty belongs to an age long since ended. I can no more wield creation magicks nor galavant around the star than you can. Should I attempt to invoke the crystal’s powers myself, I would gamble all of the person I am now for a fraction of the person I had once been. And for every obstacle, every crisis we face, the temptation to use it would only grow stronger.”

“Do not ask me to make that choice,” she pleaded to her reflection in the amber liquid.

Fordola was silent for a good while. Then: “...hypocrite.” she eventually muttered. "So you’re ducking responsibility, meaning it’ll be my soul what gets buggered instead."

Krile raised an eyebrow as she sipped at her tea. "Oh, please. As if you don't enjoy running about and playing a hero in my place.”

“I’m no hero, and we both know it.” The ex-prisoner ran a finger along her collar for emphasis.

“Ah, my mistake.” Krile set her cup down and smiled, the picture of innocence. “I merely address the much-celebrated Warrior of Darkness, I presume?”

"Hmph! A third-rate hero, at best.” But Fordola was flustered at being caught out. From even the faintest brush with her mind, it was obvious how much her experience in the other world had meant to her. “The real Warrior of Light would never have been corrupted by the light. I'm just the unlucky sod the Exarch got when he tried to summon you."

She pushed the pile of crystals across the table, Azem’s included. “And these - I’ve no claim to them.” Then she frowned, her head bowed as she spoke half to herself. “Nor to Ardbert, whatever’s left of the poor bastard.”

Krile laid a gentle hand on Fordola’s arm, but not even a tingle greeted her touch. It appeared her counterpart’s soul was quite content to remain fused.  “You want the chance to make a difference. I want the chance to remain myself.” She picked up the orange crystal, and decisively placed it in front of the Highlander again. “Even should such a thing be possible, I see no reason to attempt to un-spill milk that no one’s crying to see on the floor.”

Fordola slowly closed her fingers over the stone, her mind still a storm of uncertainty.

"Besides..." Krile winked. "Finders keepers. It's well past time the Convocation ceded its seats to a new generation."

The knowledge that Hades would most certainly be furious when at last she joined him in the Aetherial Sea just made the decision all the easier. Perhaps some things about Krile had not changed after all.

And Fordola must have sympathized, because there was the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips as she put the crystal back in her pocket.

[awanderingdeal]

5 times a Tremblay sibling kept a secret and 1 time they did not - Noelle

Hi! So, I was going to write this as a 5+1 one-shot, but each individual story has gotten a bit too lengthy for that. I’m having great fun exploring the Tremblay siblings and their relationships with one another. I hope you enjoy it too!

CW: forced outing and wedding talk. Please message me if you feel like something needs to be added to this list. 

Rating: T

See my masterlist for future and previous chapters!

Thank you to @the-mouse-in-a-jumper and @anderperries  for betaing this!

And last, but most certainly not least, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for the creation of the sweater weather universe and the wonderful OC’s (including the Tremblay siblings) within it.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Keep them covered,” Noelle said, her voice laced with a hint of hesitation. She was confident that Sydney was going to love the dress, it was an exact replica of the one that her sister had drawn in her wedding scrapbook. The problem was in the obtaining of that scrapbook. 

"They are!" Sydney laughed, “When can I see? Am I finally going to find out why you have been holed up in here?” 

Noelle tried to run her fingers through her buzz cut. A nervous habit. She still wasn't used to the short length even 3 weeks after the spontaneous decision. It was now or never. "Okay, you can open them,” she rushed out, squeezing her own eyes shut as she said the words, not wanting to see Sydney's reaction. 

“Wow, Nolly. It’s beautiful.” Sydney gasped. Noelle opened her eyes to see Sydney's hand reaching out to brush against the delicate ivory lace. "It looks just like -" Sydney paused, her eyes narrowing as she whipped her head around to look back at Noelle. Yeah, there was the anger that Noelle had been expecting. "How did you know? I've only - Did you? You couldn't have! That book is in my - What the fuck, Noelle?!" Sydney spat out the words. Noelle wanted to explain but the questions just kept coming. "How could you? I can't believe you'd invade my privacy like this." Sydney's hand finally dropped from where it was inspecting the dress.

"Syd, please. Just let me explain," Noelle begged, "I know I've done some pretty selfish things before, but I promise there's an explanation." 

Sydney raised an eyebrow and Noelle suddenly felt like she was ten years old again, standing beneath their father's steely gaze, explaining their neighbour's broken window.

"Oh, go on then, Noelle. Wriggle yourself out of this one," Sydney scoffed.

"Okay, well," Noelle began. "So, maybe this whole thing didn't start off with the best of intentions. I needed to borrow some money and I still owed you for those concert tickets and I know you keep emergency cash in your keepsake box," she paused, risking a look at her sister. She looked as furious as Noelle expected. Still, it was Sydney, and not Logan, so she was still standing there. "Bear with me, I'm getting to the part where you don't kill me, promise."

"Get there quicker," Sydney ground out. She might have been the most patient of her siblings, but she was still a Tremblay after all. 

"Alright, alright," Noelle flashed her hands in surrender. "I was going to replace the money, I swear. I just needed $100 quickly and I didn't want to ask Papa et Maman again so soon after last time."

"Noelle, I don't see how your ability to drain your allowance in record time gets to you stealing something that was clearly private," Sydney snapped. 

"Well, I was looking for the money when I came across your wedding scrapbook. I'm not going to lie, I started looking through it with the intention of absolutely rinsing you. Wait," Noelle quickly rooted through her purse, finding the black scrapbook, 'The Dream' written in Sydney's precise lettering across it. "Here," Noelle breathed, holding it out. Sydney snatched it, clutching it to her chest. 

"It's just, you always chirped at me for doing things like this growing up, and there you were… Anyway, that doesn't matter now. I was going through it and it became obvious that," Noelle reached out to touch Sydney's arm. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to. We can pretend I never saw."

"Bit fucking late for that now, isn't it Nolly," Sydney's eyes were watering. She never cried. 

Noelle worried at her lip, "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I didn't think. You know I never think."

“So yeah, you established that I was raging lesbian." Sydney pulled away from her, rubbing at her eyes. Noelle winced, both at the words and the obvious wall that Sydney was putting up. They'd worked on their relationship a lot in the past few years and Noelle was afraid she might have ruined it. "Carry on, because I really am struggling to see how this dress came from that."

"Yeah, so I realised...that." Noelle took a deep breath, knowing that she had a limited number of words before she lost Sydney's attention. "And I wanted you to know that I don’t care, that I love you, but you know me, I’m not really the best with words. And then I saw the dress and I knew I could make it...and just...Sydney, please don’t hate me.”

There was a deafening silence as Sydney paced back and forth. It was long and Noelle wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what. She watched as Sydney stopped in front of the mannequin. It seemed like an age before she moved. “I wasn’t ready,” Sydney whispered. “I wasn’t ready and you took that from me. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me but you have. When are you going to learn to think, Noelle?”

Noelle didn’t reply. She couldn’t reply. Not when the words coming out of Sydney’s mouth sounded so much like the ones she had heard a thousand times before from their mother. Her eyes dropped to the floor, feeling like a scolded child. Honestly, she hadn’t thought of how much this could hurt Sydney. Sure, she had been nervous that Sydney would be angry that she had read the scrapbook, but mostly because Sydney liked to pretend she was above that kind of thing. “I’m sorry.”

Noelle heard Sydney turn around and walk the short distance to stand in front of her. “Look at me,” Sydney insisted. Despite the fact that she didn’t want to see the hurt in her sister’s eyes, Noelle followed the instruction, not wanting to annoy her any more than she already had. 

“You can say sorry all you like. It means nothing if you keep doing the same stupid things. You're twenty now, Nolly. You’re going to be playing professionally next year if the scouts have any sense. You can’t keep fucking up,” Sydney lectured.

Noelle squashed the urge to tell Sydney where to get off with her parenting. She didn’t really have the room to complain. “Okay, so you don’t like it. I’ll get rid of it. Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?” 

Sydney gave a small laugh. It was the last thing Noelle had expected. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, it’s perfect.” 

Noelle chanced a smile, “It’s all your design. I didn’t know you could draw like that, honestly.”

“I didn’t draw it,” Sydney said. Noelle noticed her playing with the fleur-de-lis hanging around her neck. She was nervous. “Spoons did.”

It took Noelle a beat to reply, but when she did it was loud, “Wait. Spoons. Spoons as in Spooner? As in Melodie Spooner. As in the Star’s Melodie Spooner. As in your team mate, Melodie Spooner! Wait a minute.” Her eyes locked with Sydney’s, “Did you tell your team before you told us?”  

“No, I haven’t told the team yet.” Sydney sighed. “Not that I would apologise even if I had. I can come out to whoever I want, whenever I want,” she added indignantly. 

“If you haven’t told the team yet…” Noelle began, and then she squealed with excitement. “Holy shit! Is she your girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend? This is so cute!”

Sydney clamped her hand over Noelle’s mouth, “Tell the whole house, why don’t you.”

Noelle stopped bouncing up and down. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just so happy for you. You know I really don’t care that you’re...you know?”

Sydney grimaced as she pulled her hand away from Noelle’s mouth, rubbing the traces of saliva on her shirt. “You are aware that you can say lesbian, right?” 

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Noelle mumbled. “So...you like the dress? Will you wear it to your wedding?”

Sydney rolled her eyes, “A bit premature, don’t you think? And, we already established that I liked the dress. I am still mad at you, by the way. Breathe a word about this to anybody and I will not forgive you. I mean it. No second chances on this one.”

Noelle nodded quickly, pretending to zip her mouth closed, “I won’t tell anybody, I swear.” 

Sydney nodded, and Noelle watched her take in the dress. It was relatively simple: a halter neck with an empire waist that fell to the floor. 

“I did add one small addition, I hope you don’t mind,” Noelle said, manipulating the material of the dress just below the waist. 

“Pockets,” Sydney admired. “Genius.”

“I thought so.” Noelle agreed. She cocked her head. “So, I know you said that you were still mad at me, but can I use this for my final?”

“Don’t push your luck, Nolly.”

[gleekto]

Full Fic: Even Better Than the Real Thing

Words: 18,295 (how did that happen?)

Full fic now on AO3

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

Even Better than the Real Thing (13/13)

They decide to tell Rachel first. Aside from being the obvious choice, she would be a nightmare if she ever found out she was second shrift to anyone in Kurt’s life. He would definitely not be able to handle her moping around the apartment wondering if he even really considered her a friend in the first place - last week he finishes her oat milk, this week, he’s dating her co-star and she’s the last to know. Of course, in this scenario he never had any of her oat milk, and she wouldn’t be the last to know, but regardless, not telling her first certainly wouldn’t be worth the headache.

“So you think we should just let her walk in on us?” They’re still lying half naked in Kurt’s bed hours after their “reunion”, Blaine lying on his front, Kurt on his back, with Blaine’s butt as his pillow. “I mean she should be home in what - 20 minutes?”

“Oh shit,” Kurt looks at his watch. “More like 10. And I think my breakfast dishes are still sitting on the table.”

They scramble to put on clothes, quickly make Kurt’s bed, and Kurt amusedly watches Blaine try to figure out how to arrange his throw pillows, while he finishes cleaning up his dishes. By the time Rachel waltzes in the front door, they’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen island, each with a cup of hot lemon tea, and trying to look casual.

“Hi Kurt. I have had the busiest day. Let me tell you I’m completely exhausted-” Rachel finally looks up and sees them. “Blaine?” Kurt can feel Rachel trying to come up with a way to phrase her obvious question.

“Hey Rachel,” Blaine smirks, amused, but doesn’t offer any explanation. Kurt kicks him under the table. “Ow.”

“So you’re um-” Rachel purses her lips. “Both feeling better now, I take it?”

“Much better,” Blaine smirks again. 

“Okay yes,” Kurt huffs. “We are feeling better and we are,” Kurt motions between Blaine and himself. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Rachel claps her hands excitedly. “This is so great - can you imagine the PR headlines for the show?” Kurt glares at her and she stops. At least for the moment. “I mean, I’m very happy for you. So anyways. You have my blessing.” Kurt laughs out loud.

“Thank you?” Blaine looks at her suspiciously.

“Well, Kurt is my best friend and I do have inside knowledge that you are a good kisser.” Now Blaine laughs out loud. “So may you be blessed with all that goodness.”

“Oh I will be,” Kurt says and Rachel at least looks slightly embarrassed. So he’ll take it as a win.

...

The fun part is telling Mercedes - it’s always so satisfying to have her approval. They FaceTime her.

“You look better,” She notices right away.

“I am,” Kurt beams, Blaine standing behind the computer out of her view. “We talked and-”

“And?” Her eyes go wide.

“And, yeah,” Kurt shakes his head still in a bit of disbelief. We’re seeing what happens.” She squeals in the best way. “And actually,” Kurt smiles even wider, “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” Kurt’s favourite part is watching Mercedes’ jaw drop as Blaine saunters into the frame.

“Hey Mercedes,” He smiles his warm smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And you, Mr. Blaine Anderson.” Mercedes smiles reflexively shaking her head back and forth. “I am just - wow. Hello.” Kurt remembers being starstruck. It feels like a long time ago.

“No need to be so formal,” Blaine dismisses. “Kurt just calls me Mr. Anderson.”

“You wish,” Kurt elbows him in the side.

“And he even has a sense of humour,” Mercedes is still smiling dumbly.

“Well, maybe next time we’re alone,” Blaine whispers so only Kurt can hear and he gets elbowed even harder, Kurt trying to remain casual.

“So we do need to ask you not to mention this - or any of our future hang outs - on your blog,” Kurt adds, half in jest all in earnest. 

Mercedes nods but Blaine chimes in, “Though if you did say that you had a friend who met me, and that I do have a much better sense of style than Colin Red, I would appreciate it.”

“You did get yourself a comedian, Kurt.”

“My style is better,” Blaine huffs.

“And you can mention that ‘your friend’ said the guy Blaine was with was at least a 9/10,” Kurt says.

“You mean a 10?”

“Aren’t you sweet,” Mercedes nods at Kurt, impressed.

“You think I would date a 9? Please. It will all be confirmed when I talk to my publicist, anyways,” Blaine says nonchalantly.

“Your publicist?” Mercedes and Kurt repeat at the same time. Mercedes in shock, Kurt curious.

“Just give me five minutes.”

...

Who is the pretty face having coffee with Sing!’s favorite heartthrob? You asked  and JustJay has the answers. His name is Kurt Hummel and we have got the SCOOP! 

Kurt laughs as he clicks on the link the next morning. Blaine had spoken to his publicist for a total of five minutes and said a sum total of seven words. Kurt Hummel...Dating...19...LAADA...Rachel’s roommate.

Sorry to any of the hopeful fans out there. Blaine Anderson of Sing! and That’s So Rachel fame, officially confirmed that he is off the market. At least for now. He is dating Kurt Hummel - and he’s his co-star’s roommate. Awkward!

But good luck to the happy new couple!

And that’s it. Kurt Hummel is dating Blaine Anderson. And some of the more ‘high end’ entertainment bloggers note that Blaine requests privacy about his personal life at this time. At least that way they can decline couple selfies when a fan sees them out to eat.

...

Kurt isn’t able to see Blaine again until the weekend, thanks to a lengthy  location shoot. He has the week to catch up on his school work, only being mildly distracted by Blaine’s flirty texts - He laughs out loud to his empty apartment when a pic of Blaine shirtless in his trailer, with the top of his boxers showing above his jeans, pops up. 

Blaine: Finally gets to see me shirtless whenever he wants.

What an ego. 

Kurt: Definitely not as often as I want.

Kurt is pretty sure that’s what makes Blaine come right back to Kurt’s apartment with Rachel that Friday, rather than at least dropping his bag off at home first. “First weeks of dating are always the hardest,” Blaine says as he shuts Kurt’s bedroom door and pulls Kurt on top of him and kisses him long and slow. 

Kurt pulls back. “The hardest?”

“Mmmm,” Blaine mouths along his neck. “Very hard not to want to be naked all the time.” Kurt can’t really argue with that. Despite his sense of romance, he definitely does not want to go out right now.  

It doesn’t take them very long to shed their clothes and crawl into Kurt’s bed to wrap around each other. Then it slows down as if in slow motion. The last time they were together was desperate - Kurt was surprised and nervous and unsure of what was happening. Now he’s calm (in a horny sort of way) and he lets Blaine wrap around him as Blaine explores his body - the sensitive spot two inches under his armpit, the strip below his belly, even his balls which Blaine cups in his hands. He moans in appreciation and Blaine likes it. He likes it too.

He lets Blaine finger him open that night while Blaine gives him a blowjob and it doesn’t even feel like a thing. Kurt is on his back and Blaine is sinking up and down on him, wet and slow, slurping in a sort of grotesque satisfaction. Kurt lifts his knees up to see what might happen andBlaine pops off momentarily and stares at Kurt’s open legs, then stares at his eyes as he grabs the lube. When Kurt nods, Blaine sinks back down and touches him so effortlessly that Kurt forgets to be nervous. Light presses turn to one finger, then two. In and out.  So many sensations and then he’s coming in Blaine’s mouth.

There is just something very easy about being with Blaine Anderson.

...

Rachel is the one who convinces them to do the interview. 

They’ve been dating uneventfully for half a year when That’s So Rachel gets renewed for a second season. Other than the occasional photo request or silly headline - Blaine Anderson buys some strawberries while out for a walk with his beau - Kurt feels like he’s having a pretty regular first relationship. They spend several nights a week together, but not every night, they see plays, bake cookies, hang out, have spectacular sex thanks to Blaine’s well honed skills (It’s not my skills, it’s you, Blaine says over and over but Kurt still thinks he’s indulging him). Tumblr seems like a distant memory though Mercedes tells him there is an active RPF fandom writing fics about them  - Klaine, she says. What on earth is a klaine? And he’s still acing all his classes.

Then one day the request comes from good old JustJay, and Rachel is all in.

“It will be such great publicity for our new season,” Rachel insists. “The true love behind the show. Come on, you know it will be fun.”

Kurt definitely does not know that. Neither does Blaine. But they give in mostly because Rachel is pure enthusiasm and what really is the harm? So they find themselves sitting on a little couch in JustJay’s small rented studio, arms crossed on their laps like the little old couples in When Harry Met Sally.

“It’s true. He was a fan,” Blaine confirms. “Of my first TV show, Sing!”

“That’s his false modesty talking. I was a fan of Sing! But mostly, I was a fan of Blaine Anderson - young, out, gay. Not bad looking,” Kurt teases. “But I was Rachel’s friend and roommate long before I knew anything about them working together.”

“It was serendipity,” Blaine squeezes his hand and the camera pans in. Kurt can just imagine the fics that will come out of this.

“It was random luck.”

Blaine continues, “We have a lot in common - growing up gay in Ohio, love of musical theatre. We even both sang in show choirs. I’d never date a fan, though.”

“But,” Kurt continues his sentence. “When we met through Rachel, I was too embarrassed to admit I knew who he was. I was just trying to get through a five minute awkward conversation with my celebrity crush without making  a fool of myself.”

“But I wouldn’t let him go.”

“He wouldn’t let me go.”

And the rest is history.

[darker-soft-starker]

Gold Digger / Sugar Baby Starker AU 

Warnings: some nff mentions, mentioned erectile dysfunction

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

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend.

His laundry list of previous entanglements is by no means lengthy, however it is somewhat selective. The criteria is simple: men with money - lots and lots of money.

Four years ago Peter been desperate. Six weeks behind rent his landlord was threatening to have him evicted, electricity already cut off, he’d dropped out of school to work three jobs. The cost of his aunts cancer treatment was so high even the most dubious loans couldn’t cover them. Everything was beginning to pile up with no way out.

So, in despair, he became an escort.

It was high end and he got lucky. One of his very first clients was a man so wealthy he practically exuded dollars from his pores, dropping a ten thousand dollar tip on Peter on their first night. The man seemed to like him, hiring Peter again and again, dressing him up in designer clothes and taking him to the most exclusive venues. 

Peter would have enjoyed it, had the man not been the scum of the earth.

No matter exorbitant his gifts were it never made up for how bad a man he was. Money couldn’t cover up his drunken racist remarks. Lavish luxury couldn’t excuse how the man looked down on the poor, literally spitting on the homeless as they passed them on the streets.

By the time Peter had cycled through a few rich clients he’d more than covered the cost of his aunts treatment, their rent paid six months in advance. He could even afford to pay off his student loans and move out on his own. He resigned with the escort agency, keen to get his life back on the straight-and-narrow.

Except, he had a taste for it, now. The creature comforts, the luxury cars, the attention. The satisfaction he got from ripping off perverts who hired him because his young face made him seem underage.

The things he had seen made his stomach turn. How was he supposed to go back to a normal life knowing what he knew about Hollywoods seedy underbelly beneath its glistening city lights?

So, he went out looking for them. 

They were all the same. Incredibly privileged men with more money than humanity, morally bankrupt despite their bulging bank accounts. All wanting something young and pretty on their arm and warm in their bed - no matter how much they have to fork out for the illusion of a smitten partner. 

It only ever took a few sweet words, wide eyes and wandering hands to hook them in and drain them dry. 

Once Peter would have his fill he’d sell their secrets to rival companies, then to law enforcement. It was by no means a humanitarian endeavour, but it made him feel good in the same way donating to charity did.

And he looked damn good doing it.

------

Peter had met Tony on a cloudy Monday morning.  

He’d heard all about Tony Starks philandering antics and his acerbic personality and pegged him to be just like the others, just another playboy looking for something to play with.

So he managed to get hired as Tony’s personal assistant, hamming it up as a meek, clumsy newbie. As the weeks progressed, the more flimsy Peters’ outfits became, one too many buttons open on his thin dress shirts, voice soft, eyelashes fluttering as he leaned in close to the man to pass him his coffee or a contract. 

It was the same drawcard he’d used for all the affluent assholes he’d dated prior; whether a high powered lawyer or a CEO, they all seemed to have a weakness for simpering submissive types, those who dropped things too many times, those who played dumb, didn’t engage in intellectual conversation. 

It took Peter an embarrassingly long time to figure out that kind of behaviour didn’t interest Tony for anything more than a one-night stand. 

Sure, he’d caught the end of Tony’s prolonged stares more than once, had noticed the appreciative leers whenever he bent over a table or to pick something up, but it wasn’t enough to truly engage him.

It wasn’t until one day, Peter frustrated and exhausted from a poor nights rest, had spoken back to the man with a scathing remark that Tony had really started to pay attention.

Tony likes bossy. Tony likes being challenged by someone he considers an equal. Once Peter dropped the facade of wide-eyed innocence, proved his smarts and snarked back it was like reeling in all-too-willing fish.

They’d been bantering all day, mostly light-hearted, because apparently that’s flirting, according to Tony and Peter can’t fault him for that. 

Peter had been teasing Tony for hours, all his usual tricks. In the afternoon he’d squeezed behind Tony’s chair and set his hands on the mans shoulders, lightly massaging the tight muscles through his shirt. A treat for all his hard work Peter had simpered, going back to their discussion on quantum field theory.

“I know what you’re doing, you know,” Tony had said, but relaxed into the touch anyway.

“Do you? Is it working, Mr. Stark?” Peter had asked, hands coming down to stroke at Tony’s chest. The man had near purred as Peters hands trailed over his pectorals. 

“It’s definitely working. At least let me take you to dinner first.”

So he did. Peter had been wined and dined that night, followed by the best fuck of his life, riding the man in the backseat of Tony’s car. And the rest was history.

Back then he’d only forecasted the longevity of their relationship to be a few months. A fleeting romance, however long enough for Peter to get into Tony’s wallet and for Tony to show his true colors.

Except, Peter is still waiting, is the thing.

Despite all his expectations and his fevered observations, Tony hasn’t slipped up yet. With the mans combined net worth and reputation, Peter had expected more than one skeleton cluttering his closet, red flags and scandals waiting to be uncovered.

The only secrets Peter finds in two years are the ones Tony whispers into his skin at night, his deepest insecurities and worst memories.

As time drags on Peter is beginning to suspect that maybe he rolled the dice wrong and maybe Tony just isn’t a bad guy.

Not long ago they were in Paris. They’d sat upon their terrace drinking coffee in the morning sun, making up life stories of the people passing below. Tony snorted at a particularly funny one and looked at Peter with such unadulterated affection and said:

“I fucking love you, Peter Parker.”

That was new.

------ 

The guilt is also new to Peter.

It���s not that Peter has never experienced remorse, but he’s not once felt a single modicum of contrition for the men he’s played or the luxurious gifts he took with him.

Peter keeps waiting for Tony to give him a reason to cut him off. Keeps waiting for the incriminating tabloid pictures proving Tony’s infidelity, anticipates some white collar crime to sneak into the newspapers, or like his last boyfriend, a violent temper.

But it’s been two years and Tony has yet to slip up. His interest hasn’t waned, his hands haven’t wandered. Peter would know - he’d set Tony up on three seperate occasions and the man is unfailingly faithful. 

The only thing that has changed is the ever increasing way in which Tony softens for Peter, how the fondness reaches his eyes and is woven into his words.

Tony isn’t Peter’s first wealthy boyfriend, but he has been his longest. The longer their relationship continues it becomes considerably clear that Peter miscalculated terribly. 

Because, despite public opinion, Tony is a good man. A really fucking good man.

Peter is never left wanting for intimacy or possessions, the only absence in his life is misbehaviour. Of course Tony isn’t perfect, he has his vices. He drinks too much, works too hard, loves like it’s going out of style. He spoils Peter and values everything he has to say. It’s the worst.

So, the guilt.

Peter feels lied to. The public, playboy persona of Tony Stark does not align with reality at all. Peter went to Tony for his transactions but Tony ended up giving him his heart instead. 

It was Peter who was supposed to do the ruining, not the other way.

------

Galas were never really Peter’s thing.

There was too much ceremony and exaggerated decorum for it to be any real fun. Any entertainment was usually in the form of a high profile guest tripping over themselves or a rowdy politician overindulging on the free alcohol.

Tonight it was to commemorate some new arts centre. They’d been there for an hour already but it felt like entire night was dripping by in slow-motion, minutes bloated in boredom. 

Peter is sullen, given up playing nice with the socialites and pretending he has anything in common with these people. He just wants to be at home in the jacuzzi, being hand-fed caviar and truffles. Is that honestly so much to ask?

As he’s about to suggest as such to Tony, a hand touches his wrist to get his attention. 

He frowns, looking over as some guy gestures to him, eyeing him up and down.

“How much?”

Tony’s arm around his waist keeps him upright as he politely removes his arm from the strange mans grasp.

“Excuse me?”

The man, short, stout and wielding a fat cigar between his fingers like a weapon, points at the diamond encrusted necklace dangling from Peters neck. The pendant, a large bejewelled spider, rests heavily against his sternum, hung by a solid gold plated chain.

“My niece loves the creepy fuckers,” the guy says by way of explanation, smoothing his tie down upon approach. “Got a thing for them. Has her own pet tarantula, can you believe?”

The arm around Peters waist tightens.

“It was custom made,” Tony supplies, pressing a kiss to Peters cheek whilst squeezing his hip. “Just for Peter. Cartier were generous enough to make it for our anniversary.”

Peter smiles at the mention, looks every bit the doting boyfriend as he leans into Tony further, winding his arm around the older mans waist. The man never fails to exude an effortless, old-school debonair charm, the satin lapels of his tuxedo reflecting the lowlight of the chandelier glow.

The stranger nods, chest hitching with a laugh. 

“Anniversary, huh? Well, congratulations,” he commends, nudging Tony with his elbow. “How long? Six weeks? Six days?”

“Two years,” Peter says, voice hardening. 

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” Tony adds, flagging down a waiter and scooping two flutes of champagne from the tray. “Do you know this guy, baby?”

“Nope,” Peter replies, accepting a glass from Tony with his free hand, toasting their glasses together with a clink. “No idea. I think he works here?”

“Does your manager let you mingle with staff?” Tony adds. “Isn’t that so adorable, honey?”

“So adorable,” Peter agrees, smiling at his lover. 

He enjoys watching the scowl form, the flustered, sheepish twitch of the mans lips as he struggles to find something to say.

“Excuse me,” is all the man says, turning on the spot and disappearing into a crowd of haute couture.

Tony lets go of his waist to turn further into Peter, hand coming up to trace the delicate chain up to the bump of his collarbone. It really is an exquisite piece, Peter concedes as Tony’s fingers grip the pendant, using it to pull Peter closer.

Peter goes willingly, flushing their bodies together. He slips both of his hands onto Tony’s hips, wondering if he could get away with snaking them into the mans back pockets, if he could squeeze Tony’s ass in public view. There’s something arousing about being crass in a formal setting like this, surrounded by Los Angeles’ elite and foregoing all of their staged propriety.

Tony must sense the intent because his gaze surrenders to Peter’s, leaning in to place a placating kiss on the corner of Peter’s mouth.

“Tony, Tony,” comes the chiding tone of Obadiah Stane. “What have I said about being indecent in public?”

“To only do it if I’m getting paid for it?” Tony quips, but loosens his grip on Peter nonetheless to shake his hand with his associate. 

Obadiah gestures to Tony with the hand that holds a glass of whiskey, speaking to Peter. “Think’s he’s a wise guy, doesn’t he?”

Peter smiles demurely, hand coming to rest on the back of Tonys neck. He knows better than to think that the man actually wants to hear his opinion on the matter.

“And, please remind me, which of us graduated college at seventeen?” Tony retorts not unkindly. “I think I’m absolutely qualified considered to call myself wise, wouldn’t you say Pete?”

It’s not Peter’s function to be funny in this play, so he swallows the already formed quips and nods, fingers stroking at Tony’s hairline as he pastes a wide smile on his face. 

Tony tugs playfully on Peters pendant, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. “Why don’t you get us some more drinks, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

Glancing between the two men, Peter agrees, letting his fingers brush the back of his neck as he walks away.

It’s not the first time Tony has tried to shield business from him, won’t be the last. In the early days Tony would rave ad nauseam about his company, all the tech being developed, conjoined at the hip to his office. He’s been quiet about it, lately. 

Peter doesn’t know what that means and reminds himself that he shouldn’t actually care. He’s done nothing to earn Tony’s trust, after all. 

When he reaches the bar he orders himself a vintage wine, sipping it as he cooly observes the room. 

The elite. The upper echelons of society. Or so they call themselves, as if they aren’t just every bit animal as Peter, if not more. As if the room isn’t full of criminals and adulterers, their wealth built on the exploitation over the lower ninety-ninth percent of the rest of the world. 

While Tony talks shop Peter leans against the edge of the bar, sipping, observing. He spots Pepper Potts in the distance and raises his glass to her when she nods to him. 

She doesn’t make much effort to hide how little she thinks of him, which is a shame, Peter thinks. He is ever so grateful for her hiring him as Tony’s PA those two years ago. 

If she hadn’t taken a look at his heavily falsified resume and considered him a shoo-in then where would he be right now? Probably on the arm of some lower level wall-street rat, which would be comfortable, but not where he wants to be.

It doesn’t take Tony long to finish, clapping Stane on the back and ambling over to the bar. He takes in the curved line of Peter’s inelegant slouch with unashamed appreciation, loafers skipping with a squeak against the polished floorboards as his step falters.

“That just for you?” Tony asks, nodding towards his half drunk wine. “You ready to go home, doll?”

Peter tucks his elbow into his chest, protectively clutching the glass closer to him. “Mhmm,” he hums agreeably, taking a large sip and downing the rest, watching Tony watching him. Once drained Tony offers his arm.

Depositing the empty glass on the glass counter with a clink Peter takes his arm, rolling his eyes at their antics, grinning nonetheless. 

They wave to various dignitaries, trust fund babies and political hopefuls as they make their departure, promising nebulous future appointments and catch ups, none of which will happen, but they all like to pretend. 

Outside in the cool fall air Tony pulls a stack from his back pocket, depositing it into the hand of the nearest valet. The woman scurries off to retrieve their car as soon as the notes nestle into her palm.

A sleek sports car, a model that Peter has never seen, pulls up while they wait, a woman covered in silk slipping inside. Tony whistles at the seamless lines, the near silent growl of the engine as it takes off into an opportune gap of traffic.

“I want one,” Peter says, transfixed at the gleaming paintwork. He turns to Tony and tugs on his tie. “In rose gold.”

“In rose gold,” Tony echoes softly into the night air, rolling his eyes. Peter can already see him mentally pulling out his checkbook as he smooths his tie down. “Anything else, baby?”

Peter only smiles as the Audi pulls up, slipping into the far end of the backseat and pulling along with him. He still has an ounce of refinement from his aunts lessons in him, so he waits until they have left the parking lot to sink to the car floor inbetween Tonys knees. 

This isn’t a hardship for him at all. In fact, having sex with Tony is his favorite past time.

With practised movement he slithers his hands up Tony’s thighs, spreading them apart. Their driver turns up the music as Tony’s zipper slides down.

Tony is predictably soft when Peter pulls him out, lazily fondling his length, Tony’s eyes getting progressively hazier as his cock gets stiffer. Peter enjoys laving the head with kitten licks, Tony’s soft groan as he licks his way from the base back up before taking the entire head into his mouth. 

It takes a while for Tony to get fully hard. Peter knows he’s insecure about it but it makes their age gap more apparent - and incredibly arousing.

Seated like a king upon his throne Tony hums in satisfaction, gently brushing his knuckles against the high crest of Peters cheek.

“So good at that, darling. Want to push your pretty head down and fuck your mouth.”

Peter groans affirmatively around the flesh in his mouth, encouraging Tony to do just that as he reaches for the older mans hand. 

“God, I love you,” Tony breaths, gently thrusting up.

Peter’s glad his mouth is occupied with Tony’s cock so he doesn’t have to reply.

------

When they get home after the gala Peter has worked Tony up enough to get thoroughly fucked against the windows of their bedroom, come shooting all over the glass. They shower and stumble into bed shortly thereafter. 

Under the sheets Tony curls into Peter, placing a sleepy kiss on his bare sternum, the warm exhalations from the mans nose tickling his skin. 

It’s not until Tony falls asleep that Peter allows himself to return it, pressing his lips into the older mans hair and sighing into the greying strands. Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.

There’s a slimy feeling all over his skin. Tony loves him. Tony is good and he loves Peter. Peter, who came into this relationship because he thought the man was made of too much stone to bleed. 

Somehow under all of the glamour and supposed moral superiority he’s become the very type of snake he’s been trying to ruin these last years.

He’s been a fool for staying this long, allowing himself to grow fond. Peering down at Tony’s vulnerable form, Peter knows he shouldn’t stay. Can’t stay. Better late than never to do the right thing, isn’t it?

Tony deserves better.

------

It’s for the best, he tells himself.

Sad, but resolute, starts pulling away. He surreptitiously packs his things, stays longer and longer at their Beverley Hills apartment until Tony begins to notice his prolonged absence. 

One night they are having dinner out at some high-end restaurant, Tony preoccupied on his phone. It’s happening more and more lately. Once there was a time where the man would determinedly dedicate the entire night to making Peter see stars without touching his phone once.

Maybe he’s losing interest in Peter after all. 

The thought shouldn’t make his chest hurt.

“Sorry about that, baby,” Tony says as he hangs up, reaching over to take Peters hand.

“Work comes first,” Peter appeases, squeezing Tonys fingers before pulling away to re-arrange his napkin.

Tony looks at him, eyes searching for just a moment. 

“You come first, Pete. You mean everything to me, you know that right?”

Peter nods, throat tightening up. He offers Tony a smile he knows must look flimsy and sips his wine to avoid saying something stupid.

“Me and Obie are working on something, baby. Something big. I know I haven’t been around much, but trust me when I say it’s going to be worth it.”

The hopeful, earnest smile on Tony’s face makes Peter feel like the worst person in the world.

However fine their food is, all Peter tastes is guilt.

------

It takes a few weeks but he makes his arrangements. 

Every day spent apart feels like a sandpaper scrub to his heart, leaving him raw and aching. When they’re together Peter hides his the wet pinprick of his eyes until Tony isn’t looking, only allows Tony to take him from behind so in his head he can call it fucking instead of love-making.

Tony Stark loves hard. It isn’t fair of Peter to take advantage of that anymore. 

So he picks fights. Begins acting like the vapid airhead he pretended to be when they first met. He spends less time in their bed and watches as Tony looks at him with increasing sadness.

Peter wants to be the type of guy that Tony deserves, but he isn’t. He might not have much money of his own but the one thing he can give Tony is the opportunity to be with someone who didn’t use him.

Turns out it’s Peter that’s just like the others, after all.

------

More and more time is spent at their alternative apartment, then May’s apartment. He tries to figure out what his life is supposed to look like, after. The sadness is distracting, but it doesn’t have any right being there.

He scrolls through endless online job listings, but ultimately his efforts are fruitless.

How is he supposed to explain the gaping gap years on his resume? What are his applicable skills? Being a money hungry sugar baby?

Not only that, but Tony Stark is nothing but high profile. Over the last two years Peter has been in countless pap photos, endless grainy TMZ clips. How is he supposed to go back to a regular life when he’s had articles written about his relationship?

It makes him frustrated and depressed. It makes him miss Tony who best waved away all Peters worries with a kiss and stream of distracting words.

He tries to stay away.

The need to be in Tony’s arms again wins over his moral crusade.

-----

On a midday venture back to the the mansion in Malibu, Peter intends to only be there a little while. Maybe have lunch with his - with Tony. 

He thinks he really should pick up the last of his belongings until he stops dead in the living room, color draining out of his face as he spots the older man.

“Tony?” he slowly approaches, hovering by the sofa. “You okay?”

Tony sits hunched over upon the sofa, head buried into his hands.

“S’all gone,” Tony whispers, burying his face deeper into his palms. 

“What do you mean,” Peter asks cautiously, moving closer and sinking to his knees to kneel between Tony’s legs, loosely clutching at the mans wrists. “What’s gone, babe?”

Tony gestures vaguely to everything around them, lifting his face from his hands long enough to indicate at their surroundings. His hands shake as they are brought back to his mouth, eyes red.

“You. Them.”

Peter shakes his head, guilt coming at him for a whole different reason. “I don’t --”

“They voted me out,” Tony interrupts, voice hoarse. “I put everything we own into this new deal. It was gonna earn us billions, baby - and when they accepted the board voted me out - he fucking framed me --”

“Ssh, hey,” Peter soothes, leaning inwards to press a kiss to Tony’s jaw. “It’s okay, Tony - “

“After this deal I have nothing,” Tony shakes his head, refusing to meet Peters eyes. “I threw all our chips in knowing it was a good bet. Fucking Stane, I swear to god I’m --”

Tony runs out of steam, his head hanging low, the defeat making the man look smaller. Shame and fear roll off of Tony in waves, his hands visibly shaking, chest hitching.

Something in Peter snaps and he lets go.

“I know I don’t tell you this enough,” Peters voice cracks, “but I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“I’m losing you too,” Tony whispers, wrecked. “I can see it. You don’t want me anymore, and why would you? I have nothing to offer you.”

Peter shakes his head, peppering kisses over the glistening tear trails on the mans face, resolve solidifying. It breaks his heart to see Tony like this - how could he ever think of leaving him - the only thing Tony ever wanted from him was unconditional and free.

He may not be what Tony deserves but Peter has always been selfish.

“I’ve lost everything, baby. I’m nothing.”

Peter shuffles closer on his knees, tilting his head down to capture Tony’s red-rimmed gaze.

“You’re everything. I don’t care if you don’t have a single penny. I want to be with you, okay? You’re my Tony.”

Tony smiles wetly. “And you’re my Peter. You’ll stay with me?”

Peter nods, kissing him sweetly, an idea forming into his mind as his anger grows towards Tony’s former associate. The fucking nerve of anyone knowing the real Tony Stark and wanting to hurt him sets his cells ablaze. There’s one way to right this wrong, to prove himself.

"If you’ll have me - and... if you want, I’m going to help you.”

Tony blinks, expression going serious. “What do you mean?”

Peter grins wryly. 

“Let’s just say I know a thing or two about getting into someones skin. Stane won’t see me coming.”

[beca-mitchell]

even when my body blows away, my soul will stay (1/1)

Summary: Four days in NYC away from her very pregnant girlfriend feels like a lifetime. But at least Beca has the cutest travel buddy ever—her two-year-old baby.

Word count: 4,539

Notes: Title from Ingrid Michaelson’s “Home”. I don’t really know what this is...just go with it. For @asimplefavors. This is a bit into the future (obviously) of this universe and subsequently reveals a lot more about Beca and Chloe's relationship and where it is. 

Hope you enjoy and sorry this isn't smutty.

Read below or on AO3.

* * * * * 

Age: 31/32 New York, New York February

 * * * * *

Emma trots in front of Beca, just a step or two ahead, happily wielding her miniature purse like she knows exactly how to pose for cameras already. Beca tilts her head with a smile, wondering just when Emma grew up so quickly right before her eyes.

As always when she thinks about Emma, she thinks about Chloe, back home in their Los Angeles villa...and, of course, their newest family member who is well on her way.

She thinks of Chloe’s decidedly grumpy face as Beca and Emma left just yesterday morning, but Chloe is simply too pregnant to travel and Beca’s press obligations for her voice-acting role in an upcoming animated film seemed like a good opportunity to get Emma out of the house. Also, some much-needed one-on-one time and a break for Chloe and her seemingly endless patience for Emma’s incessant demands as to when her (Emma had somehow taken a liking to referring to their incoming family member as her own baby, which despite Beca and Chloe’s endless efforts ) baby would be ready to play. Or whether Chloe would let her balance her blocks on her stomach again.

Still, Beca misses Chloe terribly and more than ever, wishes she were back on the west coast cuddling with the love of her life in their comfortable home. She winces as the sound of cars rushing all around them and quickly reaches out to hold Emma’s hand.

“Stay close to me,” Beca instructs when she sees the paparazzi ahead of them, already snapping photos. They seem docile for the moment, only occasionally shouting out questions. Beca somewhat recognizes their faces as regulars whenever she comes to New York. She only hopes that they keep their voices low and their words appropriate as to not startle or scare Emma.

Not that it seems like Emma is paying them any mind. Beca’s grin grows again when she notes how big of a fucking ham her kid is, playing it up for the camera. She just knows Emma got that from Chloe, somehow. All that confidence and taking everything in stride. It had taken Beca years before getting used to the entire atmosphere of being famous and most days she’s still not used to it. She’s not quite sure how she feels about Emma adapting so easily to all of this, but for now she’s just happy that Emma is content.

She makes a mental note to tell Chloe about it and maybe perhaps even break their code about looking at paparazzi photos because she’s pretty damn sure that the fact that Emma’s jacket matches her own jacket is something that might be so ridiculously cute that Chloe will demand they print a few copies. Beca makes an additional mental note to thank her stylist for pulling strings and getting almost an exact miniature replica of the designer suit jacket Beca has on. It looks adorable on Emma and Beca isn’t afraid to say it.

“We say hello?” Emma asks, slowing to a stroll as they near the wall of people waiting for Beca just at the entrance to the building.

“Not today, Em. Maybe one or two, but mama has to go inside really quickly, okay?”

Emma smiles at her. “Okay, mama.”

Beca smiles back before bending down to pick Emma up quickly. “Don’t look at the lights, baby.”

Emma tucks her head against Beca’s shoulder in a brief show of shyness before she nods. “Okay, mama,” she repeats like the absolute angel she is.

It turns out that her daughter is a bit of a trickster too because the moment they get close enough for somebody to fire off a question, Emma’s head immediately pops up and she responds animatedly as if Beca’s words had no meaning whatsoever.

“Beca! Beca—what’s next on the agenda for you?”

“Is Chloe with you? Is she supposed to be travelling?”

“Beca, how’s the wife?”

Beca chuckles at that particular question without responding. She knows it is something that is purposefully brought up time and time again simply because the world refuses to let go of the fascination surrounding her and Chloe’s decision to not get married before having Emma. She supposes now with a second child on the way, the rumour mill is exceptionally full and just desperate in its desire to unleash something particularly spiteful.

“No comment,” Beca says at large, smiling apologetically at the one fan who managed to sneak her way into the throng of paparazzi. She would stop but with her arms full of precious cargo, she doesn’t feel like risking a potential injury, especially for Emma with all the heavy equipment around.

Emma grins at the closest reporter before she begins to wave, cheerily saying, “Hello!” and “Bye-bye!” like she is absolutely a pro at delivering soundbites. Then, to Beca’s horror, Emma says, “butter on mommy!” with absolutely no context because she’s, well, two, but Beca’s face heats up immediately, already envisioning future headlines. Beca Mitchell—butter kink? It is possibly still the cutest thing ever however because Emma says it with such determination, but because of her tiny high-pitched voice, it comes out sounding 100 times less incriminating than if Beca had said something like that herself.

To be fair, Emma is referring to how she has recently been allowed to help Chloe apply body butter to her growing stomach. Unfortunately that is not easily contextualized. Still, Beca hastens to correct that before it gets back to Chloe who probably won’t be too happy with that characterization. “She means, like, lotion,” she explains hastily before pulling open the door and darting inside, still unsure if that was a better explanation at all. She chuckles at Emma’s bewildered expression upon not being able to talk with her ‘friends’. “Told you we had to be quick.”

The security guard gestures towards the elevators. “Right this way, Ms. Mitchell.”

Beca pauses in her blatant adoration of her child and slips on her professional mask. “Right, thank you.”

“Mama work?” Emma asks as they enter an elevator. Then, sadly, “Mama bye-bye?”

“Yeah, just for a bit,” Beca says, reaching up to brush at Emma’s hair. “But you can play with Julia,” she says excitedly, referring to her publicist who somehow manages to hold lengthy conversations with her toddler. It is a skill that few adults seem to be able to achieve with Emma, outside of Beca and Chloe.

“Juwia,” Emma repeats.

“Julia,” Beca attempts to correct even though she thinks Emma’s speech is the cutest ever. She wouldn’t be opposed to hearing those little blips and the sound of tiny voice for a little while longer.

“Juwia.”

“Okay,” Beca laughs.

Emma laughs back like she’s sharing a secret joke with Beca, reaching up to touch Beca’s cheek tenderly before she sighs and rests her head against Beca’s shoulder. Before Beca can do something totally embarrassing like take a million selfies just to send to Chloe, the elevator dings open and Beca mourns the loss of their little bubble being burst as light floods into the small space. Before she knows it, she is already being ushered off into the little green room where she’s meant to get ready with her team.

Emma giggles delightedly upon seeing Hannah who immediately squeals in return and drops her make-up bag on the closest chair and reaches out to pull Emma in for a kiss and a hug. Beca should be concerned at how easily her kid willingly just goes to other people, but she warms at the sight of a group of people she trusts interact so freely and wonderfully with her baby.

And another one on the way soon, Beca’s mind reminds her as if she had somehow forgotten.

“Missing the wife?” Hannah asks knowingly once Emma scurries off to find Jill who is likely hanging up a few of Beca’s clothing choices. She smirks at the way Beca bristles.

“The wife,” Beca says with emphasis and an eye-roll. “Is, unfortunately, a bit too pregnant to fly without me popping an aneurysm on the flight. So she’s at home. And yes, yes, I am missing Chloe, but Emma and I have some time, which is nice.” Beca shrugs, trying to play off exactly how much she misses her girlfriend and tries to get back into the professional mindset.

“Jill has a couple fun outfits for you,” Hannah announces, deftly changing the subject. She hums and reaches out to examine Beca’s hair. “Both of you in case your mini-me wants to match again.”

Beca is secretly excited at the prospect of matching with Emma, mostly because she knows Chloe is going to love it (and likely cry over it, but Beca knows how to soothe her at this point). Outwardly, she simply tries not to smile too much as Hannah begins to fiddle with her make-up and guide Beca over to the miniature sink so she can first wash her face. Beca sighs, knowing that she has to get this over with. She lets the sound of Emma’s delighted screams in the distance soothe her.

  * * * * *

 “Hey,” Beca murmurs, settling on the couch quietly when she has a moment to spare. Chloe’s voicemail had been a disappointment, but she can’t blame Chloe for taking the opportunity to sleep in without a rambunctious two-and-a-half-year-old in the house. “I guess you’re still sleeping, but I just wanted to call to say I love you and I miss you...and Emma can’t shut up about you. We’re basically falling apart without you, hope you’re happy.”

“Mommy?” Emma chimes in from Beca’s immediate left. She reaches for the phone and peers at the screen confusedly as if expecting Chloe’s face to be there. “Mommy,” she repeats, looking up at Beca.

“Mommy’s sleeping so I’m leaving a message for her before I go to work,” Beca explains. Emma is accustomed to FaceTime and seeing Beca or Chloe’s faces on the small screen. “Want to tell mommy you love her?”

“Kisses!” Emma exclaims before planting a huge kiss right on Beca’s phone screen. Beca winces at the amount of spit that ends up on the screen and makes a note to teach Emma how to kiss with her mouth closed. “Kisses for mommy,” Emma declares before handing the phone back to Beca with no small measure of pride.

Emma darts off again, endlessly entertained. Beca wipes the screen hastily before pressing the phone back to her ear.

“Okay, Emma says she loves you and she basically just licked my phone screen to do so...hope you’re happy, Chlo.” Beca chuckles, her heart clenching unexpectedly when there is no Chloe to respond in kind. She misses Chloe so much already and they’ve only been away for a day. “I miss you,” she says again. “Hope you and baby are doing okay. I’ll call you later. And if you’re bored without us, don’t clean the whole fucking house,” Beca instructs, making sure to lower her voice in case Emma is nearby again. “Just chill out, okay? Okay,” she repeats, mostly to herself because it’s weird not hearing Chloe’s voice agreeing with her or bantering back and forth with her. “Bye, gotta go.”

Tapping off the call, Beca sighs. She rests her phone on her lap and closes her eyes for a moment.

A throat is cleared. “Are you ready?”

She opens her eyes and clicks her phone open so she can just take in the photo she has as her lockscreen: Chloe and Emma and herself all at Santa Monica Pier. If Beca takes a moment, she can remember exactly how the sun had felt against her skin; how tightly Emma had gripped her hand as Chloe and her had swung their baby around, walking up and down the pier; she can feel the gentle press of Chloe’s lips against her cheek just after this photo was taken, cold like the ice cream she had just finished.

She can see it all—the endless miles of past memories and future memories—and she feels so incredibly lucky to share it with the love of her life.

She just has to make it through these next few days and she can return home and their family can be together again. The separation anxiety is likely only raring its head in such a horrible way this time around because Chloe is so close to her due date and Beca is feeling exceptionally protective and anxious. That much she knows. But she really, truly hates being apart from her family at all. She didn’t expect the day to drag on so long...and it is still technically morning.

She gazes at the photo again, hearing the echo of Chloe’s laugh in her ear.

“Yeah,” Beca finally says. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

 The next two hours of press junket interviews drag on, but Beca wills herself to keep a smile plastered on her face throughout the entirety of the time period, lest her publicist chide her for being too overtly wry or grim for a children’s movie. Beca pretty much is only doing this for her own kids (kids! plural!) because she wants cool mom points and it seems like doing voice work for major animated movies is the way to go.

Also, singing.

She is mulling over an interview opportunity that had just been suggested to her when she finally hears the sound of Emma’s giggling from behind the door.

“Ugh, finally,” Beca drawls out loudly as to announce her presence to her giggling child. She pulls her hair free from the loose up-do she had, shaking it out as she enters the green room only for Emma to dart out to greet her instead. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Apple,” Emma says, holding the banana up for Beca to look at.

“Banana,” Beca corrects.

“Apple,” Emma insists before giggling at Beca’s inability to recognize the fruit in her hand. Beca reaches for her and she screams, darting off. Beca makes a mental note to ask if Julia had slipped some alcohol or sugar to her kid because what the hell? Beca shakes her head, pulling out her phone to dial Chloe’s number while she has down time before her next round of interviews.

Chloe picks up just as Beca is totally prepared to leave another message. “Finally,” Chloe complains jokingly. “Thought you’d never call me back.”

“Chlo, hi,” Beca says breathlessly as she chases after Emma who is rushing at a surprisingly fast pace down the hall. She offers an apologetic smile at one of her costars who looks entirely too amused at Beca power-walking down the hall in heels. “Your kid is literally running away from me right now.”

Chloe’s laugh is like music. “My kid now? Pretty sure she came out of you.”

“Shut up, she’s yours when she’s crazy fast.”

Chloe sighs like she is reclining comfortably on their bed. Beca is immediately envious. “Hmm, pretty sure you were the one on the track team, babe.”

“Hey, one of the outlets had a fun idea for an interview,” Beca says, finally catching up with her baby. “What would you say to letting me and Emma do a little interview? It’d be like a behind the scenes bonus video for YouTube. Julia thinks it’s a good idea but I dunno…”

Chloe laughs. “That sounds crazy enough to go viral.”

“But the exposure,” Beca worries.

“I know,” Chloe agrees softly. “I don’t want it to be too much for her but…”

“We can request that they turn off comments for the video,” Beca suggests. “But if you think I shouldn’t, then that’s totally fine. I want to know what you think.”

“God, she really is such a ham for the camera,” Chloe murmurs. Beca laughs, wondering if Chloe is looking at the earlier photos.

“Definitely didn’t get that from me,” Beca mumbles.

“Alright, miss Vogue covergirl.”

“Chloe,” Beca whines. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop flirting with me and answer me!” Beca jokes, feeling a light pang in her chest as Chloe laughs along with her.

“Bec, it’s fine. I trust your judgement and honestly it doesn’t sound horrible. And maybe I just want to see how cute my girlfriend and daughter are on screen together.”

For some reason the word “girlfriend” stands out to Beca in full force today. Whether it’s because she just happens to be missing Chloe more or because she feels an itch to settle down more than ever before, she can’t be sure. One thing is for certain, Beca knows she needs to have a conversation with Chloe sooner or later.

“Okay,” Beca finally says. She sighs. “I just...wish you were here. I wish you could be here.” She holds on to a squirming Emma. “Want to talk to this little punk?”

Chloe laughs. “Sure, put her on FaceTime.”

Beca does so and immediately wishes she had thought to FaceTime Chloe right at the beginning. She breaks into a smile at Chloe’s face appearing on her screen. “Emma! Baby, look! It’s mommy!”

Emma gasps dramatically and immediately grabs at the phone, dropping the “banana” she had been holding on the floor. She holds the phone away from her face at arms-length, smiling so widely that Beca wonders if her face hurts at all. “Mommy! Mommy, hi!”

“Emma! You look so cute! I love your hair, sweetie! Are you having fun?”

“Mama working!”

Chloe gasps. “I know! And you’re being a good girl right?”

Emma smiles, this time shyly in a complete show of how she has both Chloe and Beca wrapped around her tiny finger because Beca can see how Chloe visibly softens even through the screen. “Good girl,” Emma repeats before pointing at herself. “Miss you, mommy,” she says, pressing closer to the screen as if she can get closer. She looks like she might kiss the screen again but she just falls silent for a short moment, content with just watching Chloe smile back at her.

Beca totally relates.

  * * * * *

 Emma has an intuition. At first, Beca had rolled her eyes at Chloe when Chloe had pointed it out, but now she kind of sees what Chloe means.

It’s a kind of...jealousy instinct? Beca isn’t sure how to characterize it without being totally weird considering Emma is two (and a half...Jesus, already?), but it’s that Emma kind of knows when people are flirting with Beca or hitting on her (usually totally unprofessionally, but that’s another issue)...and it’s usually before Beca herself realizes what’s going on.

She isn’t expecting it to flare up during this press tour considering Beca’s just there for work and she isn’t even dressed to the nines, but Beca notices that Emma suddenly takes to cuddling close to her while she is in the middle of interacting with an over-enthusiastic interviewer off-camera, off-record.

“Hi you,” Beca greets, reaching down to lift Emma into her arms. She smiles apologetically at Angela (or was it Amy?). “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Oh, she’s adorable. Yours, right? She looks exactly like you.”

Before Beca can respond with an awkward thank you (she still doesn’t know how to take compliments even though she wholeheartedly agrees that Emma is the cutest baby on the planet), Emma is grabbing her cheeks with both hands and saying, with startling firmness, “mommy kiss.”

Beca isn’t quite sure what to make of that and gently shakes her face out of Emma’s grasp, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you mommy?” the interviewer asks with a laugh, none the wiser.

“Mommy kiss!” Emma repeats before turning to stare at the interviewer with a look that Beca has definitely seen before...on Chloe’s face.

Oh.

Beca’s face heats up. “Um, yeah. I’m...yeah,” she lies before laughing awkwardly. She takes a quick step back feeling guilty for no real discernible reason, but now that she’s actually looking, the body language is—yeah. Awkward. “I think she’s a little cranky, I’m just going to let her lie down for a bit, but it was nice talking to you.” Beca can’t quite make it away fast enough, barely resisting from bursting into laughter as she exits into a quiet room, away from prying eyes. “You’re horrible, you know that?” she tells Emma affectionately. “No,” she sighs. “You’re not. You’re like...ridiculously perfect.”

“Sleep now?” Emma asks eagerly. “Sleep, mama,” she insists, sounding so much like Chloe that Beca has to do a double take.

“Soon,” Beca promises.

  * * * * *

 By the third night, Beca is so exhausted from all the running around that she can barely keep her eyes open. However, Emma is rolling around in the large bed, excitedly playing with the stuffed Pluto that Beca had bought her from the Disney Store in Times Square. Emma makes little shrieking sounds that Beca thinks sound like barks, but she can’t be sure. Emma could just be screaming for the sake of screaming and Beca wouldn’t be any wiser.

“Read, mama!” Emma says once Beca finishes towelling off her hair.

Beca flops onto the bed next to Emma, pulling Pluto from her. “This is a dog,” she says clearly. “What sound do dogs make?”

Emma makes a barking sound.

“Oh, so you do know what they sound like,” Beca mutters. She grins and leans into press kisses against Emma’s rosy cheeks, eliciting giggles and flailing arms as Emma tries to push her away.

“Mama, stop!”

“Okay, okay,” she relents. She can’t help but kiss Emma’s cheek again, revelling in the soft scent of soap and baby powder that fills her nose. “Do you want a story before bed?”

Emma nods. “Story,” she says slowly. “Please.” Beca melts because Emma hasn’t quite mastered all her “l” sounds, so it comes out more like pwease and Beca never thought she’d be that mother but she absolutely wants to record every last thing she does.

“What books did we bring with us?” Beca asks aloud. She reaches over to the backpack leaning against the bed, pulling out a series of picture books. “Which one tonight?”

Emma points immediately at her favorite, a story about farm animals which means that Beca will have to make all the animal noises as best as she can.

She’s horrifically bad at that. Even after years in the music industry and literally doing voice work, she still feels woefully inadequate compared to Chloe.

“Are you sure?” Beca tries. “What about this one? There’s singing!”

“Dis one,” Emma says immediately and firmly. Unfortunately her daughter prefers animals over singing. Chloe’s child through and through, Beca thinks with mock-betrayal in her mind.

“Okay, fine,” Beca says. “But you owe me.”

Emma nods like she understands.

Together, they settle back in bed. Beca loves these moments the most, especially in the liminal spaces of the hotel rooms she often finds herself in. Most of the time she’s alone and she longs for the comfort of home. Now, she at least has Emma’s warm body snuggled against her side. She and Chloe have been slowly weaning Emma off from falling asleep in their bed with them, so it’s something that Beca has begun to miss a bit more with each passing day. Emma cuddles into her side, resting her head against Beca’s arm, reaching up to clutch at the fabric of Beca’s shirt. Beca points at each word as she reads, wondering if any of the sentences are really sinking in. Emma giggles—each giggle decreasing in volume—with each animal sound that Beca makes until finally she is silent, her head drooping against Beca’s forearm.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of successfully helping her child fall asleep comfortably. It is better than any validation Beca could receive.

Beca flips the book closed and places it gingerly on the side table. She gently maneuvers them both so they both end up under the sheets and kisses Emma’s forehead one last time before she feels exhaustion catch up with her.

Her last thought before sleep claims her is how incredibly large and empty the bed feels.

  * * * * *

 Before Beca knows it, it is finally their last day in New York. Emma has unfortunately chosen this day to be grouchy and refuses to wake up early so that they can catch their flight back to Los Angeles.

“Don’t you want to see mommy?” Beca pleads, trying to pull Emma’s leggings on. Baby clothes are somehow the hardest pieces of clothing Beca has ever had to wrestle with. “Don’t you want to see mommy and baby?”

“Mommy,” Emma whines.

Beca senses an impending tantrum. “Hey, hey, we’re going home, okay? Don’t you want to tell mommy all about your trip? And how much of a big girl you are now?”

“Go home now?” Emma asks, sniffling.

“Yes! Aren’t you excited? I’m excited. We get to see mommy again!”

Emma allows her to put a sweater over her head, though she still stares at Beca with mild disdain in her blue eyes like she isn’t quite sure what she agreed to. Beca is obsessed with her.

“Come on, little weirdo.” She picks Emma up off the bed, ignoring her squirming. “Let’s go home.”

  * * * * *

 Emma, who had been on the verge of sleep the entire drive from the airport, is suddenly wide awake as the car pulls around the corner of their street. Beca laughs when Chloe flings the door open and has to literally hold onto the back of Emma’s shirt as to stop her from launching right out the window.

“Okay, now you can go,” Beca says, opening the door for her.

Emma shrieks happily and toddles up the path to their house right into Chloe’s arms. Chloe, who immediately bends down as best as she can to sweep her into a tight hug. As Beca approaches with their bags, making sure to shut the gate behind her, she hears Emma babbling nonsensically to Chloe about their trip, ostensibly. Beca catches the tail end of a few words like “Dog” and “Julia” and “Mama”. It almost sounds like an entire paragraph of coherent sentences. Almost.

“Hey you,” Chloe says once Emma releases her and wanders into the house, likely in search of her toys. “Oh my God, are you Beca Mitchell?”

Beca rolls her eyes, pushing her sunglasses up above her forehead. “Shut up, nerd. How have you been,” she asks, tone softening.

Chloe’s palm touches her stomach, a soft smile stretching across her face. “Still pregnant.”

“I can see that,” Beca says before she can help herself.

Chloe swats her immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” Beca exclaims, laughing. She bends down to press a soft kiss to Chloe’s stomach, only slightly disappointed when there isn’t a kick in return.

“She’s missed you.”

“She has?” Beca asks, straightening so she can cup the back of Chloe’s neck. She smiles, leaning in for a kiss, sighing longingly against Chloe’s lips. “What about...other people? Have there been others who have missed me?”

“I’ve missed you,” Chloe murmurs, giving in far quicker than Beca expected. She pulls Beca in for a slow, wanting kiss, ending the kiss with a soft nip to Beca’s lower lip.

Beca shivers, even as the hot California sun beats down on the back of her neck.

She is so happy to be home.

fin.

*see more of this universe—now i see daylight.*

[busterofbeing]

Class Analysis: Mage

Hello! Before digging myself too much deeper into the already gaping hole that is Classpecting, I’ve decided to first analyze singular classes and aspects. This way when analyzing Classpects I don’t have to give the lengthy explanations of all the implications of the Class and Aspect; I can just provide a quick and to the point summary and provide links to these singular analyses. So it might take a little while to start an in-depth classpect analysis. Okay! Into the Mage class...

Summary

Mages actively know/understand their aspect or know/understand through their aspect for the benefit of themselves. Mages tend to have personal knowledge of their aspect, and they’ll usually act on this knowledge. Mages also tend to suffer from their aspect. The challenge of a Mage seems to be knowing how deeply they should understand their aspect; namely when they know their aspect far too deeply or don’t understand it enough. Mages tend to be speakers, teachers, and prophets.

Analysis + Evidence

Mages know/understand their aspect or know/understand through their aspect, mostly for themselves.

Sollux (The Mage of Doom) clearly understands and knows doom. He hears “voices of the doomed”, and prophecies to his friends about how they and the universe are doomed. Doom is intrinsic to Sollux’s character, and he’s almost always referencing this doom. Maybe he kind of likes having so much Doom to complain about?

Meulin (The Mage of Heart) understands and knows heart. She, therefore, understands people’s selves as well as relationships. It’s almost too obvious given how this is shown through her love of shipping. She understands her friends and their personalities and makes ships (and even fanfics) about them. Mostly for herself, of course. She might provide some advice or nudging here or there (if it’s what she believes to be good advice), but her shipping seems to be mostly personal. Hey, she’s actively making her favorite ships real. Her post-scratch self, the Disciple, also knows the Sufferer in all of the quadrants and beyond, as well as his teachings with a devoted fever. Understanding through romance and understanding through passion in order to understand romance and passion... 

Mages have personal knowledge of their aspect which shapes their perspectives and personality.

Sollux certainly has personal knowledge of Doom. Not only does he simply understand as stated above, but he’s also experienced it. Aradia once mentions that his doom prophecies were “all he ever talked about”, so his wallowing in doom greatly affected his own persona. He dies a LOT in the story, I didn’t even bother learning exactly how many times he’s died or half-died. He also experienced those voices of the doomed. Being shrouded in Doom, Sollux is a very cynical character for quite a while. He doesn’t troll the beta kids because they’re “already doomed”, only stepping in to provide the rocket pack code for John, only because another troll asked him to.

Meulin’s experiences with Heart (her own friends) fuels her obsession with shipping. As a mage of heart, shipping is practically a given interest. This makes the Mage of Heart a very adaptable classpect; depending on the person’s experiences with other people, you could have wildly different tastes and ideas regarding...well, mainly shipping. Meulin had a matesprit and a moirail, which likely cemented her love for redrom pairings (which she shares with Nepeta). You could also argue that her redrom experiences made her more reflect the characteristics of redrom relationships; namely positive, wholesome energy and a friendly disposition.

Mages tend to suffer from their aspect.

This is pretty obvious for Sollux. Doom is the aspect of suffering, after all. You could say he suffers because of his intimate understanding of doom. Considering Doom was all he seemed to talk about for most of his life(s), he did seem to wallow in it; it negatively affected him more than it might affect your average Doom player.

While Meulin is great at shipping and understanding heart, she has terrible romantic luck herself. Kurloz ended up deafening and manipulating her, and while her moirallegiance with Horuss looks pretty, upon a bit of examination it’s pretty strained and not all that healthy. 

Mages are skilled in talents related to their aspect.

Sollux is a highly-skilled with ~ATH, a coding language that revolves around Doom. Sollux writes several notable scripts with ~ATH. By the way, did you know that ~ATH is a pun? (Till death)

Meulin is very adept with shipping, which involves personality, relationships, and romance; all parts of the Heart aspect.

Mages suffer when they know their aspect far too deeply or not deep enough.

While Sollux’s knowledge of Doom is correct and beneficial, he becomes so invested in it that it ultimately weighs him down more than it needs to. Once Sollux comes to terms with all his dying and just accepts it, we see him become more relaxed and happy.

While Meulin understands other people's selves, she ironically does not understand her own self well. I’m referring to Kurloz’ mind control and manipulation, which Meulin is oblivious to. If Meulin better understood how she herself was being manipulated (before and after the actual Juggalo manipulation), she would be more emotionally healthy. Heck, she might’ve been able to get out of her relationship with Kurloz before he deafened her. Meulin also doesn’t talk about herself much, which is weird considering a Mage of Heart should be obsessed with knowing themselves. Meulin knows Heart well but is lacking in regards to HERself, which is what causes a good few of her problems.

Mages tend to be speakers, teachers, and prophets.

This is obvious for Sollux. He prophesied and spoke at nauseum about how he and everyone else was doomed. Doomed, doomed, doomed.

Meulin doesn’t display these characteristics much (as to be expected, Mages are less focused on others after all), but I’d like to imagine she has plenty to say and teach about shipping and quadrants if someone was willing to give a listen.

Other Comments and Analysis

Experiences are one of the main things that set the Mage class apart from the Seer class. Seers tend to understand their aspect through a more academic and conceptual point of view, whereas the perspective of a mage is shaped largely by their own experiences and knowledge. As I explained with the Mage of Heart Classpect above, this means that Mages can have radically different points of view regarding their aspect depending on their experiences.

About knowing too much versus knowing too little; I feel this is the main challenge for a Mage. Getting too involved with their knowledge of their aspect can be emotionally dampening; I could see Meulin being so wrapped up in her shipping that she doesn’t spend enough time being with her friends.

In regards to mages being teachers and speakers- I believe this is a trait shared by both the Mage and Seer class, but is more prevalent in the Seer class. So while Mages can still be teachers, I would imagine that they wouldn’t teach to the extent a Seer would. Mages use their knowledge for themselves. Whereas Seers would inform and teach their aspect to others, Mages might tell others, but would usually end up acting on that information themselves. Taking matters into their own hands, so to speak.

Parting Words and Thanks

This was my first Class analysis, and I had a lot of fun making it! I muse over classes and aspects whenever my mind wanders, so I always have plenty to talk about. I’ve noticed that this analysis seems longer than most analyses on a singular class; my hope is that this further deepens our understanding of the Mage class, and opens us up to new ideas we haven’t considered before.

I would like to give a huge thanks to optimisticDuelist. He is an excellent Homestuck fandom figure that is currently working on making videos to explain the beautiful mess that is Homestuck, and he has done his fair share of Classpecting. In fact, his videos on Class and Aspects taught me how to Classpect, and helped to build my foundational knowledge of the system! This great article, in particular, analyzing the Mage/Seer classes, was a huge help and provided some direction and ideas that I included in this analysis. He also made that cool little Class Card, in addition to the other classes and aspects! Go check him out!

Again, let me reiterate this took some time. I’ve started to receive some requests, and I’ll get onto Classpecting once I have classes and aspects nailed down. (So if I analyze your class/aspect first, chances are I’ll be analyzing your Classpect soon! ;))

Thanks!

[xmimiteh]

How to RP with Mimi

As I am putting myself as a roleplayer more and more out there and I even started to make some connections (yay, me!), I wanted to reblog a text I wrote a while ago about what to expect from me in roleplaying and what to do and not do. I altered it a little, so it is basically not the same text, but ... more or less. My “Dos and Don’ts” do not change that much anymore. I am probably to old for that by now.

Whenever you see me with the RP tag before my name, I am free to approach in RP. Maybe I am questing, maybe I am running, but I am always in for RP as long as this is marked before my name.

Also:  If you want to look into Mimi’s Wiki, you are going to find it >here<. But it is still a work in progress.  More detailed information is under the cut, because it is a rather lengthy text.

European Timezone: During the week usually from 8 pm to 11 pm (CEST) - on the weekend and holidays more flexible and erratic. Of course, if you are from another timezone, feel free to approach me if my time schedule fits in any way. This is just a heads up, when I am usually active - not a “I only want to play with Europeans”. I play with everyone.

I might reblog or repost the following text from time to time, because this is really important to me when going into RP.

It is important to find people who click with you and who accept your do’s and don’ts. But first you have to voice those. As I have been burned the past years, because people did not respect my limits, from now on I want to be really transparent in this. So in the end nobody can say: “I did not know that.” Now you know!

I have been avoiding RP for more or less over a year (with little exceptions), because people violated those things and with “violated” I mean even though I told them all this they acted as if they did not know it or as if it was not important. As I am a very harmony-driven person and I do not want to cause stress I tend to compromise - even though I do not want to compromise. But I this is about change, because it is not healthy.

So … you do not have to read all of these. I marked the important passages with “bold” and the rest there is mostly for explanation if you are interested in it. Maybe it is helpful for some who want to RP with me. It is an easy way to know what to expect and what not to expect. It saves a lot of trouble for both sides.

Dos and Don’ts

Just jump into RP with me if you want to RP with me! Please do not send me an OOC tell beforehand asking whether I want to RP or not. If there is the RP tag in my name, I am ready to RP. I get nervous when you send me an OOC tell about that. Just approach me in character and everything is fine. Please no “Do you want to RP?”. If there is a tag, I want to. If you ask me beforehand, I might and probably will say “no”. If you give me the opportunity I might shy away. Just jumping into RP with me even works when there is no RP tag. Do not worry whether I want to RP or not, just do it.

I am a casual roleplayer. This means for me I enjoy roleplaying a lot. I usually do not roleplay on a daily basis. It might happen from time to time, but do not expect me to. There may be longer times when I do not feel like roleplaying or rather go into a dungeon or make my hunts or just do silly stuff or screenshots etc. This has nothing to do with you. This is me. My daily roleplaying times are over more or less. Also I like to play PvE and PvP a lot. As my time is limited (I have got a full time job, I am married and I also play other games) I have to balance all of this. Please keep this in mind. RP is not my main priority and this is nothing personal. Do not make it into something personal. It is not. Plain and simple.

OOC communication is important, but I do like to keep it as little as possible. If there is an OOC problem, then … sure, send me a tell. Good RP needs good OOC communication, but not constantly. I do not like to talk about our RP (if there is no need to), I want to RP. Usually talking and planning what our character might do takes a lot of fun out of the RP for me. Just play it. Do not talk about it. I love the uncertainty and vagueness of not knowing where the RP is heading and people tend telling too many things they plan on doing.Please do not take surprises away from me. But /tell me if there is any ooc problem we need to discuss.

I am a non-native roleplayer. Please always keep in mind: English is not my native language. This might lead to misunderstandings or me taking a bit longer to answer. Also I am very self-conscious about my English and usually this leads to me being not happy with my writing style as I am a professional writer in my mother language. Thus I am very aware of these things and might be little bit touchy about it. I know my flaws and that I might construct absurd sentences or use the same words too often. I try to do it otherwise, but… it happens.

There is one thing I really do not like: RP appointments or RP by schedule. Sometimes there is no way around it and if I need to coordinate with a group or so, then it is totally okay. Do not get me wrong: I make appointments and I attend to them. But I had many a RP burn-out, because of RP appointments. They exhaust me way quicker than they used to thanks to absurd expectations of my guild members when I was guild leader of an RP guild and also because of emotional abusive rp relationships. So I try to stay away from them in the future even more. For me the ideal situation is: 75% open RP, 15% events, 10% appointments. These are no fixed numbers - just an approximation. I prefer open world RP and I like my RP being spontaneous und surprising.

I am an introvert (OOC). This means I usually do not do small talk. It drains me. There are only a few people who do not drain me and it is no problem if you are not one of those people. It has nothing to do with you. If I play with you I like you. This also does not mean I do not like to talk and it does not mean I do not like people. Quite the contrary. There are times when I am rambling on and on, sure. But this is not the default. Please never ever ask me “how are you doing”. I really hate that question. If there is something you want to discuss, sure thing, shoot. You can be very frank and direct with me and do not need to make any small talk before that. I even appreciate it if you get straight to the point. I do not enjoy OOC small talk. IC small talk is a completely different thing on the other hand - yes, I am weird like that.

I like to play in /say per default. Please no RP per default in /party or /tell.  Because of past bad experience I try to keep as little RP in /party and /tell as possible, because it can be abused too easily. I want the possibility of people spontaneously joining our RP. Sometimes there is no way around /party and /tell. So I do not mind the occassional RP in /party or /tell or you whispering me IC in /tell if your characters whispers to mine. But if your RP needs to be per default in /party or /tell then there is a big chance you are looking for something completely different than me and please look somewhere else for it. Save us both the time.

Because of said bad experiences I am very cautious if people get too clingy. I am no one’s possession and no one has exclusive rights to RP with me - even if our characters are in a relationship! This is so important and I cannot stress this enough! If I ever feel like I get isolated OOC or someone gets too clingy or possessive, we have a problem and I plan on solving this by radically dropping said RP. This is nothing I ever want to go through again. Been there, endured that. Never again! This is a real trigger to me and freaks me out completely. So, no exclusive RP!

I am no plot player. I am a character focused player with a main interest in IC conflict and spontaneous RP and I like deep immersion. I enjoy slice of life and well paced character drama without any planned plot. There have been plenty of people who said: “No, but my plots are different! You have to try!” No. Sadly, 99% they were not different. Not at all.If character play leads to a plot, it is okay. But do not expect me to play accordingly to any script or follow any plot. I am still going to play my character no matter the plot. Best RP for me develops in a dynamic between two or more characters. My ideal plot arises out of the character interactions - completely unplanned and spontaneous. This is not how most people in rp communities seem to define plot, so I distance myself from that term very much. For me plot is a stage for character interactions. Not vice versa.

My characters are not always likeable and they are far from perfect. They are going to do stupid things. They are going to be a douchebag. And they are more often wrong than not. I like the conflict and the interactions arising out of this and the dynamic this creates. Please do not make this into something personal OOC. I like to play a flawed character and I love IC conflict and this is why most of my characters are quarrelsome or prejudiced. I am not my character so if they insult or provoke your character this is character play - not me being mean to you as a player.

I prefer roleplaying in the game. I used to play a lot of forum RP, but my main focus has always been in game. RP outside of the game can be a nice addition, but it should not be the focus to me. Especially as I do not like playing in multiple timelines. I prefer roleplaying in “real-time” - meaning: a day in RL is a day in the game. I do not see this too strictly and usually try to leave exact time measurements out of roleplaying and keep it as vague as possible. Better leave concrete times out of RP. Also I love RP letters, but since Mimi is illiterate and the game does not encourage sending letters to non-friends this might tend to become difficult. But if you want, send me an IC letter on tumblr and tag me. This might also be interesting when engaging with other characters of mine. Or whisper me in game, so we can put each other on the friend list and you can send me IC letters.

Do not force me to praise your RP. I am no cheerleader. I have been in several RP relationships in which I had to say after each RP session every single time how great it was. And no, it was not always great. And you know what? That is okay! Nobody plays perfect everyday. Yes, sometimes I might be bored, but that is okay, too. Praising someone’s RP everytime devalues that praise. I want to preserve the value of a compliment by not overusing it. Not every RP has to be awesome and extraordinary everyday and that is fine! People who feel like RP always has to be extraordinary, probably do not click with me, because that is not how I work. I cannot keep up to that standard, because I suck sometimes. It puts such a big pressure into roleplaying and this takes the fun out of it for me.

I like to describe my preferred RP with tv shows. As I love those and regularly watch them this is also something I like to go for and I think it is a good orientation for other people what to expect and what not. So here are the series I like to go for with my RP: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Firefly, Dawson’s Creek, Babylon 5, Fringe. I also adore the character drama of Game of Thrones and though some nudity is okay this is a series I like to mention because of the character drama and the intense interaction, not because of the smut! This is why GoT will not get a bold name so people will not get the wrong idea. Though R rating is okay I am not here for the smut. Usually I like to fade to black unless it is important for character development. Yet most of the time it is going to be PG-13. As I am German and feel more comfortable with our rating system, if you know what FSK16 means you probably got it right.

I am not going to discuss any of my RP preferences. I do not force people in playing with me and if you like any of the things I just said I do not like - more power to you. I do not want to stop you from playing these things. But please without me. I have been a roleplayer now for about more than 25 years and I am very conscious about what I like and what I do not like and with what I got problems. All the times I deviated from my preferences and agreed to a compromise have been a disaster for me. I am rather tolerant and I do not interfere with other people’s RP as long as they do not force anything onto me I do not like. In this I try to be honest, polite, but firm and outspoken. I will never RP police you on the things above as long as you do not force them onto me. Live and let live. If you like those things above, but want to play with me nevertheless and do not impose them on me, be my guest and approach me. But please do not try to convince me of the things I do not like. It never worked. Really. Never. I tried. Honestly. More than once. So no discussion. Sorry.

Advice cut in short: Give me freedom and I am a truly loyal and dependable player. Lock me in a cage and I will fly away as soon as I get the chance to - even if I have to blast open the cage door.

Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with anyone in the FF14 community. Actually these are things I have encountered before entering FF14 and because of these bad experiences I try to be super cautious and have been staying out of RP for a long, long time. By making these caveats public I am trying to protect myself and just trying to be honest and fair about it all. There is nothing worse for fun in RP than wrong expectations of your RP partner.

I hope this does not sound too intimidating. I also do not want to sound too complicated, but I just want to be very transparent on how I like to play. So if you ever see me and the RP in front of my name, just open the RP fire and I am going to respond. If I ever do not respond, feel free to send me a tell, because then I might have overlooked it or maybe was afk.

[wideawakedreamin-blog]

Commercial Juicers - Highest Rated Commercial Juicers

The One Thing to carry out for Commercial Juicers - Top Rated Commercial Juicers The juicers fulfill the requirements of most people that will be mostly on diet. These juicers also are constructed to last. Again, the optimal/optimally juicer is definitely the easiest juicer. The most effective masticating juicers available Omega 8006 Juicer.

The Most Recognized Question You Will Need To Ask for Commercial Juicers - Highest Rated Commercial Juicers An industrial juicer requires a massive space to match itself. Commercial juicers lengthy establishment when using the tool to supply your web visitors with an excellent wellness experience. grade juicer residential . You will get any one of these juicers secure from the knowledge be obtaining a slice of apparatus that may present you with web site create fantastic, nutritious juice. Probably the most appealing thing regarding these juicers is because they clear away the hand cramps normally juicing oranges. many varieties in order to meet an array of different functions. Based upon your preferences we have a juicer just suited to you. juicer to provide the most beneficial, most nutrient rich juice might be intimidating task.

Commercial Juicers - Premier Commercial Juicers for Dummies If you are wondering best places to purchase juicers and ways to weigh up which is perfect for your needs, then employ a moment to read the next few paragraphs to be able to buy the best juicer for you! Ask whether you will discover places where you'll be able for you to get replacement parts to the industrial juicer in circumstances if this must be repaired. It's not as large as other industrial juicers this also usually means that that vegatables and fruits cut sometimes from the juicer.

Understanding Commercial Juicers - Premier Commercial Juicers The juicer is compact, which means this will fulfill the needs in the family after some kitchen space. first realize the explanation regarding a juicer and trying to find one. These juicers a regular handy dimensions, and each has fun and vibrant colours. It is great to think about this while juicer for your own home. house juicer has the power for making juice in little quantities, juicer that you set you back when you create juice in big quantities from the quickest pace. Locating the optimal juicer for everyday home use simple job, especially whenever there are tons out here .

There are plenty of assortments of juicers available. There are a selection of juicers to pick from of varying . In case you are considering purchasing this expert superior juicer, you can purchase it at Amazon. The juicer carries a specialized brush to launder the variety of components. Wheatgrass juicers are specially created to chose the maximum quantity of nutrients wheatgrass be juicing. There are plenty of juicers that are used in different types of juicing. The truth is today they've come to be indispensable parts of dining rooms for many individuals as is also great maintaining . , the juicer is definitely inexpensive machine which you'll always utilize for a long time . Many powerful juicers do are usually wet pulp, isn't a little something you need to fret concerning because of this model.