#but the gemstone is real just was made into a small bead

[raiinshowers]

BroZone's sister au

Designs of (future/book 2) Floyd, Bruce, & Clay

- Rei's golden earring

- Necklace with aquamarine gemstone bead (Rein's color)

- Singular armband

Probably will be revising their designs in the future.

[aemondsbabe]

Duty & Sacrifice | Claimant Pt 2

summary: your wedding to jace will happen whether you and aemond like it or not; even still, you know where you truly belong

pairing: dark!brother!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, threats against jace, jace slander do not come at me you were warned, blood purest aemond like he's voldemort coded idk he loves that valyrian o neg, breeding kink, fingering, unprotected sex, piv sex, biting, brief hand on neck, possessive aemond, obsessive aemond, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 3.7k

a/n: big thank you to @rabbit-hearted for sending a request for more dark!aemond! i hope you enjoy!! dark aemond was a bit toned down in this one but he (and the reader) will be going unhinged psycho in part 3 uwu

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 here!

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“Oh, you look absolutely beautiful, Princess,” your lady’s maid coos over your shoulder while she finishes tying the laces at the back of your gown, eliciting a chorus of echoing hums and titters of agreement from the other women fluttering about your chambers. 

“Thank you, Kella,” you murmur, meeting her gaze in the mirror, your lips stretched into a thin, tight smile. Even in your periphery, the sight of the ivory dress makes your stomach turn and twist into barbarous knots and you quickly glance away. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that eats at your heart as you keep your eyes trained on the shelves beside the mirror, silently reciting the name of each book stacked on them over and over again, anything to keep your mind occupied. 

It only halfway works, just as it had every time before – every other time you stood in this exact same spot as the tailor measured and fitted your dress, as you discussed hairstyles with your maids, as you chose jewelry with your mother. Helaena had spent weeks, hours upon hours, sewing bead after bead into the alabaster fabric, creating intricate patterns of florals giving way to flames, and you could hardly bring yourself to look at it. 

If I don’t look, it’s not real. If I don’t look, it’s not real, the words, foolish as they were, echoed in your mind for the millionth time as your maids added final touches to your outfit – sliding your feet into shoes and clasping on various ornate jewels. 

“Should we finish the hair first or get the cloak on first?” You hear one of your lady’s maids ask another, somewhere off to the side. 

“Mm, I think the cloak,” another one answers; you can hear the doors of your wardrobe being pulled open, “Her tiara may get snagged otherwise.”

Glimmers of red from the small garnet gemstones decorating your gown create bloody splotches in your periphery as morning sunlight filters through your windows; your mind begins to wander again despite your best efforts and crimson quickly gives way to hues of sapphire. Absent-mindedly, you dig your nails into your cuticles as you recall that night. The events play out behind your eyes like they have time and time again in the weeks between then and now – the pin-pricked chill you’d felt from his gaze, the way his whispered promises made your heart ache with a confusing whirlwind of longing and dread, the way his hands had felt against your skin. The sound of your blood pumping wildly in your veins drowns out any other noise as his voice echoes in your head. 

“Prove your devotion to me, my Strong girl,” he had commanded, directing your attention to the hilt of his dagger. And you had, the memories of it make you shiver even now. 

You had.

But it didn’t matter because here you are, clad in an ivory gown that may as well be a death shroud for all the joy it brings you.

“Princess?” A little gasp falls from your lips as you’re hoisted out of your reverie and your eyes finally focus on Kella standing before you, matching cloak in hand. 

“My apologies,” you say, managing a little chuckle, “I’m not sure where my head was at.” 

“No trouble, Princess,” Kella smiles, waving a hand dismissively, “I’m sure you’re eager to get the day started, marrying a prince and all.”

“Eager, yes,” you sigh, forced smile falling flat the second she looks away. The back of your throat tightens when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and, for the umpteenth time today, you try desperately to ignore the urge to run – to sprint all the way to the Dragonpit, mount Silverwing, and go. Instead, you swallow down the sick feeling in your gut and compel yourself to be still as Kella drapes the cloak over your shoulders, the red silk underlining enveloping you in a sanguine veil. 

Just as she’s about to fasten it to the little ties at the shoulders of your gown, the doors to your chambers bang open, causing both of you to jump as your heads whip toward the sound of the noise. 

“Prince Aemond,” Kella says breathlessly, draping the cloak over an arm and curtsying politely. 

“Get out,” he murmurs lowly, violet eye not moving from yours as he stands at the doorway, arms tucked behind his back, “I wish to have a moment alone with my sister.” Your heart hammers so wildly that you’re amazed the sound of it doesn’t echo off the walls – that it doesn’t burst in your chest. 

You don’t miss the uncertain glances your maids give one another, though they ultimately nod their heads. A small chorus of, “Yes, your highness,” rises around you as they scurry from the room; Kella quickly drapes your cloak over the back of your vanity chair before leaving as well, the doors to your chambers closing behind her. 

Aemond quickly locks them, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips for a precious second as he does so, before turning to you. Your brows furrow as nervousness builds within you, nails digging into your cuticles as you desperately study the neutral expression on his face as he stalks toward you. 

“Don’t you look breathtaking, sweet sister,” his eye sweeps over your form as he speaks and you feel as if every ounce of air is pressed from your lungs when he gently grasps at your chin, angling your face up toward his when he comes to a stop before you. 

“How did you get in here?” You question, hating how feeble your voice sounds, how your heart slows the second he touches you. Your question is a valid one, though – your mother had taken great caution in the weeks following the night of your betrothal feast to keep you and your brother as separated as possible. 

He chuckles as he tilts your face to the side, exposing your neck. “Someone may have delivered an anonymous tip to Cole informing him of a supposed smallfolk revolt brewing in Flea Bottom,” you don’t miss the twitch of a victorious smile on his lips, “Of course, the Gold Cloaks had to attend to it – we wouldn’t want anything ruining such a… joyous day. Once they were gone, it was easy enough to slip from the Sept and make my way back here.”

“You’ve been planning,” his eye stays fixed on the ruby necklace clasped around your neck as you speak, though he hums in acknowledgement at your words. After another few seconds of heavy silence, you cannot help but huff and jerk your chin from his careful grip, “Did you come here to merely ogle at me or do you need something?”

“Mm,” he hums, narrowing his eye for just the barest of seconds, “There is something I need indeed, Strong girl.”

“Don’t call me that!” You snap, the little huff of laughter he gives only makes you more agitated. He turns his back to you and stalks over to your vanity; it’s only then that you see he’s holding a small box behind his back, “What is that?”

“Only a little wedding present,” Aemond drawls, violet eye meeting yours in the mirror as he runs his fingers over the soft ivory silk of your cloak; his nose twitches in disgust, the most subtle of movements that you’re sure only you are able to spot. 

“Can… can I see it?”

Another twitch of his lips, a little pulling at the corners, just enough for you to know he’s satisfied about something, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Whatever game he’s playing at, whatever imaginary battle he’s thought up in his mind, he’s winning. 

Am I even fighting back? Do I want to?

Silently, he makes his way back over to you, each heavy step a nail in your proverbial coffin. He’s standing before you again, long hair spilling over the shoulders of his tunic like a pearlescent waterfall, held back from his face by two thin braids that join in the back. 

Finally, he opens the box, carefully sliding the lid off. Your lips part as you stare down at the contents, eyes as wide as the moon as it feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. 

“I had it made by the finest craftsman in the city,” he murmurs, eye gleaming with pride at your stunned reaction, “Do you like it, little one?”

“I… Aemond, I…,” you stammer, at a loss for words as you look over the necklace resting on a bed of soft cloth. Made from a breathtaking assortment of pearls, the attention to detail is immaculate; each milky white stone is threaded onto a fine silver chain, all leading to a gleaming deep blue sapphire in the center, framed by the figure of a small silver dragon. “I-It’s gorgeous, brother, I… thank you.”

“You deserve only the best,” he purrs, watching closely as you reach up and carefully run your fingers over the glittering stones, “Shall I put it on you?”

“I already have a neck –” You start, only for a loud gasp to rip itself from your throat as Aemond tears the ruby necklace from you, the delicate gold chains easily snapping and sending dozens of tiny rosy stones clattering to the floor. All you can do is gape at him, one hand grazing against the place on your neck where the necklace once sat. 

Meanwhile, your brother’s violet eye merely follows a few of the stones as they skid across the stone floors. “Pity,” he tuts, stalking around you like a lion would its prey before stopping behind you and meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Do you have any idea who that necklace bel–”

“I don’t give a shit about who it belonged to,” he hisses, reaching over your shoulder and grabbing your jaw, forcing your head to turn back enough to meet his heated stare, “All that matters is that you belong to me, not some sniveling fucking bastard who shall only bring you ruin.”

He stares at you for a second more as if trying to drive the point somehow further into your heart before finally releasing your chin, smirking at the little shiver that runs down your spine when he skims his fingers over your neck. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he delicately sweeps the hair away from the back of your neck before pressing a soft kiss there, only to trail more down the crook of your neck and shoulder; time seems to slow for a moment while you savor the feel of his lips against your skin and your chest tightens when he groans. 

He huffs when he straightens back up, like being apart from you, even if only by a few scant inches, is painful – a feeling you know all too well. Opening your eyes, you watch as he carefully clasps the sapphire necklace around your neck. The larger middle stone sits perfectly at the base of your neck, the rich blue hue sparkles beautifully against your skin. 

“Flawless,” he says lowly, gently kissing just below your ear before trailing his eye up to the floor-length mirror the two of you stand before, hands resting on your waist, “We look perfect together, don’t we, little one?”

Automatically, you nod your head, unable to separate your gaze from the mirror. He’s right, he always is. The two of you simply fit together – perfect compliments of the other. 

He smiles lazily over your shoulder and pulls you closer against him, relishing in the small gasp that leaves your lips as his length presses against you, already half-hard and wanting. “Yes, you and I were meant to be together,” he breathes, slowly pulling up the skirts of your gown, “You may be marrying that traitorous little cunt, but you’ll belong to me soon enough, sweet sister.”

Your brows furrow at that and you start to question him, ask what exactly he means, but before you can utter a word, a feeble, stuttering moan is wrenched from your lips instead. Aemond holds you steady, keeping one hand firmly around your waist, as the other fits itself between your thighs; you’re helpless to do much else than watch yourself fall apart in the mirror as his lithe fingers slip through your already drenched center.

A pleased hum reverberates against the side of your jaw as he presses soft kisses against your neck, ravenous eye glued to your chest as it rises and falls with sharp pants, your breasts heaving beneath the bodice of your wedding dress.

“Promise me you won’t let him touch you,” your brother growls, swirling his fingers around your already aching pearl with practiced ease, “Swear to me that I am the only one who will ever claim you, sweet girl.”

“A-Aemond, I…,” you gasp, already having to fight through the fog in your mind to remain upright, much less speak, “Brother, please!”

“Swear it!” He snarls, biting harshly at your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. 

“I promise, I promise!” You quickly concede, the truth willingly spilling from you. You did not want anyone else, you never had – your gaze had been firmly set on Aemond for as long as you could remember. Your heart had soared with hope when Aegon and Helaena’s betrothal was announced, only for those hopes to be squashed when you were all but promised to Jace not too long after Aemond’s eye had been taken – doomed to a marriage built on regrets. 

Your older brother had felt the same from an earlier age still, always doting on you, even as a child. He loves Helaena, yes, but his heart had only been yours. His screams still echo in your mind – the only time he’d ever raised his voice at your mother, when he’d stormed into her chambers as soon as Aegon had taunted him with news of the raven from Driftmark. 

But it was the same each time, excuses of repairing relations and making amends, commands for you and Aemond both to grow up – to make sacrifices for the realm. 

Was I ever more than a lamb raised for slaughter? That question has kept you up for more hours than you care to admit. Now, watching in the mirror as a man who is not your betrothed brings you to heel on the morning of a day you have mourned for years, the dam inside you finally bursts – you are tired of bowing to duty. 

“Aemond, please!” You gasp, nearly crying as the fog in your mind finally lifts, “Please, take me, please!”

He pauses at that, the fingers on your aching bud stopping as his eye flicks up to yours. His eye is studying, calculating while he looks over you — there is a terrible relief in being finally, truly seen. “Is that what you wish?” He hums, chuckling when you pant as his fingers circle your dripping entrance, “To be filled with me, little one?”

You’re nodding before he’s even finished the question, desperate whines spilling from you as he slips his hand from between your legs, only long enough to loosen the ties at the front of his trousers.

“I’ll breed this sweet cunt,” he grunts, the arm around your waist moving to hook securely around your chest while the other grabs at his length, positioning it at your entrance as you hold your skirts out of the way in a trembling grasp, “Give you a pure Valyrian babe, just as you deserve.”

All of the air is knocked from your lungs as he pushes into you, spearing you on his cock in one swift motion. Your fingers abandon your skirts to instead claw helplessly at the arm draped over your chest, knees nearly buckling as Aemond pauses long enough for you to adjust. 

“Gods!” You whimper as he sets a punishing pace from the outset, though the harsh thrusts feel like paradise after being deprived of his mere presence for so long. Your head droops forward as he snakes a hand around your hip to begin rubbing at your pearl yet again, lucid enough to know that the two of you are operating on borrowed time. 

“You have always been mine, all of you,” he gasps, watching as your bodies writhe together in the mirror. After a moment, he growls and grabs at your neck, forcing your head up until your eyes meet his. “That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, leaning forward to kiss and nip at your neck and shoulder, “You’re mine, you’re mine…”

You nod as best you can as he chants the words again and again like a prayer, pushing his length in and out of you in time with each one, until your mind is nothing but a cacophony of mine, mine, mine. 

“I-I’m, Gods, I’m – Aemond!” You all but sob, the knot in your stomach that had been pitifully winding itself for weeks finally about to unravel as your cunt tightens around him, his grunts and growls in response only pushing you further to the end. 

“Do it,” he commands, redoubling his efforts on your bud, his other hand scrambling frantically to grasp at your stomach, “Let go and I’ll breed you, I’ll give you a babe, our babe, little one. Let go for me, let go.”

His muttered command sends shivers down your spine and you’re powerless to do much else other than obey and your eyes squeeze shut and your lips part as a harsh, shuddering cry is knocked out of you; fire seems to ignite every cell within you as you pulse around his length. Your knees buckle when your high washes over you, Aemond’s grip around your waist the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Good girl, good girl,” he murmurs, the sound of his voice just barely cutting through the rush of blood in your ears. A handful of thrusts later and he stills against you, growling and squeezing you to within an inch of your life as he fills you, cock twitching. 

You both still for a moment, harsh pants filling your chambers as you catch your breath. You whine when Aemond finally pulls his softening length from you, though he shushes you sweetly before leading you to your vanity chair and sitting you down. 

“I don’t want to marry him,” you whisper suddenly, sniffling softly as tears sting the back of your eyes, “I don’t w-want to, Aemond, I –”

“Shh, shh,” he says softly, gently cupping your cheek and angling your face up toward his, “There’s nothing we can do to change today, as much as it pains me. Were it possible, I would gut him in the Sept and stake my claim to you then and there, Gods be damned, I –” 

He pauses, cutting himself off with a harsh sigh, “I will have you, I swear it. I will not fail again.” 

Were it any other time, the dark shadow that lingers behind his words would give you pause, would frighten you as they have before. 

Now, though, they settle over you like a warm blanket – there is a safety in this fear. Aemond, for all his faults, is nothing if not determined. 

Whatever surety had settled within you only an hour before is swiftly and sharply pushed from your mind as you exit the carriage and climb the many steps up to the doors of the Great Sept of Baelor, unsteady even with Aegon at your side. 

By the grace of the Gods, Aemond had managed to slip from your chambers, and supposedly from the Red Keep, unseen by all except your lady’s maids, and they had all been sworn to secrecy long ago. Once he had gone, they filed back in and had blessedly made no mention of the intrusion as they bustled about you yet again – quickly braiding your hair through the prongs of your tiara and securing your cloak to your shoulders. 

They knew better than to ask about the sapphire clasped around your neck, or about the mess of rubies on the floor.

Your eldest brother, however, had not been so forgiving; his dark eyes had narrowed the moment you were seated together in the carriage. “Today, sister? Really?” He had teased, a dangerous spark in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you had grumbled, clenching your legs together as you sat. 

“Hm,” he hummed, chuckling softly, “Maybe I’ll soon be mother’s favorite after all.”

“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon’s booming voice fills the Sept as you stand together with Jacaerys, your hands in his, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

You try your hardest to keep your eyes trained to his, to keep your lips crooked into a smile, but all you can focus on is the two stares practically searing your flesh. 

Alicent’s face swam in your vision, the way her cheeks had paled when she had caught sight of the jewelry clasped around your neck, at the guilty look in your eyes. You can feel hers boring into you now and you have no doubt her jaw is clenched, her fingers bloodied and raw. 

The other stare makes your skin prickle, much as it did on the night of your betrothal feast. You keep inwardly scolding yourself, again and again, as your eyes lock with Aemond’s every few seconds as he stands at the base of the steps to your side. 

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity,” the septon continues, gesturing to you and Jace, “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” you recite together, all the while you desperately try to ignore the hollow, aching pit slowly opening itself in the very center of your chest.

“I am hers and she is mine,” Jace murmurs, dark gaze fixed solely on yours as he squeezes your hands, a terrible longing in his stare, “From this day, until the end of my days.”

“I am his and he is mine,” you say, each word feeling like a knife being twisted in your gut, “From this day until the end of my days.”

The septon gestures once more for the two of you to step closer together; it takes all of your restraint not to gasp when you feel a rivulet of Aemond’s spend leak down your thigh as you do. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Jace says softly. His warm hands cup your cheeks before he leans in but when your lips touch, all you see is sapphire.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

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[yuesya]

Aventurine tilts the wineglass in his hands. A careless, indolent gesture. Light catches onto the glass rim at this angle, bright and sharp.

Rapid footsteps sound outside the doorway, indicative of a brisk run. Then it ceases, followed by a perfunctory knock, and then the door swings open–

“My sincerest apologies for the wait, sir.” The man who enters the room is well-dressed, with oiled hair slicked back neatly upon his head. There’s a deeply fake smile stretched wide over his lips –or at least, the joy within the expression is feigned, but the greed is real. “It is a great honor to receive a guest such as yourself to our humble establishment.”

Aventurine answers with his own friendly smile. One that is equally fake as the one that he’s presented with, although less overtly so.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says, lifting the wineglass raised between his fingers just slightly so. He does not rise from his seat to greet the other man.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine.” The man’s smile twitches, but he visibly reins himself in and refrains from expressing any sign of discontent at the treatment. “If any of the arrangements or other services during your wait are lacking to your tastes, I must deeply apologize again. We were not expecting to receive such distinguished personnel from the IPC.”

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Aventurine responds casually.

The man licks his lips. “… If I may ask, honored guest… what is it among the wares of this lowly auction house that has caught the IPC’s attention?”

Impatient, and greedy. Hmm. 

In that case… 

“Ah, that.” Aventurine pauses, noting the unconscious manner in which the man’s fingers rub together, the unblinking attention that hangs on to his every word. “It seems that I must disappoint you, then. Aventurine is not present on behalf of the IPC.”

The man’s expression falls swiftly, his disappointment a dark storm. “That, that’s…”

Aventurine ignores the stuttering.

“I’m merely here to kill some time,” he laughs, “Don’t think too much about it. Unless, do you really think that you’re in possession of something that the IPC would be interested in? I’m not averse to assessing the product and perhaps making a deal, if that’s really the case.”

Red colors the man’s face, but to his credit, he does not lose his composure. “… Surely you jest, sir. If we knowingly possessed something of that value, then we would’ve left this planet for greener pastures a long time ago.”

“Oh? So I suppose your auction house holds nothing of interest, then?” Aventurine arches an eyebrow.

The man grits his teeth. “… Nothing that would be of any worth to the IPC, perhaps. But you seem like a man who is appreciative of the finer things in life, and… and, our auction house is renowned in these parts for luxury items. I am quite certain that there will be something in our catalogue that will suit your tastes!”

Ha.

A small-time auction house like this… if someone like one of the Ten Stonehearts of the IPC were in attendance to one of their auctions, it would be a massive boost to their reputation, and open many doors for him. Hence the man’s initial delight in Aventurine’s arrival. His hope plummeted upon hearing that the IPC was uninvolved, however. And now that Aventurine himself made it clear that he was only here on a whim, and fast losing interest…

The auction owner was desperate to entice him into staying.

For a small planet like this, there was quite a broad range of selections that the man was presenting before him. Exotic delicacies, uncanny knickknacks, rare materials…

“–a-and we have new additions to the choice of personal servants, as well!” Sweat beads upon the man’s brow at Aventurine’s continued disinterest. “There’s an albino Foxian, very sweet and obedient, although she’s quite young. I-if young children aren’t to your liking, then there are also other options! We have a lovely young lady with very pretty eyes, almost like gemstones–”

There it is.

… The entire reason why Aventurine is even bothered to be in a place like this at all.

“Pretty eyes?” Aventure stretches and yawns exaggeratedly, finally cutting off the man’s tirade. “Even prettier than mine?”

The man freezes. Triumph blatantly flashes across his expression, before he swiftly ducks his head.

“A slightly different kind of beauty, if I might offer my humble opinion,” he says. “She’s a recent acquisition, from one of the war-ravaged worlds –a lucky find; our suppliers there usually bring in malnourished children, but that’s been growing steadily more difficult, ever since that singer from The Family traveled there in person and started interfering.”

Frustration. The man sucks in a deep breath.

“But this time, they found a lovely little bird,” he continues smugly. “One with silvery hair, and gorgeous blue eyes that gleam like jewels when they catch the light just right.”

“Like jewels, you say?”

“Quite so.” The man lifts his gaze to carefully study his reactions. Aventurine’s smile does not waver under the unsubtle scrutiny. “Ordinarily, the goods of our auction are not to be displayed before the auction begins, but… for an honored guest such as yourself, exceptions can definitely be made.”

‘Goods,’ he says. Slavery.

Aventurine remembers the pain of the brand being burned into his neck, of the days when he’d been bought and as considered nothing but merchandise–

The Avgins of Sigonia are dead.

… Aventurine knows this.

And yet, there is still a part of him that cannot help but… pay attention to trivial, useless things, even when the chance of any survivors aside from himself is bleak.

An auction selling a young, pretty girl with beautiful eyes, found from one of the neighboring planets beside Sigonia-IV?

Even if it’s a long shot, Aventurine still…

…

“Since she’s such a new acquisition, there hasn’t been time to train her properly yet. But, fear not! I am sure that she will–”

The man breaks off with a startled yelp as the entire building suddenly shakes.

Briefly, there is silence.

And then–

The screaming starts.

Pain. Terror.

Aventurine ignores the panicked, incoherent blubbering next to him, and promptly rises to his feet.

[prairiesongserial]

20.1

Cody was sick. His stomach rolled with the steady motion of the ship; no matter how big and fancy the thing was, apparently there was nothing the captain could do to mitigate the effects of the waves rocking it about. The glittering lounge felt too hot, with twenty-some people clustered inside. Beads of sweat rolled down from the nape of Cody’s neck to below the stiff, pressed collar of his shirt. 

There were a couple of different card games going at the tables, but a number of passengers had arranged their chairs into a circle in the center of the room for drinks and conversation. Friday was perched on an armchair in the middle of the party, telling a raunchy joke, but Cody couldn’t follow it. Not just because of the seasickness–there was an inner circle and an outer circle on the Demeter, and he was on the outside, standing ready with the other valets to pour more tea or refill a plate with cucumber sandwiches and cake. Cody had never heard of a cucumber sandwich before. He assumed by the face John had pulled after biting into one that he wouldn’t have liked it much.

“-and he says, ‘Oh, you mean my wife?’” Friday capped off her joke to full-throated laughter and scattered applause. The sunlight pouring through the windows caught on pearly-white teeth and jewelry heavy with gemstones, bracelets and earrings probably worth more than the ransom on Cody’s head. 

Val and John were the only ones not laughing. Val smiled thinly, politely, playing the part of a husband suffering a joke his wife had told a hundred times. John didn’t even bother to smile. He caught Cody looking at him, frowned slightly, and looked away. Cody looked away too, embarrassed, fighting down the bile rising in his throat.

“Seasick?” someone asked. It took Cody a moment to register that he was being spoken to directly; no one on the ship had done that yet.

“I’m alright,” he said. The social hierarchy here dictated that he reply, but he didn’t feel like discussing his current struggle to keep down his lunch with a stranger.

“You’re practically green.” 

The speaker was a man seated on the outskirts of the inner circle. He sat at an otherwise unpopular table, close enough to hear the conversation, far enough away that he didn’t invite small talk. He was a little taller than Friday, dressed in an elaborately patterned shirt and white, wide-legged pants, coiffed black hair curling down over one eye. His feet were propped up on the table he sat at, and he was drinking a cup of tea with the saucer resting on his knees. That, and the boyish lopsidedness to his smile, made Cody more inclined to like him.

“I’ve never been on a boat this big,” Cody admitted. One of the other party-goers had started telling a joke to follow Friday’s, so he barely had to lower his voice to keep from being overheard. “I didn’t know how sick it’d make me.”

“Happens to everyone. Well, mostly everyone,” the man said. He had an accent Cody couldn’t place. A lot of the guests on the ship did. It reminded him of Marc Waters’s accent, but it wasn’t quite the same. “You want a sip of my tea? It’s ginger. Settles the stomach.”

Cody was sure that a valet being seen drinking from a passenger’s teacup would be scandalous. He was so nauseous he almost didn’t care.

“I’ll ask around the kitchen for some later,” he forced himself to say.

“Ask for green apples, too,” the man suggested. “Good for seasickness. Most ships keep them onboard. You’re here with the surly one, non?”

Cody almost smiled. “Which surly one?”

“The blonde.”

“John Graves,” he said. The fact that they were using their real names on the ship, relying on expensive costumes and a prayer to sneak their way aboard, was absurd. But Judith’s associate at the docks had promised them that no one aboard the Demeter would recognize them–this was a class of people Cody had never encountered before. Even if they’d ever seen a ransom poster, none of them would care enough to hand anyone over to Hemisphere. Why turn the ship all the way around and go back to America for such a pittance of a reward?

“I’m his valet,” Cody added, as if the man hadn’t already assumed. The cuffs of his sleeves suddenly felt too tight around his wrists. 

He’d offered to take this role to spare John from having to play-act the part of a manservant. They’d been limited by the outfits and room assignments Judith’s associate had been able to arrange for them at the last minute: a man and his valet, a husband and wife. Val and Friday had taken husband and wife, which had seemed obvious at the time, though Cody had since gotten the sense that Val had changed his mind about volunteering himself and Friday for the double cabin. Or had changed his mind about everything they were doing, more broadly. Val had been silent and haunted since they’d left Maine; there was a part of him still back at that barricade, looking for Johannes.

“What’s your name, valet of John Graves?” the man asked Cody, drawing him back to the present. The others in the inner circle were laughing again. Cody hadn’t even caught the punchline to the joke.

“Cody.”

“Enchanté, Cody,” the man said. He stuck out the hand not holding his teacup. His nails were finely manicured and filed down to the quick, polished black. “Je suis Sacha Fortune.”

He looked almost expectant, like his name was one Cody should have recognized. It wasn’t.

“Okay,” Cody said. “Nice to meet you, Sacha.”

“Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine,” Sacha said. He hadn’t yet taken a sip of his tea, though the cup was still dangling from his fingers. Maybe it had gotten cold.

“Sacha!” one of the women in the crowd around Friday and Val called. She was dressed much more practically, almost like one of the valets, without the bright makeup or jewelry of the people who surrounded her. “C’mere and hear this one. You’ll laugh yourself sick.”

Sacha smiled again, the expression a little more wan than before, and hopped to his feet. He was made shorter by a slouch when he stood, hands jammed into the pockets of his pants once he had dispatched his teacup and saucer to the table.

“I think that’s my cue,” he told Cody. “Ask the kitchen about the apples.”

Cody nodded as another wave of nausea rolled through him, the ship still steadily rocking underfoot. His face felt hot. He wondered if Sacha had a valet who would clean up the cup and saucer after him, but none of the valets in the outer circle had stepped forward. Sacha hadn’t even mentioned having a valet of his own.

“Cody,” John said, from behind him.

Cody turned, doing everything he could to stop from swaying unsteadily on his feet. He didn’t like feeling this off-balance, but he also refused to lean on John for stability, so he was stuck standing still and alone. His face probably betrayed how bad he felt. John’s face betrayed a lot, too–he was frowning bemusedly, his eyes rapidly filling with concern the longer he and Cody stared at each other.

“I’m fine,” Cody muttered, because he could see the question in John’s face. “Just need to ask around for some apples.”

John frowned deeper. “Apples?”

“For my stomach. Are we leaving?”

“Yes,” John said, and didn’t elaborate. Cody got the idea that John had simply had his fill of taking tea in a bright room full of loud people. Fair enough.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Val and Friday coming?”

“No,” John said, and shook his head. He started walking out of the lounge without any of the social pleasantries that were probably expected of him; Cody followed without being told or gestured for. “Friday’s making friends.”

“Flirting, you mean.”

“A little.” John jerked his chin slightly towards the woman who had called Sacha over. She was leaning familiarly on Friday’s shoulder, still laughing. “The first mate likes her.”

“Great. Just what we need,” Cody sighed, exhaling enough air to blow a stray piece of hair from his face. He felt better as soon as they’d passed through the lounge’s side doors and onto the deck of the ship. “Isn’t she supposed to be married?”

John was quiet for a long moment as they walked down the deck, breathing in the sharp stink of salt that came off the ocean. Then, he said, “Not happily.”

It was the first joke Cody had laughed at all day.

Previously on Book 2 || 20.2

[sheltiemomma]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Retro Beaded Earrings & Bracelet.

[jameswhitaker27]

How to Choose the Right Obsidian Bracelet

obsidian is a popular material for jewelry because of its unique color and texture. However, not all obsidian bracelets are created equal. In this blog post, we’ll provide you with tips on how to choose the right Obsidian Bracelet for your needs. From considerations about price to design features, we’ll cover everything you need to make an informed decision. What is an Obsidian Bracelet? Obsidian is a natural glass that is found in many places around the world. It is often used as anstone because it has a very smooth surface that reflects light evenly. This makes it a popular choice for bracelets because they can be customized to reflect the wearer's personality or style. When choosing an Obsidian bracelet, be sure to consider the size, shape and color of the stones. Additionally, be sure to check for any cracks or signs of wear on the bracelet before making your purchase. Types of Obsidian Bracelets Obsidian is a naturally occurring, black volcanic glass that ranges in color from a light gray to jet black. It is one of the most popular materials used to make bracelets because it has a strong but flexible fiber that makes it easy to weave into bracelets and necklaces. There are many different types of obsidian bracelets, but the three main types are natural, semiprecious, and synthetic. Natural obsidian bracelet beads are made from actual pieces of obsidian that have been found on earth. They are the most expensive type of bracelet bead because they are the rarest and most expensive stones. Semiprecious obsidian bracelet beads are made from stones that were shaped into beads but do not contain any real obsidian. Synthetic obsidian bracelet beads are made from materials such as glass, plastic, or metal and contain no real Obsidian. The Different Stones in an Obsidian Bracelet Obsidian is a gemstone that has been used by man for centuries. It comes in different colors, but the most popular are black and brown. The Black Obsidian bracelet is the most popular because it goes with just about anything. Brown Obsidian is also a popular choice, but not as versatile. White and other light colors don't show up as well on darker skin tones, so they're not as common. The different stones in an obsidian bracelet can be chosen to match your personality or style. Some people prefer to have a mix of different stones, while others prefer to have one stone that stands out more. There are many options when it comes to choosing the stones for an obsidian bracelet, so there's bound to be one that you love! How to Choose the Right Obsidian Bracelet When it comes to choosing the right obsidian bracelet, there are a few things you need to keep in mind. First, think about what kind of look you're going for. If you want something subtle and understated, go with a plain band. If you want something more pronounced, try adding a colorful stone or two. Another thing to consider is how wide your wrist is. Most bands fit wrists up to 6 inches wide, but if your wrist is wider than that, go with a band that's 1/2 inch wider than your wrist measurement to allow for some room. Finally, make sure the bracelet is comfortable! Obsidian is a hard material, so if the bracelet is too tight it can cause pain. Go with something that feels comfortable and fits well on your arm. Conclusion If you're looking for a unique and polished piece of jewelry to wear, obsidian is a great option. With its black color and metallic sheen, it can add a touch of sophistication to any outfit. However, there are a few things you need to keep in mind when choosing an obsidian bracelet. First, make sure the size is appropriate for your wrist; many bracelets are too large or small and will not fit well. Second, be sure the bracelet is properly sealed so that it does not get damaged by moisture or other elements. Finally, always clean and polish your obsidian bracelet regularly to maintain its shine and attractiveness. Thanks for reading!

[professorpski]

Simply Pearls: Designs For Creating Perfect Pearl Jewelry by Nancy Alden

I show you some of the beautiful designs found in this book, but it’s advice on the elements, tools, and techniques of the making of pearl necklaces is just as valuable. See the last image which comes from a section on making pearl strands on silk thread with knots between them. Almost all of the featured pearls are real as freshwater pearls have become relatively inexpensive.

The necklace on the cover is named A Lot of Work-But Worth It, and is the reason I bought the book. She made it using an assortment of freshwater pearls, and then small gemstones and beads and spacers. Alden explains how to take headpins and add your jewels, then make a wire-wrapped loop. She advises how to make sure they will harmonize in size and put the whole together. The Multistrand Keshi Pearl Necklace uses little golden charlotte beads to bring them all together. Again Alden walks you through the making of the design explaining the tools you will need and how to use them.

Overall, over 2 dozen necklace designs, and over a dozen earring designs plus a handful of bracelets are featured. Alden explains the different kinds of pearls and beads and their effects, plus offers a section on technique in the back. It will get you planning your own designs and eager to find some pearls to work on.

The book came out in 2006, so you will have to hunt the web for copies, but like the necklace on the cover, it is worth it.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [23/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Please check out my original story, The Abstract Dark (previously: Our Lady of Darkness), for some spooks, a little witch-craft under moonlight, and terryfying vampyre-like things! (18+ mature content)

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The armour took the brunt of the impact as soon as the portal blinked out of existence, seizing the world of Verdenspeil in a swirl of oblivion.

A grunt left your throat, then your ears picked up on Baldrick’s noise of discomfort—he had landed on his arm funny, but nothing seemed broken.

“Are you okay?” you helped him to his feet.

The boy nodded, eyes fixed on the fallen dagger a few paces across the room.

There was a pedestal in the centre of the room, a keyhole of a four-pronged star in the centre made for the dagger on the floor—the dagger Sigrid gave you.

You stood up to take a better look at Mímir’s Tomb. The circular room gleamed silver and gold from the armours of giant statuesque figures chained onto open tombs built into the walls. Their design was similar to the Valkyrie armour you now wore, only cruder from warring, from wear and tear. That revelation gave you pause for concern, if there were signs of use, there may be signs of the life that once inhabited the armour.

Baldrick walked over to the dagger, then on his tippy toes, wedged it into the keyhole slot and turned it counter-clockwise. Just as Sköll and Hati chase after the sun and moon in endless circles, the room began to turn like a drum racing downhill.

The spinning was so intense you feared you’d throw up. Baldrick held onto the pedestal and kept his eyes shut. From the ceiling, a contraption lowered a stone platform. As it descended, the room began to stop spinning, and the armoured figures began to stir.

“Baldrick,” you ushered him close to you, shielding him with your arm as he grabbed your cyan blue cloak that swept the floor. The swish and swing of blades being drawn emanated from the sheaths of the armoured figures.

You swallowed, holding your breath. Fingers birthing blue aura in anticipation of a fight. Then, with a loud and deafening thud, the platform locked onto a triangular dip in the floor, a head floating in a curtain of magic and light.

One armoured figure took a step, and as you raised your hand defensively, Baldrick whispered: “No.”

The armoured figure cluttered to the floor, scattering into hundreds of pieces—as did all the others. A helmet rolled to Baldrick’s feet, ornate, a golden set of horns shaped like an elk’s. With childish wonder, fear wiped off his face and he picked up the helmet and put it on, turning to smile with bright teeth at you.

You laughed, unexpectedly and wholeheartedly. It was a rare gift to see pure, unrestrained joy come from nothing. This little boy in front of you carried a connection, his magic made a home in yours, made itself feel like it had been there for years, like it was beyond familiarity. You knew he was manipulating your emotions, perhaps without even realising it, but for some inexplicable reason, you weren’t worried.

The wisps of your magic died down, then the head spoke: “I’d recognise that magic anywhere… You’ve been touched by the Stone of the Ancients.”

You turned to the head, an opal gemstone for one eye, and sky blues like your own for the other. His hair was grey and long, worn with Viking braids and beads knotted on the ends of a few dreaded strands. His beard was thin and braided, tribal tattoos on either side of his temple in the form of roots of the World Tree.

“Mímir,” you said.

“The one and only,” he winked. “Come closer, let me have a better look at you. My eyesight isn’t what it was, being locked away in the cold dark for over a millennia will do that to you.”

You and Baldrick moved closer to Mímir’s line of sight.

“Your eye, it is as mine,” you said.

“A gift from my sister,” he said with a wistful tinge. His focus turned to Baldrick with interest. Recognition. “You, boy, I know you—of you. Your essence is blindingly radiant. So much power for such a small thing. Frightening. World spanning. You—Yes! It is you that I dreamt of all those years ago—you will war with the brother. You will be the Herald of Twilight. Herald of the end!”

Baldrick did not react to the words that he heard, he only blinked slow, lethargic with growing fatigue.

You instinctively wrapped a protective arm around the boy's frame, taking a step back. Mímir turned his sights back on you, squinting. “And you… You are the last of the Himmel Kvinner. Your fate will be that of tragedy and truth. Love and despair. Life and the expanse of space between living and death. You are the Forgotten One.” He quieted in contemplation, sighing deeply with burden. “I see. Yes, I see now. The prince… he sleeps, does he not?”

“H-How do you know that?”

Mímir smirked, “My knowledge is infinite. I see all. And I see nothing. That is why the Allfather trapped me here. Once, I could see through the very weavings of time itself. Beyond realms. Beyond the limits of my body. Now I see remembrances of what I once dreamt. I am but a fraction of what I was. But even beheaded, I am still the wise Mímir, the first to drink from the well of knowledge. The first to be granted the vision of the Stone of the Ancients. The last pureblood heir to the House of Bölþorn the Just.” At the invocation of his house and title, Mímir’s skin turned to a proud, Jotun blue and then back to pale.

“Then you know of a way to wake him?”

“I see patience is lost on you. A millennia and my first guests cannot even humour an old man the chance to goad.” The head laughed, bemused by your dismissal of his grand introduction. “Very well. No, I cannot help you, but I keep the one who does.”

“What do you mean by keep?”

“Her reliquaries, your boy here immobilised them just by thinking it.”

“The statues?”

“Yes. Twenty-seven suits of armour for the twenty-seven pieces of my sister that Bor hacked with his axe.”

“Your sister?”

“Bestla.”

“Bor did that to Bestla? I thought they were lovers. Why would he do that his own wife?”

“Wife?” Mímir shouted the word as if it were a preposterous thing. “Ha! Is that the spin the Æsir are using now? Wiping away the blood from their history books, I see. Bestla was never Bor’s wife! Not by choice. She was his peace treaty. His flesh and blood armistice with the Jotuns after the Dark Alliance threatened to end the war; with him on the losing side!” His real eye flashed, lips moving with no sound. A spell had been cast. “I’ll let her speak for herself.”

Torches burst in blue flame. Suddenly, Jotun script burned to life, etching itself into the wall beside the moving tapestries of what could only be living history.

“It has been a long time since I ever saw our histories unfold on these walls,” Mímir sighed, half sadness, half gratitude. “It will be a refreshing change of pace, having someone know of the true story.”

Baldrick, drawn to the magic, began to read aloud, his tongue picking up the Jotun language with fluency. Dust, once housed in the shattered pieces of armour, began to materialise into a cloud. It roped around the room in an orb-like shape, drawn to you like a moth to flame.

Then, after Baldrick read the final inscription aloud, a piercing pain brought you to your knees. The mark of Odin sparking with life, a scream leaving your lips. Somehow the mark was interfering with the spell Baldrick had just unknowingly cast.

“Oh, no-no-no-no!” Mímir panicked. “You were marked. Quick, boy, grab one of the reliquary’s swords and hold it over the flame. Sorry, lass, but this will sting, we have to sever the mark’s connection to Odin’s magic.”

Baldrick rushed to do as Mímir said, his little feet working hurriedly. When he reached you, the sword that was too big for his grip glowed with the heat of the blue flames, threatening to bring a whole new kind of pain

“What will happen to me once the Ægishjalmar is gone?” you squeezed the raw muscle near your mark. Your mind flashed to the battle in the throne room again. To the frostbite of unbridled power.

“I know what you fear. I saw the battle in the throne room. I saw what you became because of Odin’s magic. The power you wield will be your own, I assure you, lass.” Mímir’s cadence was truthful, assured.

“Will it be dangerous?” you asked. “My magic?”

“All magic is dangerous, lass. The sooner you embrace that, the sooner you find balance.”

Baldrick searched your expression, needing to know whether to proceed or not. With a bitter taste in your mouth—partly for not wanting him to have to do something so hard, partly for your own sake—you bit down on a belt strap and nodded.

The burn was subliminal compared to having Odin’s passive magic seared out of you. It was like having a piece of you stolen without ever realising it was there to begin with. When the smell of burning flesh diffused, and the blade dropped to the ground, you felt dizzy, not as sober as before.

The magic that was denied to complete itself before was now free to continue without the resistance of Odin’s magic. The dust from the reliquaries wasn’t dust at all, they were ashes, the vestiges of Bestla.

The ashes coalesced into a physical mimicry of Bestla—and she looked every bit as fierce and beautiful as she had in the book. Tall, strong arms, midnight hair, long and thick to her tailbone. The red of her Jotun eyes was diluted, cloudy. And the tribal markings painted on her face and arms was of a powdered white. She was a vision. Demanding. Anomalistic.

“Ahhh,” Bestla breathed in deep, taking in air till her lungs promised to burst. “It has been ages since I felt the cold. The air. Light.” She laughed in glee. Slightly mad, but she was excused of that twistedness.

“And it is good to see you again, dear sister,” Mímir laughed.

Bestla turned quick on her heels, a stretch to her cheeks from her growing smile, “Mim? I never imagined I’d ever see you again.” She crossed over to his side of the room in two quick strides. Her fingers hovered over the jewel he had in one of his eye cavities. “Who did this to you?”

“Your son,” he said, downcast.

Bestla let out a contemplative hum, not in the least surprised, “So, he turned out just like his father.”

“I tried my best, but he had too much of his father’s pride, too much of that Æsir spirit.”

The giantess turned to you and then the boy, “You have finally come.”

You staggered to your feet, patience fully wilted, “It seems, every portal I jump through, every new world I discover, and every new person I meet, knows of what I am and what I will do before I do. I must admit, it is quite frustrating.”

“I can only imagine. You travelled all this way for hope, for a way to wake the one you love. Love… It has been a while since I felt its aura. It is beautiful on you. And waning. As is the construct of time,” Bestla closed the distance between the two of you, her height seeming doubled from up close. You opened your mouth to speak, but she countered with a raised hand. “Yes, I know of a way to wake him.” She waved her hand and your memories of the throne room battle were pulled from your mind, displayed in illusions of light and shadow. “When Odin cast the incantation, he unleashed your full potential. That potential is as mine was, once.” She waved her hand again and the illusion turned to that of a blue box, slithering with light. The Jotun Artefact that gave you your power. “This is the Stone of the Ancients. One of six. My people guarded it for generations. Its essence was intertwined with the very fabric of Jotunheim, as a heart does to a body, so when the Æsir stole it from our temples to use as a weapon against the Vanir during the First Great War, our planet fell to ruin. Ruin and endless winters.”

The illusion showed the decimation of spring and summer from the unimaginable beauty of a Jotunheim you had never seen before. A Jotunheim of peace and vibrancy that was all wiped away for the frozen tundra you knew all too well.

“You mean… it was Bor that started the war between the Giants and the Asgardians?” you asked.

“Aye, lass, the very same Tyrant King,” Mímir said. “Your dark prince isn’t the heir to a murderous legacy, he is the heir of the wronged. Heir to desolation as long as the Stone of the Ancients is never returned to Jotunheim.”

“Is that why I was lead here? You want me to help you restore Jotunheim?”

Bestla and Mímir shook their heads. You knew that look. It was the look of loss.

“No, dear one, Jotunheim is lost. Forever.” She said. “Fate is a tricky thing. My brother has seen how I meet my end, and I require you to do so. I swore to have my revenge, and I will, with your help.”

“If… If I help you, you will show me how to wake Loki?”

“You already know how to,” Bestla waved her hand and replayed the moment after energy ripped from your body. Then you were gurgling on the ground, hand stretched out to touch Loki’s as he bled on the floor. Breath hitched. Pained. And then you saw something new, the magic took over your body for a moment, and free from Odin’s spell, you spoke an incantation of your own. Slivers of your magic swimming across the marble floors to latch onto Loki’s fingernails and swim up the stream of his veins to rest around his cheeks.

Baldrick’s mouth pried open, a Jotun word leaving his mouth.

Bestla continued speaking as the illusion dissolved to the image of Loki hovering on a gold curtain of light in the healing chamber: “You saved his life. Our magic, our connection to the stone is primal. It is instinct and memory and emotion. That is why I cursed the Stone before I was locked in those reliquaries. I ensured only those who would understand my pain, the depths of my betrayal, would gain the stone’s power—women. And when Odin hid the stone on earth, he never imagined it would infect those on Midgard as it did to my people. But I never imagined he’d use that as a way to experiment on the women, to make them his weapons of destruction against my own kind, all the while making them believe they were chosen. God kissed. But if he never did, then you wouldn’t be here now. Like I said, fate is a tricky thing.

“When you reached for your prince—for Loki—you weren’t simply praying to no-one, you were praying to the stone. And it heard you. So it placed him in a deep slumber as it healed him from within, but the physical was not all that was damaged. Loki is a fraught boy. Torn apart by two halves that will always be at war. And in that throne room, one half finally won, and to him, it was the wrong half. The monster he was taught to hate. The monster all children are taught to fear: the Giant. I know of a spell that will allow you to enter his mind and bring him back, but like all things—”

“It comes with a price,” you weren’t the least bit surprised, but being a pawn in everyone else’s plans was becoming a thorn in your side. “And if I refuse?”

Bestla gave you an apologetic look, “Child, I said fate was tricky, I never said we got to choose.” She waved her hand one last time, and suddenly you were levitating from the floor, vision going black, ears ringing.

“Do not fret, when you awake, the answer will be as familiar to you as walking,” Bestla promised. “For familiar magic tends to want to be understood.”

Then, nothing. Just black and hard floor.

  ~Heimdall

When Heimdall and the rest of his companions reached the side of the mountain where the entrance to Mímir’s Tomb was, it was already sunrise the next day.

Moving his hands close to one another in the way of the old ways, he spoke in his native Vanir tongue, using blood to smear his handprint on a circular plate centred on the door.

In short order, the doors pried apart in slow motions, dust and the smell of ancients flooding out of the tomb.

“There is a chance the protection seals are still in place, enter with caution, and with weapons drawn,” he told the others as they disappeared into the maw of the tomb.

Heimdall gasped when he saw the reliquary statues broken to pieces. Whoever had done this possessed strong magic, but it couldn’t have been Y/N’s, she was still weak from the leeching, still new to her power. The pedestal where Mimir’s head had been laid to rest was bare, no sign of the one-eyed prophet anywhere.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“Mímir? How? It’s not like a head can just sprout legs and walk away,” Fandral said. “I must say, I am a little disappointed. Missing the chance to see one of the last living survivors of the Great War, it does sting a little. Imagine all the secrets her held.”

“Could we have trusted them?” Sif said with some restraint, nowhere near as enthusiastic as Fandral. “He was locked away for a reason. Probably because he was dangerous.”

“And now he is gone,” Volstagg said.

“A problem for another day,” Heimdall said.

“Over here!” Hogun shouted from a dark corner of the room, behind the centre pedestal, dagger locked in place. “I found them.”

“Them?” Sif ran in Hogun’s direction and Heimdall followed.

On the floor was Y/N, out cold, but alive. Her essence was changed, almost exonerated of another’s influence, yet not completely alone. There was something else banging around in the softest, more quiet parts of her magic. Something new. He noticed then that her brand was cauterised from her flesh. Next to her was a boy, strange, bearing a hefty presence. He was the wielder of the magic that destroyed the protective seals on the reliquaries. For someone so young, that was unfounded. What was his connection to Y/N, Heimdall wondered.

He picked her off the floor while Hogun carried the boy. With ease creeping into his chest, he said, “Let’s go home.”

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Note: Today is so beautiful, you all deserve this 8,000-word chapter a few days early. Thank Uncle Joe and Aunt Kamala. If you enjoy it, please leave me a little comment telling me what you liked best. They really keep me going!

Chapter 13

Nelly had never suffered stage fright in the theater, but as her taxi pulled up to the Villa, she felt like she was getting a year’s worth at once. Her taxi wasn’t the only vehicle in the front drive. A handsome red-and-black Packard was there, expelling a man in a seersucker suit and a fashionable woman who shimmered in a dress the color of a deep blue sapphire. She wished desperately for a drink. She wished that she hadn’t eaten a plate of scalloped ham and potatoes before leaving. She wished that she’d asked Buster what to wear, how to comport herself, what to say, but all she had to go on were her own acting skills and a small measure of courage. She wondered if he’d be surprised to see her show up, if he’d forgotten the invitation altogether.

She had rented her dress from Carmela’s for the handsome sum of $37. It was pale green like a luna moth and layered in silks and crepe de chine. Silver beading was stitched across the front in a design vaguely resembling a rising phoenix. She’d also purchased a white-feathered rhinestone headpiece for $12, but her necklace was her own and its green gemstones only glass. Her hair was waved, each side done up in a braided bun. For her lips she’d chosen a dark rose, and she’d applied some turquoise shadow to her lids above the kohl liner. She felt like a perfect imposter, albeit an elegant one. 

Until they’d pulled up his drive and she’d sighted the Villa, she hadn’t really understood just how rich Buster Keaton was. The residence was white and enormous, a sort of boxcar shape with both ends bent inward, with a red clay-tile roof and another large house to the left as you were approaching the Villa from the back. A long paved drive wound up the back of the house where palm trees, Mediterranean cypresses, and a carpet bed of flowers studded the hills. Buster’s easy, humble manner on the few occasions she’d interacted with him in person had made her feel increasingly at ease with him. It had begun to feel like they were on the same level. Now she realized how incorrect that feeling had been. She’d been in a few stately houses back in Evanston—those belonging to her mother’s higher-society friends—but they were nothing to the sprawling grandeur of the Villa. 

The jets of a stone fountain in the center of the front drive splashed pleasantly as Nelly stepped out of the car and tipped the driver, holding her door, with a five-dollar bill. She smiled and tried to look easy, like she belonged there and was in the habit of handing out handsome tips. Her only thought as she approached the tall arched doorway of the Villa was, I’m going to flub my lines.

It was a warm night and no one was wearing coats, but there was a maid in the foyer prepared to take them nonetheless. Just outside of the foyer, a beautiful young woman was smiling and clasping the hand of another beautiful young woman, who was accompanied by a beautiful young man. The beautiful young woman looked a whole lot like Norma Talmage and Nelly realized that she was none other than Natalie. Her heart went wild. Before she had time to think about what she would say, it was her turn to greet the hostess.

“How do you do?” she said.

“Very well. How do you do?” said Natalie, smiling. She was slim and petite, with a dark bob parted on the side and prettily waved.

“Very well. I’m Nelly. I worked with Bus—your husband—on Steamboat Bill.” She didn’t know what made her blurt it, only that Natalie was looking at her without a hint of recognition in her eyes and Nelly felt she owed an explanation for how a nobody like her ended up among the big names. She fancied that she saw something in Natalie’s expression change a little, but the smile didn’t waver.

“Very pleased to meet you. You’ll find refreshments just over there. Buster will be down in a little while. I’m sure he’ll be pleased you came.”

Nelly wanted to do something to soften Natalie’s impression of her, compliment the house or her dress, a costly-looking beaded yellow one that hit slightly above the knee, but she was already greeting the next guest.

Seven or so couples mingled in the space beyond the foyer. There were two square white columns supporting an upper level, a majestic stone staircase leading up to it on the right, and arched doorways to the left and right leading to unseen parts of the house. There were arched doorways everywhere, in fact, and a long table filled with an assortment of French hors d’oeuvre. A recessed area with white-streaked black marble steps stood at the rear of the open room, leading out to a loggia from which Nelly could just see the backyard. She itched to find the washroom so she could powder the sweat off her face.

A butler appeared at her elbow offering a cocktail and she took it at once. When she was sure no one was watching, she gulped it in one go and hid the glass on a nearby table. She had no business being here. She wondered whether she was meant to have invited somebody. All of the other couples seemed to know each other and were engrossed in conversation, and she was the only one without a partner. She stood on the checkerboard marble floor with her hands knit in front of her, smiling and trying her best to project an air of belonging.

That smile faltered when she saw who came through foyer next. It was Louise Brooks! She was wearing a low-cut black gown that revealed the cleavage of her small breasts and her lips were a deep cherry red. She was accompanied by a man that Nelly didn’t recognize. Nelly’s mouth began to go dry and she was keenly aware of how damp her underarms had become. She had nothing to anchor herself to for comfort or security. As the minutes ticked by and she remained unacknowledged by the other guests besides polite smiles and nods, she began to feel hot and dizzy. Her heart was beating rapidly. She needed to escape. She wondered if anyone would notice if she made a casual break for the loggia.

“Hey, Buster!” a man called. Some people pointed up and waved. Nelly followed their eyes and saw Buster on the second level above the loggia. He put up his hand gravely like a king recognizing his subjects and started down the stairs.

In the next horrifying moment, he lost his footing and took a hard tumble straight down. The room erupted in gasps and shouts. Buster had come to rest on his back at the foot of the stairs with his limbs splayed. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. Some of the guests rushed toward him.

Then, with a mildly baffled expression, he stood up and brushed the dust off the arms of his suit jacket. Someone began clapping and pretty soon everyone joined in, laughing and cheering him. Only then did Nelly realize it had been a pratfall. She didn’t know if it was funny. The sight of him lying so still for those few heart-stopping moments had rattled her. 

“A drink?” The butler was at her elbow again.

She looked away from Buster. “Please.”

He handed her a martini glass with a little orange wedge on the side and sugar on the rim and she sipped, the spell of her own panic broken somewhat, though not for very long. Still more guests were filtering into the room. She recognized Marion Davies and Norma Talmadge with another thudding of her heart in her throat. The room seemed to be getting famouser by the minute. Buster was greeting guests a few yards away, sober and unsmiling, unaware that she was there. She wondered if he’d forgotten that he’d invited her. It seemed quite possible.

It was too much; she gave into her impulse to steal off to the loggia. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she stepped down into the recessed area, through an arched doorway, and into the loggia. White wicker furniture, potted trees, and pink orchids adorned it. Sconces on its inner walls burned with real flames, while two hanging fixtures gave a stronger light.

It felt a few degrees cooler outside. The sun had by now fallen and only a few streaks of purple remained in the sky. Nelly’s cocktail tasted of citrus, and she licked some sugar off the rim. The glow of the drinks hadn’t yet hit her. Too much scalloped ham in her stomach, she supposed. She stood next to one of the columns beneath yet another arched doorway and looked down what seemed like one hundred white marble steps, illuminated by carefully concealed electric lights, leading to the huge sunken swimming pool. The green lawn seemed to go on for miles. She still couldn’t get her head around the sheer excess of Buster’s abode. She remembered a two-reeler in which a down-and-out Buster, looking pitiful, stood in a bread line but was denied a loaf at the last minute. How humble and sad he had seemed!

“Hello,” said Buster behind her. 

She shuddered in surprise and turned around to see him walking toward her. “You always sneak up on me,” she said.

“Nelly.”

The split-second astonishment on his face told her two things. One, he hadn’t recognized her. Two, she looked as good as she thought she did. A sudden warm confidence renewed her. 

“What are you doing out here?” he said, stopping a few paces from her. He raised his own cocktail to his lips.

She took another sip of hers, deciding there was no point in not being honest. “I realized I was out of place and wanted some air.”

Buster looked at her appraisingly. He was wearing a well-tailored navy-blue suit and the flowers on his matching silk tie were embroidered in bright gilt thread. It was the prettiest tie she’d ever seen. “Thought you wanted fame and fortune,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “I want a job as an extra. I never said anything about fame and fortune.”

“What about your starring role in Shakespeare’s big talkie?” he said. Although he wasn’t smiling, it was definitely a tease. 

“I want the role. I hadn’t thought about what happens next,” she said, and it was true. She wanted to be an actress because she liked it. She wanted recognition for that acting, but it had never occurred to her, not seriously anyway, that recognition might lead to prominence or money. Now, among Hollywood’s elites in Buster Keaton’s extravagant mansion, anything seemed possible. Silence fell between them and she finished her cocktail. 

Buster said, “So what do you think?”

“Of what?”

“My house. The Villa.” He came to her side.

She met his eyes and was alarmed to feel a sort of flutter in her middle as they regarded each other. She thought of Natalie greeting her in the foyer and was disgusted with herself. “It’s, uh …” she said, distracted.

“Vulgar?”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I think it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything like it.” “But it is vulgar. I think it’s wonderful as well, but it’s vulgar. You can say it.”

“If you insist,” she said, looking away from him. It was difficult to look him in the eyes now.

“You’re not being honest,” he said. 

For a panicked second, she thought he was referring to her feelings. But no, they were talking about the house. “I never thought you lived like this,” she said. “I guess I don’t know what I thought. I’m not used to it.”

Buster nodded. “You thought I was that honest boy from the pictures.”

“Well that’s how you seem when you’re working. I mean, when you’re filming a picture.”

He sipped his cocktail. “It’s expected,” he said, sweeping his hand to indicate the house. “When in Rome, you know.”

“Well I suppose that tells you that I’m out of place, that I’m not used to it.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you find your place.” He held out his elbow and she found she couldn’t refuse. She linked her arm in his before she was properly aware of it. His arm was warm and the material of his jacket was soft against her bare arm. He smelled like cigarettes and aftershave. Her mind protested, Natalie, his wife Natalie. But she was powerless. They walked back up the steps to the recessed area, then up the other pair of steps to the checkerboard floor. The room was now noisy with conversation. A Victrola playing jazz could barely be heard.

Buster dropped her arm and stopped in front of Marion Davies and her male companion, who were near the hors d'oeuvre table sipping drinks. “Nelly, this is Marion and Dick. Marion and Dick, this is Nelly.”

“How do you do?” said Nelly, blushing. 

With formalities out of the way, the lovely blonde-haired Marion asked with a polite smile, “And what do you do, Nelly?”

“I’m a theater actress. I worked with Buster on his last picture,” she said, the answer coming out just as smoothly as if she’d rehearsed it. 

More polite conversation commenced, and Nelly began to relax. This was one of her mother’s garden parties when she was a teenager and she was practicing her charm and manners with the adults, that was all. Sure it was artificial, but that was okay. 

As soon as there was a lull in the conversation with Marion and Dick, Buster spun her toward a nearby man looking to be about forty, slightly heavy with large, broad arms. “Clarence, Nelly. Nelly, Clarence.”

Clarence ended up being Clarence Brown, who had directed Norma Talmadge in Kiki. Nelly told him that she had liked it and Buster said in a whisper, his breath hot on her ear, “Careful you don’t charm him too much, he just got divorced.”

Next, Buster turned her toward Jack Conway and his wife Virginia. She didn’t recognize his name and kicked herself for not paying more attention to title credits when Buster explained that he was Jack Conway the director. She had seen Brown of Harvard, though, and was able to find common ground with him by telling him that she liked it. She was just starting to feel like she had established a good rapport with the Conways when Buster whisked her away again. She was now faced with Louise Brooks, sparkling like the dictionary definition of sex, and her date, a slim-mouthed man in a grey double-breasted suit who did not sparkle with anything. 

“Louise and George, Nelly. Nelly, Louise and George.”

“Call him Wet Wash,” said Louise, giggling. 

“She’s not his wife,” Buster whispered. Nelly swallowed at the feeling of his breath against her ear again. 

Again, Buster’s butler approached her and again she accepted a cocktail. This one was bright green and mint-flavored. Nelly hadn’t seen Louise Brooks in any pictures, but she’d seen her in plenty of magazines, so she expressed her admiration for Louise’s sleek, dark-brown bob instead. Louise received the compliment good-humoredly and asked Nelly what she did. Buster placed his hand on the small of her back. The weight of it was exquisite, but brief. He leaned over to say, “You’re on your own now, kid. I have to mingle.” Then he was gone.

“I’m a theater actress,” said Nelly. 

And Louise said, “Oh, what have you starred in?”

And pretty soon she was telling Louise about the humble Vista, the revues, and playing Helena and Maria like it was nothing. It was suicide to be seen paying more than momentary attention to a girl in the presence of Nate and the two warships that were his sisters-in-law, but from the minute Buster saw Nelly out on the loggia, a vision in green, he couldn’t seem to leave her alone. There was no reason why he should worry so much about whether she was having a good time or if she spoke to the right people, but now that she was here, he felt compelled to look out for her. Maybe it was how drunk she’d gotten at that speak-easy. Without guidance, she seemed liable to slip and be swallowed up. Or maybe it was her unspoiled Midwestern ways, which reminded him so much of folks he’d known in Muskegon.

He wondered that he’d never noticed that her eyes were blue.

His sense of duty toward her became more powerful with every drink. He knew he’d suffer the consequences in the form of one of Nate’s jealousy attacks, but that punishment seemed far removed as his guests got drunker and their sense of abandon greater. Morning was far off and the night was still young. Now was a time to be happy about it all, to stop tormenting himself about how to make Nate happy and thinking about being saddled with twenty M-G-M gag writers who wouldn’t know funny if it high-kicked them in the forehead like Joe Keaton. He was with his friends in his palace, there was a pretty girl to charm, and life was okay. Somewhere north of nine o’clock, Nelly was sitting in the family room on a settee opposite Louise and George, who were sharing a chair. Perched in George’s lap, Louise’s sparkle drew lots of men’s eyes, Nelly noticed. Of course, that sparkle had a lot to do with the shocking low cut of her dress and its promise to expose her breasts if she moved just a little this way or that. In spite of Louise’s glamor and unabashed provocativeness, Nelly liked her. She was down-to-earth, and they soon discovered a mutual love of books and music. Another citrus cocktail had been handed to Nelly by the butler at some point and the warm glow of spirits was finally upon her. She couldn’t remember why she’d been so worried about this party. She belonged perfectly.

Louise was in the midst of a story about her first feature role which was to begin filming in Mexico the following month when Buster wandered over. It had been over an hour since Nelly had last seen him. She looked up expectantly, waiting for him to sit next to her on the settee. Instead, he moved closer and seated himself straight in her lap. 

“Buster!” she cried, trying not to spill what remained of her drink. 

He sprang up and looked at her lap, his brows knit in confusion. Then he sat next to her, folded his hands, and looked at Louise and George, as if unaware of his mistake. Louise laughed appreciatively and George smiled. Nelly tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. He really was funny, playing the boyish Buster she knew from the screen. 

“Oh. Nelly,” he said, as though noticing her for the first time.

“Buster,” she said dryly. 

“I don’t suppose you like to dance,” he said. He searched her eyes and nodded slowly, as if coming to an answer. “No, I don’t think you do.”

“What?” she said. Her cheeks were warm and there was a joke she wasn’t understanding.

“Go dance with him!” said Louise, laughing. “That’s what he’s asking.”

Buster responded with a mock pained look and opened his hands, as if to say, Great, you just ruined it. 

Silently, he offered his elbow to Nelly, looking straight ahead and not saying anything, back to acting like one of his characters again. She took it and cast Louise a helpless look as he led her away. As they headed back toward the room with the checkerboard floor, she kept her gaze straight ahead. She didn’t want to risk catching any of the Talmadges’ eyes if they were around.

A medium-tempo jazz number was playing on the Victrola. Buster wasted no time in placing an arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. He led her onto the checkerboard floor where a number of other couples were dancing. She smelled whiskey on him where she hadn’t earlier and wondered if he was drunk. Buster hummed along to the song, which wasn’t one she recognized, but she liked the jaunty saxophone. He was a good dancer, nimble and coordinated.

She looked into his eyes and what she thought she saw there made her certain that she was in over her head. She quickly glanced away. She was getting that gay happy feeling she had the night at the blind tiger and wished to squash it. Natalie might be somewhere in the room and Buster was dancing with a girl other than his wife, so she had to have all her wits about her. 

Don’t you know who she is

Looking right at me is

Sugar

My sugar

She looked at Buster’s hand curled around hers. She’d never noticed how big his hands were for such a small man. Feeling the danger in it, she glanced back at his face. He was regarding her impassively. She dropped her eyes again.

Bees would not be buzzin’

‘Round her if she wasn’t

Sugar

My sugar

I declare that honey hasn’t got a thing on her,

No sir!

Buster hummed as he swanned her around the room. Nelly finally worked up the courage to look over his shoulder to see who else was in the room. To her relief, she saw none of the Talmadges, which could only mean that they were in the living room. She made a note to spend the rest of the night out here offering herself as a dance partner so she could avoid finding out how they felt about Buster inviting her to dance.

In conclusion therefore

That is why I care for 

Sugar

She felt a little out of breath when the song ended. Part of her was relieved that they were no longer drawing attention to themselves and the other part was disappointed, especially when Buster released her hand and dropped his hand from her waist.

She started to thank Buster for the dance, but his attention was elsewhere. Her eyes followed his and fell on a man who wasn’t much taller than Buster, but seemed far bigger. Maybe it was the breadth of his most defining features: that distinctive cleft chin, the prominent nose and ears. Or maybe it was just the way he had loomed so large in her fantasies. 

“Well there’s your Don Juan,” Buster said softly, breaking the spell. “Won’t you go to him?” 

“Oh, I can’t,” she said, terror grabbing her.

Buster touched her chin and steered her face back to his. “Do you want to be in pictures?” He looked at her in an earnest way. 

“Yes.”

“Then let’s meet him.” He placed his hand lightly in the center of her back and walked her to the object of so many of her torrid dreams.

“Jack, this is Nelly. Nelly, this is Jack,” he said. 

To Nelly’s alarm, Buster melted off into the crowd and she was stuck staring up into John Barrymore’s face.“How do you do?” she said. Tremulous didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

He smiled. “How do you do?” His voice was deep and rich and aristocratic, exactly as she had imagined it. “Do you care to dance?”

She managed to nod and he pulled her close to him, guiding her in a waltz step as a slower number began. It was a new version of “In the Good Old Summertime” that she hadn’t heard before.

In the good old summertime

In the good old summertime

“And what’s your story, Nelly?” Barrymore asked.

Nelly felt like she might be drowning.

You hold her hand and she holds yours

And that’s a very good sign

In a daze, her cheeks flushed, she found herself telling him not about being a theater actress or working with Buster, but of playing Kate in the first talkie adaptation of Taming of the Shrew. Unlike Buster, Barrymore knew Shakespeare back to front and she felt sure somehow that he would understand. He smiled and listened, the perfect gentleman. She explained that talkies were a natural fit for Shakespeare and would forever change the way audiences experienced him. All the while, the soft dreamy notes of the music carried them along. She had been gay and light-hearted before, but now she was overpowered by Barrymore’s sheer presence. He was strong, he was beautiful, he seemed a little dangerous. Maybe this was what real love felt like.

She was surprised when he released her hand and thanked her for the dance. The music had ended just like that. She felt as though she’d only been dancing for seconds.

Before she had time to do anything other than return his thanks for the dance, another man touched her shoulder. “May I have this dance?” he said in a refined English accent. He was about Buster’s size and quite handsome.

“Of course,” she said, taken aback. She was dizzy with the drinks and the encounter with Barrymore. She wanted nothing more than to retire to the washroom to touch up her face and memorize the details of her conversation with Barrymore, but it wouldn’t do to be rude to one of Buster’s guests.

The man grasped her waist and took her hand as a Dixieland jazz tune began. He smiled. He had full lips, blue eyes, and thick wavy hair that was turning white at his temples and forehead. In spite of that, he looked and sounded young. She tried to remember if she had ever danced with three such handsome men before in a single night.

“I’m Nelly,” she said. “A stage actress.” 

“You probably don’t need me to introduce myself,” said the man. His voice was light and cheerful. He bore forward and she stepped back, left foot, right foot, to the side. A tango. 

She didn’t recognize him at all, but guessed that he was a director. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she confessed. “I’m pretty new to town.”

The man’s smile broadened. “You’ve really no idea?” He seemed delighted by this news.

Nelly smiled and shook her head. “Not in the faintest.”

“Shall I spoil it for you or do you like a mystery?” he said.

“I like one well enough,” she said, trying to remember her tango steps. 

“I’ll give you a clue. Clue starts with C.”

Beautiful changes in different keys

Beautiful changes and harmonies

“You’re charming,” she said.

“That’s not my name, but it’s a good guess.”

Watch that, hear that minor strain!

The song changed tempo and they trotted across the floor. She was definitely out of breath now.

There’s so many babies that he can squeeze, 

And he’s always changing those keys.

She studied his face and shook her head again after a few seconds. “I can’t place you. Are you a director?”

“The first four letters were right,” he said, winking. “When you said ‘charming.’”

She spelled them in her head, C-H-A-R, and the penny dropped, along with her jaw. “I can’t believe it!” she managed. 

“It’s not often I get to surprise anybody,” he said, looking satisfied. 

She searched his face for hints of the Little Tramp, but couldn’t find them. “I never knew your eyes were blue. I thought they were brown.”

“One of my many secrets.”

“Well, you are a director. I had that right!” she said, and that made him laugh.

When the dance ended, Charlie Chaplin kissed her hand before releasing her and she felt truly like she was walking on the moon as she sought out of the washroom. It didn’t seem possible that this was her life. She relieved herself, then appraised herself in the mirror. It was scalloped and gold, with the names of famous Italian cities stamped around the edges, FIRENZE, GENOVA, ROMA, MODENA, VENEZIA. She was happy to see that her makeup was mostly bearing up under the dancing, but she touched up her lipstick and powder. Although she was a little flushed, she felt far more in control of her faculties than she had been the night of the blind tiger. There was great irony, she supposed, in the fact that she had felt out of place that night too. Whether in low company or high company, Nelly Foster managed to stick out. Her head whirled with the encounters she’d had over the past few hours, Marion Davis, Louise, John Barrymore, and Charlie Chaplin.

And Buster, the architect of it all. As she left the washroom, she wondered where he’d gotten off to. She hesitated in the corridor, reluctant to rejoin the revelers on the checkerboard floor or face the Talmadge clan in the living room. Once again, the loggia seemed the logical solution. She crept off to it, wondering what time it was. 

Unfortunately, the loggia was not a refuge. As soon as she stepped foot on it, she heard such blatant sounds of passion that sent her scurrying and blushing back to the room with the checkerboard floor. The front door seemed to beckon. There was a grandfather clock just outside the foyer that told her it was a quarter to eleven. The mere thought of the late hour made her yawn; she was accustomed to being asleep by nine-thirty each night. The night had been enjoyable and, all things considered, she had comported herself alright. It seemed wisest to call a taxi and quit while she was ahead.

“You’re not leaving?” said Buster behind her.

She startled again. “How do you manage to do that?” she said, turning around

“Do what?” He had a whiskey glass in each hand and was wearing a nonchalant expression.

“Oh, you know what,” she said. “And yes, I was thinking of it. It’s getting late.”

Buster cocked his head, indicating the front door. 

“What?” she said.

He rolled his eyes in mock impatience and cocked his head again, wordless, playing his character. She followed him, her heart quickening as she followed him out the massive arched mahogany door and into the circle drive where the fountain splashed. She couldn’t imagine where they were going and why. He went left and led her past topiaries, then left around the corner of the house. Outside, it was dark and still. The leaves of palms waved above them and shrubs sheltered them from sight. Buster sank down in the lawn some feet from the marble steps of another loggia, this one with a squarish entrance.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he reached up and offered her one of the glasses. She took it and sniffed it. It was straight whiskey. Her stomach remembered the way it had felt coming back up that night in his hotel room in July and she hesitated.

“Did you get your break with Barrymore?” Buster said, looking up at the sky. 

Nelly set the drink in the grass and lowered herself carefully next to him. She had to return the dress the following day and would be responsible for any damage, including grass stains. “I didn’t get a chance to bring it up.”

Buster tilted his glass to his lips. “I can talk to him if you’d like. Or Sam Taylor.”

Nelly frowned though he couldn’t see her face well in the diffuse light coming from the loggia. She picked up the glass and swirled it, then plugged up her nose before she took a drink. All the same, the whiskey still burned going down. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she said at last. The question had been growing on her ever since he invited her to the party and, influenced by the cocktails, she wanted to know.

Buster took another drink. “Is there a reason I  shouldn’t be?” He lowered his chin and looked off into the distance.

“Are you drunk?” she said. She didn’t have proof, but she was pretty sure she was more sober than him by miles.

“Does it matter?” he countered. 

The conversation wasn’t getting anywhere. “All I mean to say,” she said, “is that you don’t have to introduce me to your friends. When I called you the other day, I wasn’t expecting this. In fact, now I don’t think I ought to have called you at all. I ought to have just found a way to ask Mr. Taylor myself.”

“Everyone has an angle,” said Buster, knocking back the last of the whiskey. 

Nelly had not thought of herself as someone with an angle before, but there was some truth to his words, even though she didn’t like to admit it. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing these days?” he said. He pulled a flask from his jacket and refilled his glass.

The flask shocked Nelly a little bit, but she bit back a blunt remark and answered his question as if she didn’t notice. “Working on the United Artists lot. They put me in the prop department and I paint backdrops once and awhile. I’m hoping to get a part as an extra in the new D.W. Griffith. Anything they’ll let me do, really. It pays my rent fine.”

Buster hmmed. She saw that his hair was beginning to resist the lacquer he’d put in it and was coming loose, a curl here, a wave there. Likely it was the cocktails speaking, but she wanted to take the glass of whiskey away and stroke it. 

She followed his gaze. The Villa looked down into the soft, firefly-like glow of Beverly Hills. The light from the distant mansions wasn’t enough to dampen the stars, which hung white and clear overhead, peeping through the palm leaves. The grass was dewy beneath her hands and goose pimples rose on her arms as a breeze stirred. It was decidedly cool now. Although October in California felt nothing like October in Illinois, there was something of autumn in the air. She shivered. It was like a scene out of a picture, Buster and his girl under the stars, dissatisfied because they hadn’t yet sorted out their misunderstanding. Then she gave herself a mental shake for being fanciful and romantic, reminding herself of how Natalie had welcomed her into the Villa earlier. This was her home just as much as it was Buster’s; she was Buster’s girl.

“Cold?” said Buster. 

She protested, but he was already shrugging out of his jacket. He arranged it around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said. His face was close as he tucked the jacket and she turned away. She reached for her glass and took another swallow of whiskey. She wasn’t ready to face her thoughts without more liquor on board. 

“Pretty dress, by the way,” said Buster, leaning back on an elbow. “Might be the prettiest one here.”

“Thank you. I rented it,” she said, warmth rising in her cheeks.

“Why?” 

She laughed. “Why? Why’d I rent it? Well to begin with, I’m not rich, and if you’re going to act, you need to look the part.”

“Are you acting?” said Buster.

She choked back another mouthful of whiskey and grimaced. “Sure I am.”

“What does your father do?”

It was an odd non-sequitur. “He’s in real estate,” she said. “Why?” The warm bloom of a proper drunkenness was settling on her.

“And he does pretty well for himself, I guess?” said Buster. 

“I guess.” She rolled the glass between her hands.

“You didn’t want for anything growing up?”

“No.”

“Most of those people in there, they didn’t grow up so well. We all just got lucky, that’s all. Right place, right time kind of thing. We’re just kids with a bunch of money, buying toys and palaces. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of around them. Everyone’s pretending just as much as you.”

She considered him, his face deeply shadowed in the feeble light. There was something dark and melancholic in his mood.

“Anyway, I should have told you to bring someone,” said Buster. “You would have felt a little better I bet. Do you have a steady?”

She shook her head, wondering what it meant that he was asking her if there was a man in her life. “No steady. And I did feel a little better, after you introduced me.”

“Good.” He tossed back the rest of his glass and scooted closer. “How was Jack Barrymore? Did he live up to your dreams?”

She grew hot and took another swallow of the biting liquor before answering. It was the second time he’d brought up Barrymore. The truth was, events had moved so fast she hadn’t had a chance to think about her encounter with Barrymore in any depth. And now that Buster was so distracting and near, she found it hard to think of Barrymore at all. “What makes you think he has anything to do with my dreams?”

“ ‘Cause you said so, that night I picked you up from the speak-easy. It’s alright, I won’t tell his wife. They’re getting a divorce, anyway.”

The joke felt cruel, the barb of it directed more at her than Barrymore and his wife. It made her feel ridiculous and scheming, ashamed of the dazed way she’d looked up at that singular face she’d only seen on screen, imagining that this could be her break, that she might be captivating him or falling in love. The worst of it was that it might be true. She did have an angle, possibly more than one. 

“That’s mean,” she said, looking out at the distant houses. 

“Well, it’s true. And I suppose you heard about Chaplin’s scandal, how he got soaked for almost a million in that divorce of his,” he said.

She acknowledged that she had. 

“I just hope Nate’s kinder to me when the time comes,” he said. 

She looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “You can’t seriously think that we’re happy.”

“Nate?” she said.

“My wife. Natalie.”

“Oh.” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn and she finished her whiskey before saying, “I hadn’t thought about it.” Her heart thumped in her ears.

“Do you like me, Nelly?”

“Yes. Why?” She tried to sound casual, but wasn’t sure if she succeeded. 

She hazarded a glance at him, fearing what she might find in his eyes, but he was looking straight ahead again. What she didn’t dare say was that she liked the profile in front of her—the aquiline nose, the soft lips, the dark brows, the heavy-lidded eyes—better than Barrymore’s. She had for a while now, she realized.

Buster shrugged and pulled the flask out of his jacket again. Nelly, by now feeling the whiskey’s full effects, did something shocking without a single thought. She snatched it from his hand, raised her arm as high as she could, and flung it down the hill. 

“Hey!” said Buster, somewhat loudly.

“Shh,” she said. “We’ll be heard.”

“Don’t shush me, sweetheart, this is my party and I can drink as much as I like, you hear?”

He looked like such a mixture of things in that moment—bewildered, indignant, hurt—that she leaned in and kissed him.

He didn’t react. 

For a split second, she was sure that she had misread all of the signs she thought she’d noticed and was about to be in serious trouble with him. Then his hand was at the back of her neck and he was pulling her into a deeper kiss, nothing at all like the chaste, brief pecks he gave on screen. She threaded her hand in the shorter hair at the back of his head to keep him where he was. His arm came around her shoulders and she braced her free hand against his chest. She was thrilled to find that his heart was pounding.

“You shouldn’t drink anymore tonight. You’ll have an awful headache in the morning,” she said in a whisper, when he pulled back for a moment.

He kissed her again. The heat in her cheeks was rapidly starting to spread to other regions of her body. Now that this was happening, she didn’t have a single thought for anything but Buster. Her entire world had come down to him, and he felt too right for her to worry about morals or consequences. 

She leaned her forehead against his as they broke apart. His breath warmed her lips. He was looking at her silently and she looked back. Gradually, the world began to fade back in. She could hear a faint peal of laughter from within the Villa and she wondered how long it would be before someone would miss the host and go searching for him. 

“I guess we should go in,” she said, after a few moments of silence.

Buster looked at her. His finger traced the bow of her upper lip, then the seam of her mouth. When she parted her lips in response, he captured them again. She closed her eyes and cupped his cheek as her world narrowed back down to the sound of their kisses and his soft, needy exhales. It might have been just seconds or whole minutes before Buster jolted her back to reality with the press of his tongue against hers. She drew back, feeling light-headed, and he followed, biting her neck, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that this could get out of control quickly. The base part of her wanted that—very much—but the rational part of her mind was waking up. 

“We should go,” she said.

“We’re by my wing,” said Buster hoarsely. “There’s a staircase to my balcony. You could wait in my room for me until the party’s over. I’d get you out before morning.”

“We can’t,” she said, even as he was arguing against her neck with more gentle love-bites. 

“Why not?” His head went lower and his tongue outlined her collarbone.

“It’s dangerous. I bet your guests are already looking for you.”

Almost on cue, laughter echoed out from the area of the drive and the fountain. Aware that it could be the Talmadge sisters, Nelly took the opportunity to stand up and brush herself off before he could persuade her—and he was perhaps too close to persuading her. She’d lost track of the whiskey glass and whether she had finished what was in it. She was decidedly intoxicated. “C’mon,” she said. She stuck out her hand for Buster. He let her pull him up and swayed beside her for a moment, wincing and rubbing his forehead.

“Will you call a taxi for me?” she said. 

He reached out and touched her cheek, looking at her for a long quiet moment as if to memorize her. She noticed that his mouth was smudged in lipstick. 

“Oh dear. I got lipstick all over you,” she said. “Do you have a handkerchief? I don’t have mine on me. My handbag’s inside.”

“You and that damn bag, always leaving it behind.” He reached out and fished in the breast pocket of his jacket on her shoulders. 

She dampened the handkerchief with a little saliva and scrubbed at his lips. “Ow!” he said, frowning. 

“Don’t be a baby, it’s almost off,” she said, wiping at the corner of his mouth. She stood back. It was hard to tell because of the shadows, but she thought that she’d gotten most of it. “How do I look?”

Buster smirked, the first real smile she’d seen on him the whole night. “Defiled,” he said. “Better stay out here while I call that taxi.” He pressed her hand before he left, and she was alone with the most impossible tangle of thoughts, the foremost of which was that she wanted him to come back as soon as possible so that they could finish what they’d started.

She stepped into the loggia and sat down in the nearest chair. Stunned didn’t begin to describe her feelings. Buster’s jacket around her shoulders enveloped her in the smell of him, cigarettes and his own unique scent. Drunk, she was buoyed on a comfortable wave of happiness. She and Buster had done something daring, it was true, but in her heart’s core it was what she had wanted and she didn’t regret it a single bit. She’d only stopped it because she was afraid of being caught. Under normal circumstances, that thought would have alarmed her, but inebriated she could be honest with herself. It wasn’t to say that she didn’t get the thrill of a lifetime when she thought of her dance with Barrymore or even handsome Charlie Chaplin; she did. It seemed, though, that she had fallen for Buster without even knowing it. She shivered and not because of the chill in the air.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said, standing up and catching his hand when he reappeared a few minutes later.

He gave her hand a squeeze and passed over her bag, which he was holding. “I did you one better. Caruthers said he’d take you home. He’ll have the car ready in five.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” she said suggestively.

“Even I can’t finish that quick, honey,” he said, and she was glad he couldn’t see how brightly her face burned.

“I didn’t mean that you goose, I meant this.” She leaned in and kissed him again.

“Oh. Yeah, that,” he said. He pulled her against his chest and gave her a long, searching kiss. 

This time, Nelly didn’t pull away at the touch of his tongue; she met it and Buster groaned. With one hand, she stroked the fallen strands of hair at his forehead. “Thank you,” she said, when they broke apart. “Thank you for inviting me tonight.”

“Sure you won’t stay the night?” Buster said, kissing the corner of her lips.

“I’m not crazy,” she said.

“If you were, would you?” he said, drawing back to look in the eyes.

Her heart pounded. “Yes,” she said, after considering it. “I guess I would.”

He pulled her close and embraced her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, thinking that she could stay here in his arms all night. Another burst of laughter and conversation came from the direction of the fountain. Car tires crunched on the gravel.

“We better behave,” Buster said.

“You’re probably right.” 

He released her and sat down in one of the chairs, and she followed his lead. He took her hand between both of his and they fell into silence. She wanted to tell him what the night meant to her, but couldn’t find the words. She looked out at the distant houses and up the stars, wondering if she’d ever get the chance to kiss him again or if she was just a passing fancy for a starry, booze-filled night. Too soon, there was the honk of a horn and Buster let go of her hand, standing up. “I think that’s your ride,” he said. They walked back to the drive, Nelly a few paces ahead of Buster, where a dark-colored Packard was waiting. Buster approached it and opened the nearest backseat door. He took her hand and helped her into the car. “Thanks for coming,” he said, after regarding her for a quiet moment.

She wanted to give him a parting kiss on the cheek, but couldn’t with his butler for an audience. “I had a beautiful night,” she said. “Thank you so much.” He gave her hand another quick squeeze and went around to the driver’s window, where he said to Caruthers, “Get her home safe.”

As the butler pulled away, she watched Buster walk back to the Villa. He didn’t turn around once, but continued until he reached the mahogany front door and slipped inside. Only then did she realize she was still wearing his jacket and had forgotten to check him for lipstick again.  Soundtrack: Red Nichols’ Stompers - “Sugar” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “In the Good Old Summertime” Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra - “Changes” You don’t know how many times I’ve listened to these songs on repeat the past two months.

[psychosistr]

Green-Eyed Monsters- Chapter 2

Summary: Dominic and Steelbeak successfully sneak into the soiree and identify their target, but personal feelings and a pair of lovely ladies from SHUSH might throw a wrench into their plans.

Notes: Behold, the first OC’s outside of Domino to be featured in this series- @starlightmoth ‘s SHUSH OC Xaviera, and my double-agent OC Maravilla! These two are very sweet together and I was super excited to include them, so I hope you guys will enjoy them too x3 Also, I slipped a few references to my previous stories in this chapter- see if you can guess them before reaching the end ;3

-First Chapter-

Steelbeak’s flashy gold-painted Lincoln Continental drove up the winding driveway leading to the duo’s destination for the evening. In any other situation, the car would stand out like a purebred show-dog at a junkyard. For tonight, however, it was just another gaudy and over-decorated transport lining the absurdly long path to a building larger and more brightly lit than any skyscraper in Saint Canard could ever HOPE to be.

Choosing to park his car rather than leave it in the hands of the valet (no one touched that car without his permission- forget about actually driving it), Steelbeak pulled into a parking space further away from the main driveway but closer to the back entrance. The location would make it easier to sneak in and out unnoticed, though it would also be a more suspicious location if security noticed the vehicle; they’d have to get in and out as quickly as possible.

When they exited the vehicle, the chief officer and his partner were dressed in outfits far different from their usual attire: Dominic had left behind his iconic coat and hat, instead donning a simple white button up shirt with a turn down collar beneath a more elaborate black tailcoat with thin vertical white stripes, black buttons, and bright red lapels with a matching red boater flat top hat that had a white hat band with a black buckle, giving it the vague semblance of a domino- the whole outfit accessorized simply with a dark red tie, a domino-shaped tie pin, and a black diamond-studded Crowlex hidden beneath the cuff of his sleeve. Never one to be outdone by his partner, Steelbeak had also left his usual white suit behind in favor of a far more expensive tuxedo featuring a white pleated button up shirt with a turn down collar and clear gemstone-style button studs, a black tuxedo jacket with a shimmering silver shawl collar and another pair of clear gemstone-style buttons, matching black pants, black pleated cummerbund, and a pair of freshly shined black patent leather cap toe shoes- all accessorized with the equally flashy additions of a black pointed-style bowtie, diamond cufflinks, a four-peak folded white silk pocket square, and a shiny silver watch emblazoned with diamonds. While a far cry from their usual style, the high-class suits would do a better job of camouflaging them with the high-society crowd mingling within the walls of their target’s billion dollar mansion.

Their target for the night was the owner of the lavish mansion before them, Emelia Malton- more specifically, they were after a pair of very valuable items that she had on her. According to FOWL’s intel, Emelia’s family was repeatedly ranked as the richest family in the world due to their cumulative net-worth amassed after years of running one of the most successful chain-stores on the planet. Despite her parents passing away a few months ago, the company had flourished under the young heiress and was now celebrating its ranking as the top-grossing chain-store in the world by hosting an extravagant party at her family’s home. Everyone on the guest list was considered the richest and/or most influential in their respective fields of business, so it was the perfect way for the wealthy woman to flaunt her affluence over her peers.

And what better way to do so than to show off her family’s prized possessions- the “Goddess’ Eyes”.

These “eyes” were the deadly duo’s target: A pair of nearly-impossible to acquire naturally green diamonds that could easily be priced at thirty-million dollars each. In addition to being ludicrously valuable, the gemstones were also the perfect conductors for FOWL’s newest thermonuclear based weapon for mass larceny and extortion on a global scale. They needed at least one of the incredibly rare diamonds for the device to function properly- preferably both so they could construct a second if the tests proved fruitful.

The only obstacle to obtaining the jewels was the mansion’s high-ranking security that was efficient enough to give the secret service a run for their money. Most of the time, the mansion’s security was so tight that even an army couldn’t breach their defenses. The only time the security was marginally lowered was for grand events- hence the required presence of the chief officer and his partner at the evening’s soiree.

Tonight would be the only chance for quite some time for FOWL to get their hands on the “Goddess’ Eyes” and they could NOT let it slip away.

With this goal in mind, Dominic and Steelbeak carefully made their way around the house to the garden and back-patio that had been converted into a slightly less-crowded outdoor lounge area for those seeking a reprieve from the bright lights and loud music indoors. Avoiding the cameras and creeping under the windows to avoid detection, the pair of fowls managed to sneak unnoticed into the outdoor crowd before seamlessly slipping through the wide open back doors to join the larger crowd within the mansion’s main ballroom.

Steelbeak gave a low, impressed whistle once they were inside, looking around at the myriad of (likely over-priced) paintings, statues, and crystal adorned light fixtures. “Wow, this is some shindig, eh, Dom?”

“More like an excuse for people who’ve never known a hard day’s work in their lives to show off how much money they have in an attempt to feel superior to everyone else in the room.” The (truthful) observation was accompanied by a slight scowl when an older woman in a satin dress wearing more jewelry than her plastic-surgery altered body should have been able to support without falling over passed by the two less ostentatiously dressed fowls.

Steelbeak gave a quiet snicker at his partner’s cynical view as they weaved their way through the crowd in an attempt to find a less heavily clustered spot with a better view of their surroundings. “Can’t argue with ya there, short fuse. I’m fightin’ my instincts REAL’ hard right now- I used t’ swipe rocks an’ cash offa chumps like these all the time when I was a kid…pick a few pockets here an’ we’d be set for life…”

“Focus on the rocks we’re after first, then you can have your fun on the way out.” Reaching one of the multiple full bars setup along the sides of the room, Dominic took a moment to properly observe his surroundings. It was hard to pick out any particular faces in such a large crowd, but, as red eyes caught sight of the grand bifurcated marble staircase draped in red carpet and ornate black handrails, a thought occurred to him: What better place to lord your wealth over a room full of billionaires than the highest point where they’d all have to literally look up to you? “Up there.”

Grey eyes soon followed the darker fowl’s gaze up the split stairs to where they met again on the next floor to form a small balcony overlooking the ballroom before branching out to the rest of the upper level. Leaning against the railing to look down on the party below was a tall, statuesque pearl white marble fox with long silver hair that fell past her shoulders in elegant waves. She was dressed in a classy black strapless evening gown with a beaded sweetheart-cut top in a snug mermaid cut that left very little to the imagination about her rather curvy figure and long legs, even with the gown reaching the floor beneath her. Like many other women attending the grand gala, she was bedecked with an arrangement of jewels such as a silver cocktail ring with a sizeable emerald at its center surrounded by much smaller white diamonds, a set of bangles encrusted with green garnets, a three-strand choker necklace of shimmering green stones with silver chains and white diamond accents, and, most noticeably of all, the pair of very large and very flashy drop-pendant earrings hanging from the base of each of her black-spotted ears with a plethora of small white diamonds around both the connecting points on her ears and around the sizeable brilliant-cut green diamonds in the center that perfectly matched the fox’s own sparkling green eyes. Everything about the woman screamed elegance and superiority compared to nearly everyone else in attendance.

Even without seeing her picture during High Command’s earlier briefing, the woman would be unmistakable as the party’s hostess, Emelia Malton. While Dominic knew she would be showing off her family’s most valuable possessions, he hadn’t expected her to have the “Goddess’ Eyes” turned into such readily visible trinkets. Then again, he mused, having them fashioned into a pair of earrings certainly made a statement that was impossible to ignore and, admittedly, would be harder to swipe than something like a necklace or ring. The woman was also no fool, it seemed, for while her security had been lowered enough for two uninvited guests to sneak in, Emelia herself (and likely most of the other valuables on the upper floor), were being diligently guarded by several large men in basic black suits spread out across the length of the staircase. Keen red eyes noted that each man was carrying at least one concealed firearm, and that there were a few more guards scattered about the lower floor near all of the doorways.

This definitely ruled out the chance of sneaking up on the fox since the security would see them coming from a mile away. A simple swiping was off the table as well, even if they could get close to her, as there was no way they’d be able to remove the earrings undetected. And, to top it all off, even if they DID somehow manage to get the diamonds off of her person, they’d be forced to fight their way through a small battalion of heavily armed guards and a crowd of frightened party-goers. Somehow, they needed to not only get on the same level as Emelia, but also draw her away from her security detail if they were to have any chance of-

“Dang, now that’s what I call a sweet pair.”

Dominic could swear he heard the bones in his neck pop from the speed and intensity with which he turned his head to stare incredulously at his partner. The expression soon hardened into a stern glare as the loon crossed his arms over his chest. “You are talking about the earrings, RIGHT?”

Steelbeak seemed completely unphased by the chilling amount of ice that the darker bird addressed him with- he seemed far too preoccupied examining the heiress with a look that was far too appreciative for the aquatic avian’s liking. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout alotta things, red eyes…” He gave another impressed whistle before (finally) tearing his eyes away from the woman on the upper floor to look down at his (clearly agitated) partner. “Why didn’t ya warn me she was such a knockout?”

“I wouldn’t know, she’s not exactly my type.” The loon huffed and rolled his eyes with a displeased scowl. “Now, if you’re done drooling over her, can we please get back to figuring out a way to get what we came here for?”

Steelbeak was either too distracted looking at the foxy woman above him or was just plain feigning ignorance of the other man’s soured mood, and, honestly, Dominic wasn’t sure which would have angered him more at this point. “Oh, don’t think for a sec’ that I can’t do both- I’m a pretty good multitasker.” Dark grey eyes drifted back up to admire the lady of the manor while the gleaming beak below them had a smirk that spoke volumes’ worth of its owner’s intentions.

Before Dominic could decide between hitting the taller fowl in the back of the head to forcefully change his focus or the equally tempting option of grabbing an unattended drink from the nearby bar-top and dumping it on the rooster to help him cool his head off, a female voice surprised them both.

“Well, well…if it isn’t Chief Officer Steelbeak. Long time no see~” The deadly duo turned their heads just in time to see a lady in a sleeveless red gown with a semi-sweetheart neckline, an asymmetrical cut that ended at one knee before diagonally ending an inch below the other, and a rather provocative slit cut into the shorter side above her black-stocking covered legs was holding a half-full glass of red wine in her purple hand while regarding them with an amused expression. The woman appeared to be a purplish jay, judging by the plumage on her exposed arms and her purple beak accentuated with black lipstick that matched her eyeliner (which was only a few shades darker than the black feathers of her face). Her black hair was tied back in a simple but elegant bun with a few stray locks left out to frame her face, the bun itself held in place with a decorative golden hair-comb that made it look like she had several gleaming marigolds holding her hair back. Marigolds, Dominic quickly noted, seemed to be a theme among the woman’s accessories, as she also had one made of black onyx on a golden chain around her neck, a matching stone on her golden cocktail ring, and the pair of spiraled golden bracelets styled like leaf vines that covered her wrists and forearms with small golden marigolds placed sporadically across the intricate golden loops; even her shoes, which at first glance appeared to be a simple pair of black suede t-strap shoes with a tall, thick golden heel, secretly contained a small red marigold locked away in their see-through midsection.

Steelbeak, who seemed unphased by the woman’s knowledge of his name, simply smirked down at the jaybird knowingly. “Well, look what the cat dragged in…ain’t seen you in a while, Mara- was beginnin’ t’ think ya ditched us for a cushy desk job under ol’ grizzle-face.”

The marigold-bedecked lady gave a dry chuckle as she swirled the wine in her glass. “And miss out on the chance to see you make a fool of yourself for thinking you actually know how to talk to a woman? Not on your life~”

Rather than looking offended, Steelbeak just laughed his usual nasally, clipped laughter and shook his head. “Hey, I know how t’ talk t’ women- just not women like you.”

“Of course not.” The purpled fowl said before taking a sip of her wine. “After all, you never were very good at handling women you had no chance with.” Looking up from the depths of her drink, she found a pair of eyes in an even more intense shade of red boring into her. “I don’t believe we’ve met. You are…?”

“I’m his partner- agent Domino.” Dominic gave the brightly dressed jay a once over, but still couldn’t shake the sense of unease and agitation this woman’s presence seemed to bring him. The feeling bothered him so much that he completely missed the slightly disappointed look in the chief officer’s eyes before he buried whatever feeling had surfaced in the back of his mind again. “High Command didn’t say anything about dispatching any other agents for this mission…”

Black lipstick curled upwards ever so slightly as the purple beak gained a small smirk to it. “That’s because I’m not here with FOWL……I’m here with SHUSH.”

Steelbeak must have anticipated his partner’s reaction, because no sooner had Dominic started reaching for his concealed weapons than the lighter fowl’s hand had positioned itself in front of the loon’s chest to stop any potential altercations. “Agent Maravilla here’s one of the best double agents we’ve got: She’s been spyin’ on SHUSH for years now an’ helps us take ‘em down from the inside.”

Dominic’s stance relaxed just enough that he no longer looked like he was going to shoot the double agent…for now… “Why is SHUSH here?”

“Oh, there’s a few targets of interest here.” Maravilla’s dark eyes glanced up towards the party’s hostess, a knowing look clear behind the playful smirk on her face. “SHUSH may have also gotten a tip that FOWL would be making a move tonight…though I have no idea who they would have heard that from~”

Red eyes narrowed suspiciously at the purplish jay. “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t…”

Steelbeak, once again sensing his partner’s growing tension and ire, chose to redirect the conversation while keeping his attention on the femme fatale. “If ya know why we’re here, then ya wanna lend a hand? We could use a distraction for the guards t’ shoot at.”

“That does sound like a good time…” The jay’s dark eyes went back to Steelbeak, looking seriously like she was contemplating the offer, but ultimately decided against it. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” With a sigh, she tilted the remnants of her wine within its glass at a sharp angle, the movement indicating something behind her. “Gryzlikoff doesn’t trust me on my own in the field anymore, so he’s started giving me babysitters..”

The pair of fiendish fowls followed the angle of the red liquid with their eyes to one of the other bars set up across the room on the other side of the dance floor. While there were several people crowded around the high-dollar booze, there was one person in particular who seemed to be purposefully avoiding looking in their direction…or rather, avoiding looking directly at them- they were subtly keeping an eye on the FOWL trio’s exchange using the reflection of their half-full glass on the bar-top (it looked like a simple shirley temple, judging by the clear soda and cherries, a far cry from the champagne and various hard liquors of the other barflies). A sneaky little trick that only someone as cunning and secretive as a spy or special agent would think to utilize.

The person in question appeared to be a vulture with feathers in a multitude of shades ranging from white on her head, to slightly darker shades of grey, yellow, brown, and even black the lower down one looked on the exposed parts of her plumage, with the feathers on her hand and the ends of her tail feathers both being the darkest points. Her hair was…interesting, to say the least- it appeared to have been shaved away along the sides to a peak in the center before being allowed to grow freely and flow down to the middle of her back, almost like a long Mohawk but without the necessary and excessive amounts of hair gel. A pair of rectangular-rimmed glasses rested on her beak as she kept a vigilant eye on her fellow SHUSH agent, the makeup around them kept simple with black wingtip eyeliner and a modest amount of golden eyeshadow. The eye shadow matched both the sheer golden shawl draped over her shoulders that kept her right arm hidden from view, the golden goddess-style sandals that peeked out from the hem of her dress whenever she moved her long legs, and the glittering golden pattern of vertical lines along the bottom of her green sleeveless floor-length halter-top gown.

Steelbeak gave the agent a subtle once-over before looking back down at Maravilla. “She don’t look that tough…want us t’ help ya get a little more breathin’ room without your nanny there watchin’ ya like a hawk?”

The double agent was quick to shake her head, but kept her expression calm and impassive. “It would be best not to. If anything happens to her, you’ll have more SHUSH agents swarming this party than you’d care to deal with- the only reason she hasn’t called them in already is because I told her you’d probably escape in the chaos.” The corner of her purple beak quirked up in an amused smirk. “Besides…this one’s fun, I think I’ll keep her around for a while~”

The larger bird shrugged his shoulders. “If ya say so, Mara.” Dark grey eyes went back up to the party’s hostess. “Guess we’ve just got one more obstacle between us an’ that pretty little thing up there.”

Maravilla looked up towards the balcony as well, her expression briefly mirroring Steelbeak’s earlier appreciative glances before she looked back to the man in question with a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. “You know…we could do what we did back in Rio…”

Steelbeak let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “Ya mean when ya left ME holdin’ the bomb? No thanks, doll- a little fun with you ain’t worth THAT much trouble.”

A giggle born of dark amusement was barely covered up by the jaybird’s purple fingertips. “Aw, it wasn’t that bad, was it? It did work, after all~” She leaned in closer to the metal mouthed fowl, two fingers from her free hand slowly walking up his chest as she spoke. “Besides…you know you enjoyed it…even if I did come out on top in the end~”

Dominic could feel the already frayed thread holding his last bit of patience beginning to snap. A much darker hand blocked the purple one’s path and, once the multicolored bird stepped away just enough, he placed himself solidly between his partner and the infuriating femme fatale- red eyes glaring down with more venom than even his heavily-laced voice could muster. “I think we’ll be just fine thinking of a plan without you.”

The lady in red seemed momentarily taken aback by the loon’s defensiveness, but it didn’t last more than a second before her face had resumed its seemingly natural state of amusement. “Very well, if you insist.” She turned to leave, but not before looking at the chief officer over her shoulder with a wink that was either flirty, conspiratorial, or both. “If you change your mind, you know what to do~” And with that, she vanished into the vibrant crowd.

Dominic glared after her with a rather noticeable scowl on his face, even after she was long gone from his sight. If she tried that sort of thing again, he’d-

“Wow, didn’t know you were the jealous type, short fuse.” An amused voice teased him from behind.

“I am not jealous.” Looking over his shoulder, Dominic was not at all surprised to see the taller man smirking down at him. “I just don’t trust agents like her..” Moles, infiltrators, spies, double agents- whatever name they went by, Dominic had a VERY negative outlook on them in general after the fall of his base up north.

“Uh huh.” One of the lighter fowl’s eyebrows was quirked in a way that matched his sarcastic tone perfectly. “An’ I’m sure Mara puttin’ her hands on me had nothin’ t’ do with it, right?”

The loon felt his face heat up, but kept his stern scowl firmly in place. “I was just making sure she didn’t try anything. She IS working for SHUSH right now- they could order her to attack at any moment, and I don’t believe for a second she’d have a problem following that command. Looking out for your safety is part of my job- I’m your partner.” If called out for it, he would have vehemently denied any accusations regarding the possessive tone that had slipped into his voice on that last statement.

Dark grey eyes rolled slightly as the rooster huffed. “Yeah, so ya keep sayin’…”

That…actually gave the darker fowl pause. Steelbeak sounded almost…offended? Disappointed? Frustrated? “What d-”

Before he could get his question out- or even figure out what it was going to be- Steelbeak had slipped out from behind him and was venturing into the crowd in a different direction than Maravilla had gone. “Forget it- I’m takin’ Mara up on her offer. Just stand by an’ watch my back, partner.”

Dominic was so taken aback by his partner’s attitude that he just stood there- frustrated, confused, and wondering what else could possibly go wrong tonight…

____________________________________________________________

Across the room, Maravilla had returned to the vacant seat next to her fellow SHUSH agent- said agent looking less than thrilled with her antics. “Have you lost your mind? Do you know who that is?!” While she tried to look stern, it was clear that the taller bird was more worried than angry.

Maravilla took her seat and looked up at the vulture with a calm expression. “Yes, I know who he is. More importantly, he knows me from work.” She set her now-empty glass down on the bar-top. “If he saw me and I didn’t say anything to him first, it would look suspicious- I have to maintain my cover, Xaviera.”

Xaviera’s previous look lost its façade of sternness, leaving just the concern. “I…suppose you have a point there…” She quickly shook her head, giving the purplish jay a pleading look. “But you have to be more careful from now on. If Steelbeak or that other one find out you’re here with SHUSH, things could get dangerous.”

Instead of looking scared or worried by her fellow agent’s (very accurate and completely valid) warning, an almost daydreamy smile found its way to Maravilla’s face. “Oooh, I hope it does~” A purple fingertip began idly tracing the rim of her empty glass as she stared off into space, apparently fantasizing over the possibilities. “His partner looked like he wanted to shoot me- do you think he would? He certainly seems the type~ Maybe they’ll try using me as a living shield so they can escape~ I wonder if they have a helicopter waiting to pick them up- do you think they’d throw me out of-?”

“Mari, please.” The blond bird placed her hand over one of Maravilla’s with a sincere, worried look easily visible in her eyes. “I know this is all fun and games to you, but it worries me when you put yourself in danger like that. Please promise me- no getting shot at, no drinking poison, no crashing through windows, and no jumping out of helicopters. Please…for me…?”

Maravilla looked up into the taller woman’s eyes and, after a moment, gave a soft sigh. “Fine…for you, mi cielo.” She then turned her hand over so that their fingers were now entwined before lifting both of their hands up so she could place a light kiss to the darker fingers laced between her own. “You’re lucky I can’t say ‘no’ to such a lovely lady~”

Xaviera’s face instantly flushed red all the way down to her neck, her demeanor changing instantly from concerned to flustered. “I-I..uh..that is..I-I just..!” Her attempts to find the proper words were completely dashed when the jaybird winked at her, causing the vulture to (somehow) turn even redder. The only thing that came out of her beak after that was a chirp before she gave up and pressed her overheated forehead against the cool bar-top in front of her.

In doing so, the golden shawl that had been draped around her shoulders came loose, revealing the rest of her previously hidden right arm. The arm ended just before the area where her elbow should have been, the feathers a bit darker around the end of the limb and some scar tissue visible within her plumage at the very bottom of the stump. A few of the more nosy and gossip-loving individuals nearby took notice and started to whisper amongst themselves.

When a stern, almost threatening pair of purple eyeshadow rimmed eyes looked at each of them, however, they suddenly found better things to entertain themselves with and either walked away or simply averted their attention before the vulture even lifted her head to notice their presence. “Getting back to the matter at hand,” Maravilla said while gently readjusting the taller woman’s shawl back to its previous position. “I think I have a way for us to get access to Ms.Malton’s personal files.”

That seemed to snap the bespectacled bird out of her embarrassment. Quickly sitting back up, she looked down at the darker fowl with intrigue. “Really? How?” When the double agent’s eyes flicked briefly in the direction she’d come from earlier, Xaviera instantly shook her head. “You just said-”

“I won’t do anything dangerous, I promise.” Maravilla gave the darker hand still held in hers a reassuring squeeze before continuing. “Those two are after the ‘Goddess’ Eyes’ on Ms.Malton’s earrings, so they’ll try to get her alone. If our data is right, the best place to do that will be in her room. We’ll use them as bait to lure her away from the party, then I can slip in behind them and get my hands on the information Gryzlikoff and Hooter asked for. I’ll be in and out before those two figure out I’ve played them.”

“And if they do figure it out?” Xaviera asked with a mix of skepticism and concern.

Maravilla just smiled coyly up at the taller woman. “Then I’ll have you nearby to bail me out, mi cielo~” While her companion clearly had more to say on the matter, a change in the style of music the band was playing caught the purple fowl’s attention. “Ah, looks like Steelbeak’s taking me up on my offer.” She stood up, removed her flowery hair-comb, and placed it in the vulture’s hand with a wink. “Hold onto this for me, Xavi~” And with that she shook her hair out, allowing the natural waves to cascade down to her lower back and reveal the vibrant purple undertone that had previously been hidden while it was pinned, and made her way towards the dance floor- leaving behind a very confused (and flustered) Xaviera.

<--Previous Chapter Next Chapter-->

End Notes: Okay, so, here are all of the references I packed into this chapter-

Steelbeak’s suit is brand new because he followed through on his promise to himself to burn the suit he wore on his first failed dinner-date with Domino.

Domino is wearing the watch that Steelbeak gifted him way back in the first chapter of the series x3

Steelbeak’s cuff-links are the same as the ones he gave Domino as a gift during their first failed dinner-date.

Also, not related to the rest of the series, but I based Emelia’s family off of the Walton’s- the absurdly wealthy family that founded Wal~Mart.

[secret-engima]

So I was reading what you hc about the Galahdian clans and clan colors, and it made me wonder about their braids. Like does the location (at temple, behind ear, halfway to nape, etc.) have meaning? I expect the bead colors do, and I would think where on the braid they are and/if paired with other beads would as well. Also, showing actual patterns in hair for smaller braids is visually difficult at any real distance, so would a way to highlight the pattern possibly be used? (1/2)

shadowdancersunde

said:

Something like colored threads braided alongside, in either clan or personal colors twisted with the hair so you can actually see the detail. (2/2)

Me: Those are all very good questions! I had not given the braid location much thought actually. Braid locations doesn’t particularly effect the meaning, though there are more common “placements” for certain braids just because of when they tend to be added in life. The Clan Braid is usually on the temple, since it is the first one a Galahdian receives. Other braids may be further back on the temple, behind the ear, on the name, near the forehead, etc, since the Clan Braid usually occupies the center of the temple (sometimes even on both sides, though that depends on Clan).

Bead colors do have meaning, and follow the Galahdian color scheme. Clan Braids TEND to have a bead that is one of the Clan Colors (ie a black or purple bead for Ulrics, a red bead for Bellums, etc etc). Other braids have either a Clan Color for a bead, or (particularly in the case of marriage beads) a color that has emotional significance. Marriage beads are not always gold, but can also be colors like green, blue, and purple. If it is a natural gemstone (as many beads are) then the single color is all you get, but dyed wooden or plain stone beads can have multiple colors. When in a marriage bead, a Color almost automatically takes on a certain, usually positive connotation (so long as it isn’t pink, red, white, etc). The color is considered a promise to the person you’re giving the bead to (ie: a green marriage bead means I Will Watch Over You Always, a blue bead means I Will Protect You With All I Am, and a purple bead means You Hold My Heart and Loyalty Forever.)

And yes, some braids have multiple beads in them, while others have a small ribbons of Clan (or personal) colors in them to highly the style of braid and make its meaning more readily readable from a distance. Some braids that are accomplishment braids (to denote some important milestone or life or some famous deed) have multiple beads as well as ribbons, with various accomplishments getting a certain section of one long braid, the action itself told more in the combo of beads and ribbons then in the style of braid itself. Also note an accomplishment braid is a Big Deal and not given lightly, nor can it be put in of the individuals choice. The Chief and the Elders have to grant the right to use that braid, and punishment for faking the braid is severe. Accomplishment braids are for great deeds like killing an albino behemoth, taming a wild Coeurl (which, despite the Ulric’s fame for being like Coeurl-kin, is a Really Rare thing not even the Bestia can regularly pull off), or helping the Clan overcome some great trial (ie, warning the tribe of an imminent massive danger like a raid, a flood, a hurricane, or helping save the tribe by finding and delivering medicine from far away, or earning distinction in battle like saving the life of the Chief or defeating the Chief of the enemy Clan).

If Nyx had survived putting on the Ring/the fall of Insomnia and had a Chief or Elder of his Clan to grant him permission, he would have 100% earned an accomplishment braid for defeating Glauca the Traitor Chief, Protecting the Oracle, and Summoning the Old Wall.

Moving on.

Multiple beads can also be added to a braid that only requires a single bead, but that is more making a statement then a requirement (ie a Clan Braid can have a first bead, then as the hair grows out, a second one of the other Clan color rather than just redoing the entire braid with the first bead, a marriage braid can also have multiple beads, though only after the initial bead has been accepted).

[fantasyfandommaiden]

Chloe’s Very Odd and Out of the Ordinary Week

Chloe’s week has been weird, and no she didn’t mean weird like magical terrorist weird but weird in a sense that she has been feeling… odd, and doing things out of the ordinary for her… Chloe recounts the week to the counsellor during their weekly session.

~~~~~~~~

It had all started three weeks after Hero’s Day. Chloe and Sabrina were walking around doing their usual Saturday window shopping session .Sabrina had introduce the concept to Chloe, who still found it weird that window shopping had less to do with shopping and more looking, but she didn’t complain much about it, it did give the two a chance to look at the stores they wouldn’t usually go into. 

As they walked by a series of stores, Sabrina talking about her latest competition that was coming up and how much she hoped that Chloe could attend again (Chloe would of course, she made a promise to herself to attend every single competition), when she felt an undeniable urge to stop and  look to the side.

It was some sort of new age store from the looks of it, the window display had some incense and tacky looking wooden boxes, as well as some rocks, nothing too spectacular but for some reason Chloe couldn’t bring herself to look away. 

Sabrina, having noticed her friend had suddenly stopped, looked at the store that she was looking at the sign with a raised brow “‘The Fae Circle’... do you want to go have a look?” she asked, looking at her friend with a big smile.

Chloe’s face scrunched up in a scowl, her go into some tacky new age store? She could already hear her mother belittle her and her father trying to appease both her and her mother and failing miserably. Besides, it was beneath her and so not her style… but she couldn’t bring herself to look away for some reason. 

“Why not.” she stated before she could stop herself, opening the door and walking in, Sabrina walking closely behind. 

The store smelled of strong incense, however wasn’t overly powerful. The shelves all had different nick nacks, as well as rocks and different other oddities. One of those oddities was the man behind the counter, who was reading a book, and only looked up when the bell over the door rang. 

He appeared to be in his early 30’s and had long brown hair that was done up with several braids that was pulled back into a half up half down hairstyle, and bushy eyebrows. Chloe noted that despite the bushy eyebrows, he had facial structure that almost reminded her of a fox, with a triangle face shape, ember colour eyes, and a slightly longer nose. He wore a vee-neck black shirt that had a pentagram on it, but the most noticeable thing about the man was his tattoos on both of his arms, depicting different symbols and circles. The man, who’s name tagged stated his name was Garrick, rose one eyebrow as he closed his book, looking at the two girls. 

“Welcome to the Fae Circle, can I help you two find anything?” he asked, his voice was very deep, and seemed to rumble through both girls souls. 

Chloe was the first to respond with a shake of her head “Just browsing.” she stated simply, looking around. Sabrina nodded enthusiastically, spying some books in the corner and went to have a look at those as Chloe continued to stand almost in the middle of the store, not knowing exactly where to go, or why she even felt like she needed to be in here. Not wanted, but needed. 

Garrick continued to look at Chloe with a raised brow, however quickly glanced over at Sabrina once in awhile as she looked at the books, probably making sure she wouldn’t try to steal any, before looking back at Chloe. She was probably not his usual clientele, but he hadn’t made a comment yet, so Chloe wasn’t about to either, even though she felt the urge to tell him to stop staring rise in her. When their eyes met again, she felt as if he was sending her a silent challenge to say something about it, instead however she just turned around and walked around the store.

She decided instead to let her feet guide her, walking around the store, not really looking at anything with any true interest, finding herself close to where Sabrina was, where some tarot cards, gemstones and something called ‘rune stones’ were displayed. Part of her kept looking at a yellow stones (the paper stated it was a citrine) because yellow WAS her colour afterall, but for some reason her eyes kept being drawn to the turquoise instead, which confused her. It wasn’t that she didn’t LIKE the stone, it was pretty after all, but she didn’t typically like blue unless it was her eye colour. 

She hadn’t even realised she had picked up the grape size stone and was looking at it more intentionally until Sabrina mentioned how pretty was. Chloe’s eyes widened as she placed it back on the shelf, but found herself still staring at it, placing it right beside a tiny black stone bead that was roughly the size of her pinkie nail. 

“You know.” a voice said suddenly behind them, causing both girls jumped and whirled around to see Garrick standing behind them, he still had a bored look on his face, however looked down at Chloe before back at the rock. “When a stone calls out to you, it means that it wants to help in some way.” 

Chloe looked at him with a skeptical expression “And let me guess, for the low price of three dollars it could be mine?”

Garrick acted as if he hadn’t heard the comment as he pointed back to the turquoise stone that Chloe had been examining “Turquoise is a powerhouse stone. It drives away malice thoughts and negativity, helping you think more clearly and productively.” he explained. “However, if your looking to keep malice away I would also recommend onyx, instead of driving it away it will absorb it and turns it into good energy.” he said, pointing to the small black bead that was beside the blue stone.

Chloe continued to look at him with a skeptical expression, having no doubt in her mind that he said this to every single customer who came in “Were just browsing.” Chloe stated again, turning around and walking away. 

They stayed in the store for a fairly long time, not even realising that nearly half an hour had passed. During the hour Chloe would sometimes glance back at Garrick, reading his book.

“We should get going soon.” Sabrina said, looking at her phone “Dad will want me home for dinner, which your invited to if you like!” 

“I’ll think about it…” Chloe said, as she glanced back at the shelf where the rock was… she didn’t know WHY she was tempted to buy it. It was a tiny rock, she could get bigger, more beautiful rocks from the internet, yet still… she glanced at Garrick who glanced up from his book with a raised brow. “... thank you.” she stated simply. 

Garrick gave them a nod of acknowledgement before looking back down at his book as they exited the store. 

~~~~

During the first day of school that week, Chloe was in a fowl mood. Her mother had attempted to ‘talk’ with Chloe and ended up just demeaning her more, and called her ‘Kara’. The expression on her face must have been clear because everyone in her path parted like the red sea as Chloe walked through the hallways. 

Chloe found herself in front of Mlle Regal’s office about to walk through the open door to complain to the woman about her shitty mother before she stopped herself at the sight of Mlle Regal sitting at her desk. She didn’t have her usual aura of calmness that always seemed present whenever you were around her, her face had a slight scowl to it, eyebrows furrowed as she looked down at her cellphone. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying…

Mlle Regal looked over, having spotted Chloe, giving a small tired smile. “Oh, good morning Chloe… is everything okay?” she asked softly, putting her cellphone down.

Chloe, as if on instinct, was about to go on a rant about how terrible her mother was and such but found herself stopping at the sight of the red haired woman’s expression. “Is everything okay with you?” Chloe asked, looking at the window as if expecting an akuma to appear. 

Mlle Regal blinked at the question, not used to hearing it come from Chloe before giving a small chuckle “Oh, its nothing. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” the counsellor said, placing the cellphone in her pocket.

“Why?” Chloe asked, persisting with her line of question. 

Mlle Regal paused for a moment, looking at Chloe before replying “My mother was admitted to the hospital last night.” she said “Nothing serious, it was just a kidney stone, but it was a bad one, so I was still fairly worried… I think I only got perhaps two hours of sleep last night…” 

Chloe looked at her in shock “Why didn’t you stay home than?! You cant function with that little sleep!” she exclaimed, striding in. She was going to force this woman to go home and sleep!

Mlle Regal gave her a small smile “Chloe, I once stayed up for 28 hours due to insomnia, I’ll be fine. I will just have to take a nap when I get home after work today.”

Chloe scowled at that comment, before walking straight past the woman to her tea shelf, looking at all of the tins of tea she had before she found the most caffeinated one, earl grey. Than Chloe grabbed the kettle, which had been at a full boil anyway, and began to make Mlle Regal her tea, the only goal in Chloe’s mind was ‘This had better keep her awake long enough until she gets home!’ repeating over and over again in her head.  Chloe handed Mlle Regal a large mug with the tea inside, giving the woman a stern look.

“You need to finish that, and keep having more until the end of the day, which you will go home when the bell rings” Chloe stated as Mlle Regal looked at her with an amused smile.

“Provided nothing happens today I plan to… is there something you want to talk about today Chloe?” she asked Chloe. The blonde remained silent, remembering the real reason she had come this morning. To complain about her mother, and she was about to, but then she saw the tired smile in Mlle Regal’s eyes and how her mother was in the hospital.

Chloe could be a down right bitch when she wanted to be, but she wasn’t going to be one to one of the few adults that Chloe respected, so she decided to think of something else.

“What do you know about rocks?” 

Carmine blinked at the question, looking at Chloe confused as she brought up her tea cup to take a sip of the tea “Sedimentary, metamorphic, or igneous?” she asked, taking a sip of the tea only to stop and look down at the dark liquid with a confused expression on her face.

“Gemstones.” Chloe clarified. Mlle Regal still stared down at the tea, seeming lost in thought before looking at Chloe.

‘What kind of gemstone?” the counsellor asked, going to sit down at her desk as Chloe sat down as well. She had about ten minutes before she had to be in class.

“Turquoise.” 

Mlle Regal let out a soft hum, looking up to the ceiling as she thought “Well… it’s the birthstone of December, a beautiful blue colour, although I’ve heard it comes in yellow as well sometimes… why?”

“Some guy was trying to sell me on how they can ‘repel negativity’ or something like that.” Chloe said with an eye roll. 

The counsellor perked up slightly at that, smiling “Oh, it can. At least, that’s what it is believed to do.” Mlle Regal said smiling “It also promotes self-realisation, and assist with creative problem solving. I believe it also enhances the immune system and lungs, but I would have to double check one of my books to make sure.” she said smiling. 

Chloe just blinked, looking at the woman confused “... so wait, this is actually a thing?”

Mlle Regal continued to smile widely, standing up from her desk and walking to her book shelf “Oh yes, it most certainly is a ‘thing’. Each stone or gemstone is believed to have certain properties to assist with healing or purification.” she said, scanning the bookshelf with her finger as she looked at all the books “And I believe I have it… Here!” she pulled out a paperback book bringing it over to Chloe.

“This is ‘The Crystal Bible’, it has all of the stones that can be used for healing in it.” Mlle Regal said, flipping through several pages “Annnnd, yep! Turquoise is used to help with the lungs. See.” she turned the book around so Chloe could look at the page, which showed a turquoise stone and facts about it. 

Chloe just stared, gently taking the book and finding herself flipping through several of the pages. She was so entranced by it that the sound of the bell spooked her, making her almost drop it. 

“I’ve got to go to class!” she said, standing up, but glanced at the book in her hands.

Mlle Regal smiled “You can borrow it, just make sure you return it when your done.” she said, to which Chloe nodded before bolting out the door.

Carmine smiled, shaking her head as she sipped her tea again, looking down at it with a confused expression. 

She silently wondered why she felt her ‘second wind’ come on so fast, and almost didn’t notice how for the rest of the day she didn’t need as much tea as usual, however those thoughts went out the window when the moment she entered her apartment she fell asleep instantly on her couch as if by magic. 

~~~~~~~

For the next two days Chloe read the book that Mlle Regal loaned her. It was written in English, and luckily Chloe could speak and read English fluently (yet another failed attempt to get her mother’s attention, but still a skill that proved useful.)

She found it fairly interesting, which was weird. Chloe rarely enjoyed reading anything that wasn’t a magazine or a romance novel, or (even more secretly) manga, so the fact that she was essentially reading the equivalent of a textbook/encyclopedia and enjoying it was bizarra. 

Chloe actually looked through her jewelry box before going to school that day, and found that she HAD some of these stones embedded into some jewelry. She had some rose quartz, citrine, moonstone, and the like, which surprised her. She also found a very simple rose gold ring that had a small amethyst in it, she believed it was a gift from some distant relatives from a year or two ago. It wasn’t quite Chloe’s style (she preferred pure gold or silver over rose gold), but it was still fairly nice. 

Looking in the book told her that amethyst were used for intuition and protection, and were especially good if you were having a bad day. Chloe thought for a moment that if these actually work how everyone in Paris should have amethyst on them than, and placed the ring into a small ring box she had with the intent to give it to Sabrina. 

Arriving at school Chloe found that Sabrina wasn’t there, and checking her text message found out that she had a dentist appointment and would probably be there just before second period, and could Chloe possibly take notes during first so she wouldn’t fall behind? Chloe rolled her eyes, texting back a simple thumbs up, walking up the stairs as she walked towards the locker room to drop off her stuff into her locker and go to class.

Like clockwork class started with Marinette barely making it into the class before her name was called, Chloe would usually ignore her but found that the dark haired girl seemed… off. Mlle Bustier must have noticed too, because she asked if she was fine, but Marinette insisted she was fine, walking to her sit.

Chloe looked at Marinette with a neutral expression before looking back to the front, taking notes but not taking in the information, her thoughts elsewhere. Besides for Adrien, Marinette was the only one in class to not get akumatized, which was a feat in it of itself considering how Chloe had been akumatized twice now, three times if you counted Hero’s Day with the Red Hawkmoth. 

She had a feeling, deep down, that IF Marinette was upset enough to get akumatized, she would be a tough one. Like Syren, Evillustrator or even Stormy Weather levels of tough, maybe even more powerful than Queen Wasp (although Chloe loathed to admit that). Marinette was smart and creative, she thought outside the box and could think twelve steps ahead of everyone; she of course would be no match for her idol Ladybug, but she could probably take out Chat Noir with ease…

If she could take out Chat Noir with ease than that meant Ladybug would need help again. She may need Queen bee. Chloe felt her grip on her pen tightened as this thought crossed her mind. 

‘She doesn’t pick me as often because she always says Queen Bee isn’t needed, but I KNOW Marinette personally, I would be a great ally, than after beating Dupain Cheng Ladybug would see how well I do and let me keep my Miraculous and Pollen! Than I could be a hero FULL TIME! That would be amazing!’ a wide smile spread across her face as she tried to think of how to push the poor girl over the edge to be akumatized but stopped herself, a feeling of disgust going through her. ‘... but if Ladybug found out I let this happen, she would hate me…’ 

Chloe looked over at Marinette, who still seemed down, she barely heard the whispered between her and Alya about some person making rude comments about Marinette’s instagram posts that were racist or something along those lines, and Chloe scowled slightly, glancing at her bag beside her, a thought occurred to her. She hated the thought, she really did, but if she was going to prove she was a ‘good’ person, she might as well do it. 

Once class ended Chloe stood up so abruptly that it caused everyone to pause, as if waiting for her to say something as Chloe walked straight up to Marinette, who looked at her with a tired expression. “Chloe, I’m really not in the mood-” 

“You have a neutral tone, good.” Chloe stated, digging into her bag and bringing out the ring box “I’m donating all of my unused jewelry to people to make room for my NEW collection coming next week. I planned to give this to Sabrina, but she doesn’t wear rings often so here.” Chloe stated, forcefully placing the ring box into Marinette’s hands. Marinette glared at Chloe and looked to be about to say something before Chloe cut her off with “I also hear that amethyst apparently helps keep negativity away and gives protection or something like that if you believe it. Last thing we need is YOU getting akumatized.” she said, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder as she walked away.

Marinette could only stare at Chloe, before opening the box seeing the rose gold ring with the amethyst stone. It was a very simple, understated ring, very Marinette style.

If Chloe noticed that Marinette was wearing the ring on her index finger during second period, she didn’t say anything about it, and if Marinette found that her thoughts were clearer and that the negative comments on her Instagram didn’t bother her as much, she didn’t say anything either. 

~~~~~~~

That Thursday was the day where Chloe and Sabrina were going to go get a pedicure and manicure, and a hair appointment (both Chloe and Sabrina needed a trim, even though Chloe had stated that Sabrina would probably look AMAZING with some layers.) However their plans when cut short on the count of the fact that someone was following them, and it wasn’t one of Chloe’s bodyguards or her butler. 

She only caught them looking at the two of the because of the reflection on a store window, but she saw the intense way he stared at the two of them, and Chloe instantly felt a sense of danger at the sight. Chloe scowled slightly, linking arms with Sabrina and began to walk briskly down the street.

 “Were being followed.” she stated simply, and instantly Sabrina matched her stride as the walked down the fairly busy street. The man actually had the gule to follow them, Chloe was just letting her feet carried her down the street, trying to think of a plan. 

She knew that if they stayed to a busy street, the man wouldn’t try anything, but you could never be too careful. If she had the Bee Miraculous she would just sting them… or would that be an abuse of power? Chloe and Sabrina had to stop at a crosswalk as the light had turned red, causing Chloe to silently curse, noting now that not only was there a man following them but also a dark coloured car.

At times like this she really wished she could think as fast as Ladybug when coming up with plans, heck she almost wished she could think as fast as Marinette. Chloe bit her lip, looking at Sabrina as she gripped her arm, she needed a plan, a distraction, something!

The same feeling she had on Saturday occurred, the same odd, unexplainable feeling telling her to look to the side, so she did, and saw the figure of a man walking down the street away from them, with long hair half done in braids, and tattoos all over his arms. ‘Perfect.’ Chloe though as she pivoted on her feet, all but dragging Sabrina down the street with her. ‘What was his name again? Greg… Geralt… Garfield… Garry-’ the name finally occurred to her.

“Garrick!” she called out to him. The man stopped, looking over his shoulder lazily, seeing the two girls all but run up to him. Chloe resisted the urge to scowl when she noted that the man was smoking a cigarette as he looked at the two of them with a raised eyebrow “Were being followed.” Chloe stated to him, glancing behind her to see the man and the car still approaching. 

Garrick raised an eyebrow “... And?” he asked, flicking the ashes off the end of his cigarette. He didn’t seem impressed with the two of them, which made Chloe grow in frustration. In her mind she was still trying to figure out who the men were after, she knew most likely it was her, but Sabrina was the daughter of a police officer so she was likely too. 

Chloe glared at him, shoving Sabrina towards him “Just keep an eye on her will you!” she snapped, turning around as the man came up, trying to appear all kind and nice.

“Ah, Chloe! There you are! Your father asked me to come get you!” 

“Never seen you in my life. Leave.” Chloe snapped back, the man’s face noticeably twitching slightly. 

“Now, Chloe, there is no need for that. He asked me to get you and your friend back to the hotel-”

“And I said leave!” Chloe snapped back, but before a yelling match could occur the sound of a camera going off was heard, and both turned to see Garrick with his phone out, having taken a picture of what Chloe assumed was the man, still looking utterly bored.

“Sir, kindly don't take my picture”

“Shut up.” Garrick stated simply, his cigarette between his lips as he typed something into his phone “And sent.” 

The man seemed panicked slightly “W-Who did you send that to?!”

“My friend in the police department.” Garrick stated “Harrassing two teenage girls after being told repeatedly to fuck off is harassment you know.”

“I work with her father-”

“For crying out loud, I told you to shut the fuck up. Listen will you.” Garrick stated, stepping forward so that he stood in front of Chloe “Hey, you know this punk?” he asked Chloe as she scowled.

“Never seen him before in my life. I want him to leave me and Sabrina alone, and his freaky friend in the car too!” 

Garrick looked lazily over to said car that was waiting idely by about 20 feet away, letting out a groan “For fuck sake this is so fucking annoying.” he said, taking a long drag of his cigarette, muttering something about troublesome people who can just let things be. 

“Okay, here is what you are going to do-”

“I’m just trying to do my job”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Garrick stated, exhaling some smoke from his nose as he looked at the man “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go to your friends in that car, turn yourselves in for whatever nefarious plans you planned against these girls, and never, ever, try this again.” the man all but commanded as he took another long drag from his cigarette, before blowing the smoke into the mans face. “Got it?”

 Chloe must have been seeing things because she could have sworn that the smoke as well as the embers at the end of his cigarette seemed to be blue in colour, but that thought quickly went away as she saw the man’s face turned ghost white as he dashed back to the van, ripped open the door and got in.

The van then drove away from the group, Chloe and Sabrina could only stare in shock as Garrick flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette. “Man, what a bunch of idiots, trying something like that in broad daylight? Fucking morons.” he muttered, looking at the two girls. “... So why did you come to me? For all you know I could have been apart of that ragtag group.”

Chloe puffed her chest up a bit, taking a step forward as she glared at him, trying to make herself look at intimidating as possibly, which was hard since he was easily two feet taller than her, and looked at her with a very unimpressed expression. “You were nowhere near the guys following us, you had no way of knowing I would even bother trying to get your help, and besides, I knew you wouldn’t do that.” 

Garrick looked at her with a raised brow, bringing the cigarette to his lips again “Oh really? How?”

Chloe was silent for a moment, before responding “I just did.” 

Garrick remained quiet for a moment, looking Chloe up and down, not in a perverted way but as if he was assessing her for something. Chloe wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or if he found it as he blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from Chloe. She noted that although he was smoking, it didn’t smell like tobacco but instead of… green tea? “Interesting… okay. What are your plans now?” 

Chloe looked back at Sabrina, who seemed a little shaken up, before back at Garrick “Were going back to your store to wait for our parents to pick us up.” Sabrina gently elbowed Chloe’s side as the blonde haired girl tacked on a quick “If that’s alright.” 

Garrick gave an indifferent shrug, licking his index finger as before placing the still burning cigarette on it to extinguish it and tossing it in a trash can “Sure, why not.”

~~~~~

The last ‘odd’ thing that happened was on Friday, the day that Chloe would go see Mlle Regal for their weekly session. Adrien had brought in his new hamster, who was just hanging out on the desk with Adrien giving it a small head scratch with his finger as he spoke with Nino. It was so cute, that Chloe couldn’t help but take a picture!

She brought out her top of the line Sony camera (which she was now always seen with) and took a picture of it, the main focus being Adrien and his hamster. She would forever be jealous of how photogenic her best friend was, even when he didn’t know he was getting his picture taken.

She brought the camera away from her face to examine the picture on the screen but froze at what she saw. Behind Adrien was some sort of greenish purple mist with fleck of orange, and the mist seemed to form some sort of person… the mist was originating from the hamster. 

“Oh my goodness Chloe!” Sabria whispered spying the photo on the display  “That photo is so cute! Adrien looks so happy! Will you show him later?”

Chloe looked at her friend shocked “It… doesn’t look weird?” she asked uncertainty. Surely her friend saw the weird mist thing?

Sabrina blinked, looking at the photo again “No? I mean, the lightning is probably not ideal, but overall I think it looks good.” she said softly “... Why?”

Chloe gulped slightly, gently gripping her camera “... Its nothing.” she said simply as the final bell rang. Chloe shot up from her chair, grabbed her bag “I’ll talk to you later Sabrina! I’ve got to go!” she said, racing to the counsellors office, getting scolded by several teachers to slow down but she didn’t listen. 

She hurriedly knocked on Mlle Regal’s door, hurriedly opening it before the woman had a chance to even finish calling out that it was open. Chloe walked into the office, closing the door and locking it, looking at the red haired woman who looked back at her confused.

“Chloe, is everything alright?”

“No. No I don't think so. Please tell me what you see when you look at this picture!” Chloe said, handing the woman her camera, who took it gingerly and looked at the display picture first with a neutral expression. 

Chloe observed as Mlle Regal’s face from from neutral, to a confusion, than shock as she looked at Chloe with a look of utter bewilderment “... Did you take this picture?” 

Chloe could only nod, as Mlle Regal looked back down at the camera. “Has anyone else seen this picture?”

Chloe bit her bottom witch, feeling nervous by how calm Mlle Regal was being. Could she see it or not? Why wasn’t she freaking out? Or was she freaking out on the inside and Chloe couldn’t see it. “Sabrina did, but she didn’t seem to react to the… thing in the photo.” 

Mlle Regal nodded, leaning back in her chair, appearing deep in thought, her fingers drumming against her desk, the only sound in the room the gentle clicking of her nails against the wood. 

Finally the woman spoke “Chloe, could you give me a copy of the photo?” she asked, looking at the blonde haired girl, her expression unreadable. 

Chloe looked at her, slowly nodded “Of course, but what is it?”

“Well, I have a feeling I know what it is, but I need to show it to someone first for confirmation, if that is alright…” Mlle Regal took a deep breath “And if turns out my suspicions are correct, then we need to talk.”

[pnf-lover98]

Ineffable Bureaucracy - Humbug

[Owl City - “Humbug”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zblhY65gPOk]

“...And then Michael said...” Gabriel leaned toward Beelzebub and whispered something to her ear. The demon's eyes widened noticeably. “Ew! I did not want to know that!” she replied, with an intrigued, only partly weirded out smile. “Are you for real?” “Mh!” Gabriel took another sip from his tea. “It's true!” Beelzebub shook her head in disbelief. “I've always said and I'll repeat it again: your lot is just formed by demons with white-painted wings!”, the prince commented laughing. After taking a sip from her own mug, the woman stood up from the couch. “I need more sugar”, she announced, before disappearing into her flat's kitchen.

Waiting for his girlfriend to come back, Gabriel took a look around the prince's living room. Her house was quite clean, considering it belonged to a demon. Beelzebub had a good taste, Gabriel thought; she had picked the furniture to be neat and functional. Not too refined, but not messy nor badly matched either. Among the many pagan Christmas decorations scattered through her house, a small box wrapped in glittery paper, placed under the Christmas tree, caught the angel's attention. Gabriel stood up and went to examine the mysteryous box, but just as his fingers were about to reach its surface, Beelzebub's voice stopped him in his track. “Hey! Do not touch that!” the prince exclaimed sternly from the doorway. “What? Why not?” “It's a Christmas gift, it has to be opened only on Christmas. And that day won't be until next week.” Gabriel moved away from the tree. “Wait...is it for me?”, the angel asked surprised. “Of course it is, you dummy!” Beelzebub said, crossing her arms. “I'm a prince of the demons; I don't go around making gifts for just anyone!” The rest of the evening passed even too quickly, with the two of them enjoying each other's company. When the moment came for them to part, Gabriel kissed Beelzebub goodbye on the doorway, then left to return to his own place.

Instead of teleporting directly there, the archangel chose to take a walk. He had quite a few things to things to think about; Beelzebub had gone and got him a present, a gift she chose specifically for him! Gabriel stopped to glance at a young couple strolling down the street. The two humans were laughing and smiling, holding eachother close as they walked. The sight of that sweet couple filled Gabriel's own heart with joy and love. My little Bee got me a present!

After barely a couple of seconds, though, the dreamy look in the angel's eyes suddenly dropped to a wide-eyed scared expression, as he realized a terrible truth. And I haven't gotten her anything!! How in the Heavens had he forgotten about this? He was supposed to be the good and caring one! I'm really overworked... He sighed. He absolutely had to make up for his forgetfulness and gift her back. ...But what should he get her?

The man spent all the next day thinking about it at work. Yeah, what could he get her? The two of them had been dating for just a couple of months, and even though Beelzebub had already shared a lot of information with him about her likings, Gabriel knew that her tastes could be extremely ever-changing.

One of the many reasons he loved her for.

After the end of his office work hours in Heaven, Gabriel decided to take a walk among human shops to find some inspiration. Should he try with jewels? As he stared at the shiny gemstones in the goldsmith's window, the angel thought it could be a very nice idea. It was a classical way of gifting, among humans, and a few of those gems looked really good. But then he remembered how Beelzebub had never worn any jewels. Maybe she doesn't like them... Moving on, the man saw a very peculiar brand of bags that produced obnoxiously weird purses covered in giant sequins and beads sewn in shapes resembling buildings, famous people, and all sort of animals. In the center of the shop's window stood a black shoulder bag with a big, shiny wasp sewn onto its front side. Gabriel smiled amused at the insect. Beelz would love these, the archangel thought. If I adjusted this a little and make it a fly, instead, it would be perfect. He liked that idea, but it still didn't feel like the perfect choice he wanted his gift for her to be. And so, Gabriel kept searching, venturing among various shops and considering many different categories of objects, from clothing to house decorations and even to food. But for one reason or another, every single idea coming to his mind didn't feel right. Would it be rude to gift her something fly-related? Would it remind her in an unpleasant way of her status of demon? He knew she liked to collect mugs, but none of the ones he saw for sale seemed that interesting. Would she really use things such as frames or ornaments? He could go for a purple jumper; she seemed to like that color. But what if she already got tired of that particular hue?

Gabriel mindlessly slid his finger along the polished surface of one of the display tables. He was currently wandering through another home decor shop, once again with no results. But as the hopeless angel was about to leave, something on an isle he had yet to examine caught his eyes. As he read the label and grabbed the object to take a better look at it, a bright smile formed on his lips.

A few minutes later, he was walking back home with a bag in his hand and a satisfied look on his face.

- - - - -

On Christmas eve, Gabriel and Beelzebub finally took some time off from work to spend the afternoon together. December was a very busy month for both angels, who had to take care of all the religious sides of Christmas, and demons, who had to make extra efforts to make humans forget about said religious aspects and go sin instead. The two creatures hung out for a walk around the freshly show-coered streets of London, stopping by a coffee shop to fight the biting winter cold with some hot beverages, and then head back to Beelzebub's flat to chat and cuddle infront of the fireplace.

After dinner, Beelzebub went to the Christmas tree and picked up her gift for Gabriel, handing it to her boyfriend. Pulling the clear duct tape away carefully, Gabriel opened the wrapping paper and took the content out of the little box.

It was a tie, for Beelzebub must have surely noticed how he liked refined, elegant clothing. But it was the color that left Gabriel temporarily wordless; it was a bright reddish orange, and the archangel didn't fail to catch the message behind it. It's the same color as your sash!

“Well?” Beelzebub had been staring at him for the whole time it took him to unwrap the box. Which was far too much, in her opinion. “Do you like it?” the demon asked, giddy. “I do! Thank you”, Gabriel replied with a smile. “Good.” “My turn!” the angel announced, reaching behind the couch to grab the bag he'd been hiding. Beelzebub let out a small gasp; much to her surprise, her boyfriend had made her a gift, too!

For the first time in millennia, the demon got to spend Christmas outside of her damp, rotting, lonely office in Hell, and to be with the only person she's ever cared about. That alone was already the biggest gift Gabriel could give her, but the angel had gone the extra mile and bought her something.

“Give it to me!” Beelzebub ordered impatiently. The woman almost tore the bag open, causing a chuckle from Gabriel. As soon as she saw its content, the demon gaped. “A cinnamon scented candle!” she whispered, removing the jar's lid to take a deep sniff of the scented brownish orange wax. “You remembered!” Her gaze shifted back from the candle to the man sitting next to her. The joy and enthusiasm radiating through her eyes and voice gave Gabriel butterflies. “How could I forget?” the angel replied with a warm smile. Cinnamon is your favourite taste. “I believe candles are a good way to refresh a room's smell, right?” Gabriel explained. “Now you'll be able to work in an office that won't necessarily smell like rotten things!” Beelzebub looked briefly at the candle one more time. “Thank you!” the demon replied, moved by the kind thought.

Setting the gift down on the coffee table in front of  the couch, Beelzebub moved closer to Gabriel, pulling him down towards her for a kiss. When the two of them pulled away, the prince wrapped her arms around the angel, resting her head on his chest. “Merry Christmas, Gabe!”

Gabriel reciprocated the hug, and planted a soft kiss on the top of the demon's head. “Merry Christmas to you too, Bee.”

[iwoulddieforkeanureeves]

Fortune Favors The Kind Part 2 (John Wick x Reader)

Part 1: https://iwoulddieforkeanureeves.tumblr.com/post/185553274864/this-is-like-a-mentorjohn-x-youngreader

After John finished up his business with the Tarasov clan you both fell into a routine. You been living with him for about a month now, and had been taking care of the adorable grey pitbull John had picked up. It had taken you a while to get used to living in the suburbs, John told you it wasn't very friendly to stare down the neighbors while walking the dog. So you slowly adjusted to being a bit more normal.

One thing you couldn't shake were the nightmares, you'd constantly have vivid dreams of figures from your old life snatching you up and forcing you back into that Russian safehouse, back to those grueling tasks they made you do. The thoughts made you shudder. Whenever you woke up from one of these, you had trouble going back to bed, so you'd opt to take the dog out for a walk if he was up. This morning was one of those mornings. You had just come home from an early morning walk with the dog, and decided to watch some TV before John woke up. You sat on the couch scratching behind the pitbull's ear as you watched TV, seeing all the ads reminded you of the first day you stayed with John, he took you shopping for new clothes.

~

You had stuck to him like glue, never having been to a mall before the sheer quantity of people put you on edge. Your eyes were constantly darting about as you looked over all of the pedestrians and the various shops. You were wearing one of John's shirts, which was quite large on you, and a pair of Helen's old pants. It made John's stomach churn a bit, having to touch or move Helen's things, as he hadn't touched them since she passed, but there was no way you'd fit into his pants, and he wasn't going to bring you out in public with the slinky party dress you had on the night he had met you. He could sense your unease and gently laid his arm around your shoulder, calmly he spoke, "(Y/N), you're safe here, just take a deep breath and try to look for some clothes you'd like to wear." He led you into a simple clothing shop. "Pick out whatever you'd like, just make sure you grab stuff you need too."

You took a deep breath, giving him a shaky smile as you tried to push all the negative thoughts out of your head. "Okay." You said, beginning to sift through the racks upon racks of clothes, you grabbed a few pairs of jeans and leggings, as well as some nice shirts and some undergarments too. You came to his home with practically nothing. You enjoyed the freedom of being able to stroll about the place without fearing for your safety, and enjoying the feeling of the various textiles across your skin as you browsed. You walked back up to John, holding the clothes in your hands.

After you had checked out, you had both realized you were starving, and went to the food court. After you had settled in and began slurping down your lo mein, John pulled out a small bag from the shop you were just in that you failed to notice earlier. You perked up, "What's that?" You slurred through your mouth full of noodles.

John chuckled at your antics, and pulled out a pair of earrings. They were very pretty, they were silver hoops with a small gemstone dangling down the center. "I saw these in there and thought you might like them." He said simply.

You smiled, taking the earrings into your hands and looking them over. "Thank you so much John, you've done so much for me you didn't have to get th-"

He cut you off with a raise of his hand, "Please, (Y/N), it's not a problem. You deserve something nice."

~

You hadn't taken them off since that day. You instinctively moved your hand up to touch your earlobe, feeling the cool metal of the earring brush against your fingers. You began flipping through channels, unable to find anything interesting to watch.

You heard the sound of footsteps and water running upstairs, signaling John was up and moving. You decided to give up on finding something interesting to watch and instead went over to the coffee pot, brewing some for the both of you. The one stereotypical teen girl phenomenon you did adhere to was loving a good cup of coffee.

John came down stairs, water beading on the ends of his long hair. He saw you had made coffee and his eyes brightened a bit. He walked over and poured himself a cup, the pitbull happily trotted up to John as he was pouring. He leaned down and gave him a scratch before filling up his food dish. After taking a sip, John broke the silence, "Are you hungry?"

Your stomach answered for you, growling a bit, your face flushed, a bit embarrassed. John chuckled softly, "I take that as a yes, you like eggs?" He asked, opening the fridge and shuffling through its contents. John usually didn't keep much in the fridge, but ever since you started living here he was much better about keeping a healthier stock of food. No more living off of coffee, toast, and 79 cent noodles.

You nodded, "Yeah, can I help you cook?" You offered, setting your drink down and walking into the kitchen. John gave you a soft smile and began handing you some items from the fridge.

John helped you start frying the eggs, giving you little tips and tricks along the way. Like that you don't have to worry about flipping the egg if you put a lid on top and steam it. "You're doing great, kiddo." He said as began frying bacon in the pan next to yours. You couldn't help but smile, it was so nice having a positive figure in your life. Someone who was willing to guide you without judgement or ulterior motives. The smells of bacon wafting into your nose made you smile, you loved breakfast. You hadn't had a real home cooked breakfast in a long time, and you had missed it.

Eventually, the two of you had made your plates and were eating at the kitchen table, it was quiet for a moment as you both began eating. The food was delicious, you were happy you didn't end up breaking any yolks. John tossed a small piece of bacon to the pitbull eagerly circling his feet. John spoke up, causing you to look away from your plate. "Y'know, before Helen passed away, she had always wanted kids." He said softly, your eyes drifting to one of the photos of Helen and John on the walls. Your heart ached, John had told you about how wonderful Helen was, and you could tell his love for her.

You got what he was implying, John had practically become your father. He was your main caretaker and made sure you were clothed and fed and taken care of. "You would've been an excellent dad, John." You took a sip of your coffee. "You practically are." You said the last part much softer, looking into your mug rather than at his face.

John smiled, "God, (Y/N). She would've loved you." He said proudly, looking across the table at you. You were about to say more, but before you could, the doorbell rang.

For most people, this wouldn't be a problem, but for you and John, it was odd. The sound of it was almost haunting, the hollow ring echoing in the front hall. Your eyes widened, you hardly had visitors here, considering the house was tucked away on a hill, so this was unusual. You were about to get up and peek out the window, your fork held like a weapon in your hand, but as you stood up John gestured that you sit back down, eyes glued to the door. You slowly went back into your seat, setting your fork back down. The hairs on the back of your neck were standing up, you knew whatever was on the other side of that door couldn't be good.

https://iwoulddieforkeanureeves.tumblr.com/post/185712927834/previous-part

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 3

A/N I need Peaky Blinders writers to follow. So let me know if you write any of the characters

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there, they step into a dangerous dance together

Chapter Summary: Alfie and Louise attend the art gala so he can get some work settled. 

Warnings: Swearing, threats, brief racism

           The next night, Louise was brought a box tied up in ribbon. Alfie had sent her home a bit early so she could bathe and make sure the dress fit.

           Louis thanked Ollie for delivering the box and took it to her room. She set it on her bed and slid the top off. Folded under a bit of tissue paper was a royal blue evening gown.

           “Mercy…” She lifted the garment up delicately to take the rest of its appearance. The front was intricately beaded, the shiny facets catching the lamplight and making the dress glimmer. It was floor length, with a long row of buttons in the back traveling from the top all the way to where the dress’s skirt flared out behind. The beaded bodice formed a sweetheart neckline, ready to hug the waist.

           Louise stared at the gown, dumbfounded for a bit. Despite growing up in a well off home, she hadn’t seen anything quite so stunning. Her father insisted she wear modest dresses when attending events to keep his only child and precious daughter safe from the wandering eyes of boyish elite males. And of course, when she married her husband, she had no use for nice dresses.

           But this dress, royalty could’ve worn it or the stunning fashion models in Paris. It seemed to be the right size, but she wasn’t sure she’d fit the mold of a woman who would wear such a garment. But it was too late to get another dress and none of the clothes she had would be appropriate for the event.

           She set the dress on her bed and glanced back at the box.

           A set of gloves sat waiting for her among the tissue paper. The satin fabric reminded her of her mother. She and Louise’s father would regularly attend parties and galas. But they never neglected her. She could almost smell her mother’s perfume, remembering how she’d touch her daughter’s cheeks with the silky gloves while kissing her goodnight.

           No one could be more beautiful than her mother.

           Louise slipped the dress on and realized there was a problem. She reached behind her and tried to do up as many buttons as she could. But the twisting tugged painfully at her stitches and made the feat impossible. She huffed in defeat and weighed her options. She could wear a shawl to cover up the undone buttons but the fabric folded a little because it wasn’t fitting the way it was meant to. The second option and the most daunting was to ask Alfie to finish the buttons. Her boss of just over a week.

           There wasn’t much time to decide as the clock on the wall told her Alfie would be arriving soon.

           “It’s only a few buttons…” She whispered under her breath and hurried downstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

           Around seven, the car pulled up to her apartment.

           Alfie had gotten out of the car to greet her properly. He appeared more clean-cut than usual but still onto his air of power. He wore a well-fitted tuxedo with his heavy black coat to keep him warm in the cold London night. His beard was trimmed and he had his familiar black hat. He stood on the sidewalk; his feet set wide apart while resting his hands on top of his cane.

           “Fucking hell.” Despite his formal wear, Alfie didn’t change his vernacular. Expensive fabric couldn’t change that. “Thought you’d look lovely in that color. Nice to see I was right, usually am.”

           Louise smiled and stood in the doorway. “Could I just ask for a favor?”

           “Yeah, what’s that then?” He walked over to the steps.

           “Just fasten the last buttons in the back.” She turned to show him. She gathered her curls away from her neck so he could help.

           Alfie felt a lump stick in his throat. He’d noticed the change in him over the week of having Louise around. He thought it would be easier to ignore it but that wasn’t the case. It was hard enough just being around her in her work skirts. Seeing her dressed up like London’s aristocracy was killing him.

           He stepped up the front steps. It was as if she was intentionally trying to drive him mad. The blue fabric parted showing him just enough of her pale skin to make him tense up. A few freckles marked down her spine and for a brief moment, he could imagine kissing each one of them.

           Alfie Solomons was not a hopeless romantic. He wasn’t weak and he wasn’t soft. There was no way he was going to fawn over this woman simply because she was around frequently. He had to mentally kick himself in the ass and steady his hands to button her dress up. It was inappropriate to think of his secretary in such a way. Maybe she was just a test from God.

           “There we are.” Alfie stepped back when he was finished.

           “Thank you.” She slipped on her coat and turned around. The dress trailed a bit behind her but was bunched up in the front so she could walk properly. “It is beautiful, I really love it.”

           “Yeah? Well, you keep it then.”

           Louise followed him down the stairs and over to the car. “Oh, Alfie, I couldn’t.” She took his hand held out to help her get in.

           “I ain’t gonna wear it, so who else would I give it to?” He climbed in behind her. He didn’t want to see any other woman in that dress. As far as he was concerned, the thing was made to be worn by her. He was just glad he’d seen her in it.

           Louise didn’t have anything to say to that. So she just folded her hands over her lap. “That is generous, thank you.”

           All the muscles in his face worked overtime to keep his eyes ahead instead of staring at her. “Right, let’s go make some wealthy friends, yeah?”

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

           The art gallery was in the high-end part of London; somewhere Louise hadn’t been in quite a while. She glanced out the car window to watch socialites and artists walking down the street. The city was already lit up as the sun finished setting. The air held electricity that could pump one’s blood full of adrenaline.

           A pressure settled on her shoulder and Louise could sense Alfie watching her. She glanced over and found out she was right.

           Realizing he’d been caught staring, he cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. “Do like that color.” He said in a gruff but hesitant tone. There was a hint of shyness to his demeanor. “Sorta like sapphires, innit?”

           “Have you purposefully dressed me up like a gemstone, Mr. Solomons?” Louise teased light-heartedly.

           It was the first time she made him smile and the first time she heard a genuine laugh from him. A deep chuckle from his chest. He was beautiful. And it was strange to think so. Louise had grown up dreaming she would marry a tall, clean-shaven man who was polite and gentle. Her boss didn’t exactly check off those boxes. But there was something about him that was endearing to her despite seeing his temper.

           “Well, figure jewels n’ money is all these sorts know.” He shrugged. “They speak the language, yeah?”

           “And what do you know? What language do you speak?”

           “Me?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, I know what they talk ‘bout, right? I can talk their language of wealth. But me, right, I get that there’s another world outside all that. World ain’t as simple and carefree as this lot thinks.” The car stopped in front of the gallery. A beautifully lavish building with marble stairs leading to the front door. “Sacrifices need to be made.” He got out of the car and lent a hand to Louise.

           “There are good things in the world though.” She disagreed civilly, the satin fabric of her elbow-length gloves brushing against his calloused palm.

           Alfie offered his arm to escort her up the stone steps. “Right, jewels n’ shit, that’s what I said.”

           She laughed and took his arm, gathering up the trail of her skirt so no one stepped on the delicate fabric. “Not stuff you can buy.” Alfie walked slowly beside her, allowing her time to walk up the stairs in her heels. “Natural things, beauty, and relationships. Friends and family. I mean, not everything is bad or needs to be bought.”

           He shook his head and let his cane fall heavily on each step. “Think you’ve been reading too many books, love.” Attendants of the gala helped take their coats at the door. Alfie took in Louise’s appearance in the dress again without her heavy coat. The bodice fit perfectly and the satin sleeves set deeply against her fair arms. She was a sight to be seen with luxurious chocolate curls pinned up. And she was on his arm, not another man’s.

           “That’s all a buncha horseshit, right?” He felt a little too rough and burly to be next to such a petite beauty. But she stuck close to him, her arm clutching his. It made him feel giddy and dizzy with guilt all at the same time. “None of that’s real, I mean fucking look at London. S’nothing but smoke and coal and misery.”

           Louise followed him into the crowd of people mingling, dancing, and talking about the art. “You don’t think love is real?” She asked over the classical music played by a string quartet. It was the amount of class that she had been so accustomed to before. Now she was back in the midst of it but in a very different position than before.

           “I think it’s a very foolish thing.”

           “You’ve never been in love? Ever?”

           Alfie found a small table where it was a bit quieter and they could speak properly. “Well, there was this one.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the white tablecloth. “Fucking gorgeous and fucking expensive. Couldn’t tell you how many sapphires were on that necklace. Could’ve bought meself a nice country home with that thing.”

           Louise sighed and gave him a look. “With a person, Alfie, not a piece of jewelry. Gems are just cold rocks.”

           He cracked a smile but shook his head. He dragged his fingers over his beard. “Nah, too much work to be done. Love takes time.”

           “Hm…” Louise surveyed the event, the lavish dresses, and elegant suits. Long sweeping gowns brushed over the shining floor. Jewels glinted in the lights. Alcohol ran like water, keeping them satiated. Cigarette smoke hung above the crowd like a hazy cloud. The art pieces were all cradled in gold gilded frames, carefully aimed lights highlighting them for potential buyers. Everything about the surroundings screamed money. It brought Louise no comfort.

           “What ‘bout you then?” Alfie watched her eyes study some of the art on the wall closest to them. Her mind was clearly elsewhere.

           “What about me?”

           “Think you’ve ever been in love?” He asked bluntly.        

           She chewed on her lip and gave a one-shouldered shrug. The beads on the dress bodice clicked together under her movements. “I thought I was once. But I don’t think you can love someone who took everything from you.”

           Alfie thought about his call to Tommy. Soon. He would right the wrongs soon. He just needed to be patient.

           “Oh, see there?” He leaned forward and pointed to a young gentleman with a sash across his tuxedo. The red silk was enough of an indication that he was important. A step above everyone else there.

           “Yes?”

           “That’s why we’re here.” He stood up and offered a hand to her. “French guy, yeah?”

           “Oh yes,” Louise remembered the reason for her invitation to the event. Certainly, Alfie didn’t want to take his secretary out to an art gallery for fun.

           The gangster commanded the crowd as he walked. His wide shoulders and strong demeanor made people in his way move without a second thought. Louise wasn’t sure if the art lovers knew who Alfie was or whether his intimidating appearance was enough to compel them to move.

           The French man glanced up and recognized him. A nervous twist tugged at the corner of his mouth.

           “Hope I’m not interrupting.” Alfie’s voice boomed over the music, a false sense of friendliness and familiarity shielding his toe.

           The two other men also appeared familiar with the gangster. “Mr. Solomons, this isn’t usually your setting.” An elderly man holding a glass of scotch spoke. He was calmer than the other two men. He spoke candidly. “And I see you’ve found yourself a beautiful woman, are you married?”

           “Oh, no, I’m his secretary.” Louise touched Alfie’s arm.

           “Ah, apologies. You two are so smartly dressed together, I assumed you were out to celebrate.”

           “S’alright.” Alfie cleared his throat. He could feel Louise’s hand and felt a strange bit of let down. The woman on his arm was only there because he paid her. But there was business to attend to, he couldn’t feel sorry for himself that he was undeserving of such a gentle woman.

           “Mr. Solomons, I think you’ve met the Viscount before.”

           “Yeah, I have. Louise, this is Jean. Viscount or whatever the fuck he wants to call himself.” He waved a dismissive hand to the aristocrat. His gold rings glinted in the light. Perhaps the man wasn’t a step above everyone in the room. Perhaps it was an illusion.

           “Should I translate for you, sir?” The other unnamed man beside the Viscount asked.

           “I’ve got me own translator here, mate, so he can’t talk shit right in front of me face. I know he’s fond of doing that.” Alfie responded roughly and glanced at his secretary. “Louise is more than capable.”

           “Oh uh,” She smoothed her hands over the front of her dress. “how do you do? My name is Louise; I’m Mr. Solomon’s secretary. He asked me to translate for you.”

           “Louise, very nice to meet you, mademoiselle.” Jean took her hand to kiss her knuckles. She smiled but her boss looked ready to boil over in the middle of the gallery. “How did such a brute come to acquire such a beauty?” He nodded to Alfie, obviously feeling protected by the language barrier.

           Alfie noticed the gesture and his eye twitched. “What? What’d he say?” He urgently asked.

           “Uh…” Louise swallowed. She wouldn’t lie to him, but she also didn’t want to see his reaction to the remark. It was neither the time nor place for one of his explosive tirades. But she underestimated his restraint.

           “He asked how you came to have me?” She gave him the abridged version hoping that would be sufficient enough.

           “Right, enough with the games, yeah?” Alfie slammed his cane down and straightened up. “That woman right there, yeah, see her? She ain’t anyone’s property and I didn’t get all gussied up to talk about her, did I? You fucking know why I’m here.” He snarled. His voice built up like thunder in the distance but kept the interaction in a small sphere. The rest of the gallery either chose not to notice and get involved or was too drunk to care.

           Louise did her best to translate, packaging up his words and delivering them to the viscount. She didn’t know what he was leading up to. Alcohol couldn’t be a clean business but she didn’t think it would get this heated. But she was too busy trying to focus on the words that she couldn’t process it all. When she finished, Jean’s face had paled.

           “Yeah…don't need a translator now, can see it in those eyes of yours.” Alfie hissed, his eyes refusing move, making Jean more uncomfortable. “You know why I’m here. You fucking lying, cheating, thieving git. I ain’t going another day without your debts paid.” He jabbed two fingers at his chest. “You got all that?” He asked his secretary without looking at her.

           Louise nodded and relayed the less than tasteful response. It sounded strange coming from her in a different language, and the language of love no less.

           The Frenchman looked trapped but unwilling to bend to the gangster’s will. “Tell Mr. Solomons I don’t have his money. I’m not giving that Jew anything.”

           It hit a nerve for her. The arrogance and venom were clear in his voice. So she would let her boss know everything. “He says he’s not paying you. He also spoke unkindly of your ethnicity.” Louise reported with a harsh glare toward the viscount.

           “Good lass.” Alfie praised. He almost seemed glad to have a reason to go off on the man. A glint of hellfire crossed his eyes as he took a closer step toward Jean. “Tell his highness that if I don’t get me fucking money by midnight tonight, he’s going to wake up in bits at the bottom of the Thames. And if anyone listening wants to go whinging to the police like a bunch of fucking boys, they will meet the same fate. Right? Good?” He forcefully clapped a hand over Jean’s shoulder as Louise translated. His grip tightened when he saw the fear dilate in the man’s eyes.

           “He said he understands.” She told him after he gave a quiet and complacent reply.

           “Good!” Alfie patted the man’s shoulder again. “Nice to have a night to meself, not have to do much dirty business, eh?” He said in a faux cheery voice. “Louise,” He let her take his arm again, escorting her away from the men and towards one of the walls lined with art.

           Questions stormed in Louise’s head. Was Alfie serious about his threats? What did he really do to have French aristocrats owing him money? But the gala didn’t seem like the right place to ask, even if he thought it was the perfect place to threaten men. She wasn’t even sure that Alfie would answer her honestly. Of course, she thought she deserved an explanation because he’d set her as the middle of the exchange.

           “Which on you like best. What you think?” He gestured toward the art.

           “Oh, uh…” She took a few glances pushing away the shock of what she had just experienced. The art seemed to blur together under her strained confusion. But eventually, she found one that stood out. “I suppose that Monet is lovely.” She pointed to one. “I’ve always adored his style.”

           “Right, yeah, s’pose it looks nice.” He nodded. “You want it?”

           She looked up at him in shock, not sure if she had heard him correctly. “What?”

           “For your apartment? I’ll buy it for you. ‘M sure you’ve got somewhere to put it, yeah?”

           “Alfie,” Louise was taken aback by how casually he offered. “I’m sure it’s far too expensive.”

           “Yeah, but you’ve done good tonight, right, so figure you deserve a gift of sorts.” He shrugged and

           “Alfie…”

           “You’ve proven loyalty to me, right?” He held her gaze gently, tilting his head down slightly. His tone was so different from just a few minutes before. He spoke with curated compassion. It reminded Louise that she was fairly lucky to be on his good side. Valuable art wasn’t the greatest perk of the job. “I told you, if you were useful I’d compensate you.” He waved over one of the dealers.

           “Oh, Alfie, no…” Louise grabbed his arm, her cheeks turning pink.

           “Be getting that one, the Monet.” He said to the woman.

           “Of course, sir.”

           Louise’s lips parted in shock. “I-thank you.” She said softly.

           His blue eyes glanced back at her and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. The man hadn’t felt much responsibility for anyone before. He didn’t know what it was like to be a father or husband. But this woman, this little dove deserved everything. He could see that now. She’d been raised in wealth and had fallen from grace because of unknown circumstances.

           “Do you dance?” She asked.

           “Ha, no…I don’t. My fucking hip, pain in the arse it is.” He chuckled. But it was a fib. Of course, he could handle beating a man’s skull in, he could dance a bit. It was just he wasn’t any good. Certainly a young, born and bred socialite woman like herself could dance and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

           “Oh, of course, I’m sorry.”

           “Don’t apologize, love. Would you…” He cleared his throat as the words stuck in his throat. His hands leaned into his cane, tilting forward on the balls of his feet for a moment in discomfort. “Em, if you want to go and socialize, that’s alright.”

           Louise shook her head and didn’t even entertain the idea. “I don’t want to dance with anyone really.” She shrugged and fixed a piece of stray hair that had escaped the pins in her curls.

           Alfie felt a bit of pride. She’d asked him to dance but wasn’t interested in anyone else. “Right,” He tilted his chin down a bit. “Want to call it a night then?”

           “I do have to wake up early tomorrow.” Louise brought her hand to his arm as it was beginning to rub off on her. The feeling of the pressed fabric and the sense of protection being led by the imposing man.

           “Yeah? You don’t think your boss will be forgiving if you’re a bit late?” He teased and began to lead her back to the front to collect their coats. Seeing the pink in her cheeks and her long eyelashes fluttering slightly as she laughed was like taking a sharp inhale of some drug. Alfie hadn’t known what it was like to feel so intoxicated by a person. It was as if she could bring him to his knees, folding over like a piece of paper. No one could do that. But there was a possibility Louise would defy the odds.

           Perhaps he’d inhaled too much cigarette smoke.

           The attendant returned with their coats and Alfie helped Louise into hers. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes filled to the brim with questions.

           Right…he had just threatened to kill a man right in front of her. He sighed heavily and realized he needed to let her further into the abyss.

           “S’pose you’ll want to know what that as all about in there.” Alfie let out a heavy exhale, his wide shoulders falling, his arm brushing up against hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

           The car began the drive back to Camden Town. Louise kept her eyes down as she delicately slid off the satin gloves. “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand the confidentiality agreement we discussed on my first day.” She murmured. The young woman thought about the painting and wondered if it was an incentive to keep quiet.          

           “See, thing is, I trust you.” He replied. “People ‘round me, you can see it their fucking eyes, yeah? One second of weakness and they’ll go in for the kill.”

           “Why do you trust me?” Louise dared to lift her head and meet his eyes.

           “I ain’t gonna give you the fucking keys to my business, yeah, but it’s sorta in your job description, innit? You know the schedule and bits n’ bobs of dealings. Wouldn’t involve you in anything too dangerous though, that’s not where you’re meant to be.”

           “I suppose that’s where I’m confused.” She pursed her lips. “You’re a…baker.” She couldn’t make the distinction between rum and bread, even in private. Alfie was very strict about that.

           “Yeah.”

           “What does a baker from Camden have to do with a French viscount?”

           His lips twitched with a hint of smile hidden under his mustache. “Good men, they run their businesses as God intended, right?”

           She nodded.

           “But I never said I was a good man, did I?” He gave her a side-eyed glance, mischief sparkling in his ocean colored eyes.

           The comment drew breath right out of her lungs. The devious look on his face sparked something fierce inside of her. “I didn’t…it’s hard to define a good man.” Her voice came out breathlessly and she tried not to seem as flustered as she felt.

           “Good men don’t kill.”

           Louise pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. It took her a few beats of silence to find the words or the precise emotion forming in her stomach. She wasn’t afraid so much as she was caught off guard. She had seen his anger and perhaps it should’ve been clear enough that the man was capable of murder. Maybe it was the naïve notion of seeing the good in others.

           “Have you killed someone?” She asked quietly.

           He let out a low chuckle and faced forward again. He didn’t want to frighten her but it was better to let her know now rather than a few months later. “The Bible, yeah, it’s fucking gruesome, innit? But our prophet, Moses, brought down the Commandments and informed us that God don’t look kindly on murderers.”

           Louise twisted her skirt in her hands. “Right…”

           “But God is forgiving, that right? You do what you have to do and at the end of the day, I can ask for forgiveness.” He expertly skirted around her question.

           “I-I suppose.”

           He didn’t look at her as the car rumbled down the road. “You gonna look at me different now?”

           “Alfie…”

           “S’alright if you do.” He stretched out his arm to adjust the cuff of his shirt. “Tend not to mind what people think of me.”

           “I can’t say I’ve killed anyone but I’ve had to ask God for forgiveness. Who am I to look down on you?” Louise tentatively reached out and touched his knee.

           He looked down. Her slender hand resting there naturally, adding further honesty.

           “It’s my decision of who I create ties with.” She continued in a firm tone. “I left my husband because of his nature and actions. But Alfie, you’ve been very kind to me. I trust you as well, even if it is against my better judgment.” The corner of her lips turned up a bit in a sympathetic smile.

           Alfie knew words were cheap so he didn’t go on rambling about how he wouldn’t hurt. It would be more significant to show her.

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BUYİNG ENGAGEMENT RİNGS ONLİNE

What You Need to Know When Buying Diamond Engagement Rings & Wedding Bands

The Goal

Each proposition is exceptional, however the objective is all inclusive. You need to pick a ring that suits her and one she'll cherish. This guide is intended to give you clear, helpful data about commitment and wedding bands, precious stones, and insights for the proposition itself.

Wedding band Shopping Tips for Men

·        Most men shop to one to a quarter of a year prior to purchasing the wedding band.

•       A spending plan is vital. The pay graph on beneath can help. Most men spend more than they plan. Be that as it may, recall, the wedding band and going with wedding ring will be the most noteworthy blessing you ever give her.

•       Of the three rings that will be bought, it is entirely expected to purchase the wedding band first, at that point the wedding rings.

•       Most couples favor wedding rings that coordinate the metal of the wedding band and supplement it in both look and fit.

•       The wedding band and wedding rings are one of the main wedding-related buys with long haul speculation esteem, in contrast to the expense of blossoms or the gathering.

•       The Internet is a famous spot to inquire about rings; www.com and www. are acceptable hotspots for precious stone data, while www..com gives platinum points of interest and gives a diagram of well known ring styles.

Life systems of an Engagement Ring

Realizing what to search for before you set foot in a gems store will make it a lot simpler to leave with a ring she genuinely needs. Start by knowing the fundamental segments:

Focus stone: The middle stone ordinarily represents a mind greater part of the cost of the ring. The size, quality, lucidity and cut of the gemstone decide the ring's cost and worth.

Setting: Usually platinum or gold, the setting holds the stone/stones and gives the ring its one of a kind structure. The more tough the valuable metal, the better ensured your venture will be. That is the reason platinum is the perfect decision for shielding your jewel from every day wear and holding it safely set up.

Purchasing an Engagement Ring – the 4C's of Diamonds

The gemstone is the focal point of the ring, and the principal thing individuals notice. Eighty-three percent of all wedding bands have a jewel place stone, as per the Diamond Trading Company (DTC). Their status as the hardest gemstone makes them both valuable and exceptionally strong. Strength is basic in light of the fact that the wedding band will be worn each day, under an assortment of conditions.

The quality, worth and cost of a precious stone are dictated by "the 4Cs".

Cut. The slice of a precious stone alludes to the edges, shapes and extents of every jewel. A pleasantly cut precious stone with appropriate shapes and extents enhances the jewel's characteristic brilliance and brightness by reflecting and refracting light back through the highest point of a jewel.

Carat. The "carat" is a unit of estimation used to gauge precious stones. Albeit a higher carat weight may build its irregularity and worth, the cut, shading and clearness of the jewel enormously sway the cost. Little stones can be more costly than enormous stones if the other 3 C's, shading, cut and clearness, rate profoundly.

Shading. Precious stones are decided for their shading, or scarcity in that department. Much of the time, the more white the jewel, the more important. Along these lines setting a precious stone in a normally white metal is perfect for augmenting its splendor. The shade of a precious stone is arranged and appraised utilizing a shading scale, the most well known of which is from GIA, which continues in sequential order request from D to Z, with D meaning "vapid" and Z for close dull with slight traces of yellow or dark colored.

Clearness. A jewel's lucidity is appraised by the number, size and position of incorporations (or defects) it has. Considerations, which give every precious stone its uniqueness and are at times alluded to as "nature's fingerprints," are normally not unmistakable to the unaided eye except if amplified. The less the incorporations, the more significant the stone. Precious stones are characterized by their situation on the GIA Clarity Scale, from IF (inside perfect, no noticeable deformity) to I3 (defective, incorporations obvious to the unaided eye).

Precious stone Shapes

Precious stones come in six essential shapes, despite the fact that your gem specialist may convey asscher, brilliant or pad shapes.

Asscher

Cushion

Emerald

Heart

Marquise

Oval

Pear

Princess

Radiant

Round

Trillion

A solitaire setting has a solitary community stone or precious stone. It very well may be encompassed by different jewels or valuable gemstones, called side stones. Side stones can take a similar six fundamental shapes, just as Baguettes (rectangular) and Trillions (triangular).

—————-

Insider Knowledge

75% of all precious stones sold are round. Source: DTC

Setting Matters

A wedding band and wedding rings are dependent upon steady wear. These rings will be presented to pressure, synthetics, knocks and blasts. Along these lines, picking a suffering metal that holds stones safely and secures your speculation is urgent.

Basically all popular gemstones, from the Star of Africa to the Hope Diamond, are ensured by platinum settings. Platinum, for instance, is one of the most strong and densest valuable metals.

—————-Irregularity

Platinum gems is multiple times more uncommon than gold. On the off chance that all the platinum at any point mined was softened and filled an Olympic-sized pool, it would scarcely arrive at your lower legs. Gold would fill three pools.

—————-

The Naturally White Metal Advantage

Regardless of what fine gemstone you pick as a middle diamond, shading is one of the essential determiners of the irregularity and hence the expense. Precious stones with practically no shading are normally generally attractive. Therefore, the ideal setting is a white metal that won't reflect shading into the stone. Platinum is a normally unadulterated white metal that will keep its splendid white shine. All gold is a normally yellow metal. White gold is blended in with different amalgams to make it look white, and after some time it will lose its more white shade and start to yellow. So as to keep up its white look, it might should be re-plated during its lifetime.

—————-

Unadulterated Platinum

Platinum is typically 90-95% unadulterated, which implies you are getting a greater amount of what you are paying for, instead of gold, which is commonly 58.5-75% unadulterated

Stamp

Markings on a ring that signify platinum will be Platinum, Plat or Pt, trailed by the degree of immaculateness, I.e. Pt 900 or Pt 950. 900 indicates 90% unadulterated platinum and 950 is 95% unadulterated platinum.

—————-

Character of the Ring

Setting plan and the state of the middle stone make the ring's one of a kind character. At last, singular taste concludes which will be directly for your fiancee. Be that as it may, to get you familiar and agreeable before you shop, here are styles you should know and the character profiles that by and large match them. Character profiles are sourced from Marie Claire and Allure magazines.

Prong: Tiny wires suspend the stone, making it visible from all sides for maximum sparkle. Personality profile: A classic choice that appeals to a wide variety of tastes.

Cathedral/contour: Rising slopes protect the stone on two sides. Personality profile: Timeless, elegant, for a stylish woman who favors the traditional.

Bezel: A frame of precious metal surrounds the stone, keeping it very secure. Personality profile: Clean and modern, especially suited to someone with an active lifestyle.

Tension: The stone is gripped by thousands of pounds of pressure and appears to hover in space. Personality profile: If she cherishes the unique, this bold look will be a favorite.

Side stone settings

Bar: Thin metal bars separate each stone but leave the sides open to bring in light. Personality profile: Appeals to the woman who appreciates the class and style of a bygone era.

Channel: Stones rest   between two parallels of metal, highlighting both gems and the precious metal holding them. Personality profile: Subtle, balanced, for a woman who appreciates understated beauty.

Flush: A high impact, low   stress setting which secures small stones inside tiny holes. Personality profile: Clean, simple, natural. For   someone who believes true style is easy and real.

Pave: Minute metal beads hold each stone in its own discreet setting. Personality profile: The woman who loves vintage, antiquities and all things rare will be drawn to this ring.

Keep in mind, platinum settings offer the best insurance for the stone. Hence, many yellow gold rings highlight platinum prongs to secure and supplement the precious stone.

Which Finish

Notwithstanding jewel and setting nuts and bolts, there's another choice to be made — the completion.

Polished: A high shine surface.

Matte: A brushed finish that has a smooth, but less shiny, surface.

Satin: A brushed finished that is finer in texture than matte.

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The Scratch Factor

Every valuable metal scratch. It's a characteristic piece of ordinary wear. Notwithstanding, one of the one of a kind characteristics of platinum is that when scratched, the metal is simply uprooted, never lost. Gold, then again, loses metal when scratched.

The Unique Look of Platinum Rings

Platinum is a normally white metal that will remain white everlastingly and never discolor. As it is worn after some time, platinum's surface becomes harder and increasingly impervious to wear. With wear, a delicate completion creates called patina, which speaks to the proprietor the historical backdrop of an actual existence very much lived. Be that as it may, in the event that you lean toward a gleaming completion, a diamond setter can clean your gems to bring back the first sparkle.

————————–

What She Wants

Equipped with the rudiments of gemstone, setting and finish, it's a great opportunity to make a plan for precisely which wedding band will make your fiancee-to-be most joyful. Clearly, the most effortless route is to inquire. However, on the off chance that you are determined to amazing her, we've incorporated some idiot proof approaches to get estimations, inclinations for stone and ring styles, and thoughts for the general plan.

Most Ladies Need Platinum Rings

Free research found that 79% of ladies feel that characteristics of platinum best mirror their own style and taste, 81% of ladies searching for a wedding band say platinum is their first decision, and 89% consider platinum the most excellent metal. [Hall and Accomplices, Conde Nast Wedding Group]

Step by step instructions to Decide Your Sweethearts Ring Size

On the off chance that you don't have the foggiest idea and would prefer not to ask, attempt these recommendations.

•       Trace within one of her rings onto paper.

•       Borrow one of her rings.

•       Put one of her rings on your finger and imprint where it rests with a pen.

•       If her relatives or companions can be prudent, get one of them to ask her.

A gem specialist can figure ring size from any of these techniques.

Converse with Companions and Family

·         Women notice what other ladies like. Female companions and family members are a decent hotspot for proposals. In the event that you are careful about talking about rings, get some information about her general preference for gems.

Watch for Insights

·       •       Women frequently give pieces of information about their inclinations.

Does she:

•       Admire another person's ring while you're in earshot? (Or on the other hand then again, does she despise a particular style?).

•       Linger before certain gems store windows?

•       Leave magazines with gems pictures lying around?

•       Draw your regard for a ring in some off-gave way?

Odds are, she's quietly imparting what she has as a main priority.

Think of her as Taste

·         •       Is she progressively conventional or present day?

•       Is she more "girly" or outdoorsy?

•       What sort of gems does she effectively possess?

•       Are her garments for the most part attractive, bohemian, lively or efficient?

Assembling a speedy style profile and talking about it with a diamond setter is an incredible method to concentrate on the correct decisions.

Arranging the Proposition

For a lady, the proposition is a minute she's longed for and envisioned. For a man, it is essential to give her the proposition she will consistently recollect. Regardless of whether you plan something dynamite or something very private, the accompanying tips will assist you with making an individual commitment.

•       What is generally vital about your first date? Utilize your first date, your first kiss or the first occasion when you talked as a premise or subject.

•       What are her preferred things? Consider places, nourishments, hues, blossoms, exercises, music, motion pictures she adores, and join a couple of extraordinary contacts to show how well you know her.

•       Include friends and family or dear companions.

•       Keep it basic, make it fun. Probably the best recommendations aren't intricate. They include an inside joke, a past experience or a private memory that is important to the couple.

Decide a Spending limit

Most men look into on the web. This permits you to make a great deal of progress, select styles and get a smart thought of what your spending will purchase. At the point when you have something explicit as a top priority, visit a neighborhood gem specialist or email the Platinum Attendant at platinum concierge!pgiglobal.com for proposals about diamond setters in your general vicinity.

For the most part, men go through around two months of their present compensation (see graph).

Wedding band Spending Tips

Yearly Income

Spending Evaluation

$30,000

$5,000

$40,000

$6,667

$50,000

$8,333

$60,000

$10,000

$70,000

$11,667

$80,000

$13,333

·         •       The precious stone speaks to a huge segment of the general all out expense.

•       Size, splendor and number of stones influence cost.

•       You're getting a greater amount of what you are paying for with platinum (for the most part 90-95% unadulterated), and after some time it is a superior incentive for your cash.

Shop Carefully

Pose inquiries. Handle the ring. In the event that you need specialized data, talk with an affirmed gemologist. Try not to stress over being compelled or occupying a salesman's time. The main guideline is to feel great and sure about what you are purchasing.

Financing and Guarantees

Most retailers give financing. Ask what plans they offer. Or then again explore explicit advances for wedding and adornments buys offered by banks or credit associations.

Your gem dealer ought to give guarantee data. By and large this incorporates an assurance that the ring will keep up its shape and is liberated from any assembling abandons, just as a customary cleaning plan.

Manual for Purchasing Wedding rings

Ring choices don't end with the commitment. Begin considering the wedding ring early, roughly a half year ahead of time, and how it fits with the wedding band. You'll spare yourself some very late pressure.

Both of you will be wearing these groups for quite a while to come. Pick something that mirrors your taste and will suffer after some time. Next time you're at the adornments store, have a go at grasping two comparative me's wedding rings, one platinum and one white gold. You'll have the option to feel the distinction regarding weight. This weight, because of platinum's thickness, is a piece of what makes platinum incredibly sturdy and superbly appropriate for a lifetime of wear. To see a wide scope of platinum wedding rings, visit the wedding ring display at https://engagementringsonline75.blogspot.com/

Band Styles

Wedding rings have progressively gotten individualized as new plans, individual contacts, and inventive conceivable outcomes are made accessible. Here are a few components you might need to consider.

Profiles

The most widely recognized profiles are round and level. Round profiles are likewise called "exemplary" or "domed." Level profiles are smoothed on both inside and outside surfaces of the band. Either style is accessible in Solace Fit, which bends to fit the finger and decreases the opportunity of skin scraped spot or aggravation.

Flat Profile

Round Profile

Band Size

The width is the even estimation of the band. The decision in band size is up to you and what works best for your fingers.

Standard widths are somewhere in the range of 2mm and 6m; notwithstanding, groups up to 12mm can be requested. More extensive groups consider more plan subtleties, gemstones or potentially etching.

Ring Completions

An assortment of completions can be applied to the band surface. Blends of a few completions are utilized to make special surfaces and looks. Six fundamental completions to consider are:

Polished: A high shine surface.

Matte: A brushed finish that has a smooth, but less shiny, surface.

Satin: A brushed finished that is finer in texture than matte.

Stone: Coarse brush finish with a more rugged look than matte or satin.

Hammer/Repouse: A hand wrought appearance achieved by using the round end of a ball peen hammer to texture the band surface.

Cross Peine/Florentine: An engraved finish where lines flow around, across or diagonally.

Configuration Subtleties

You can likewise additionally customize your ring with structures, etching or precious stone accents.

Band plans

Weave/Braid: A raised design that resembles strands of metal woven together.

Beveled Edge: An angled edge with a contrasting or complementary finish.

Precious stones in the Wedding ring

A lovely alternative which upgrades both worth and introduction. The two most normal setting styles are:

Flush: A good choice for someone who uses their hands a lot in their profession. The diamond is sunk into the mounting and is well protected from impact in daily wear.

Channel: Several diamonds are set in a row without metal between them either horizontally, vertically or diagonally in the ba

Wedding band Shopping Agenda

Finding the Correct Ring

Since you know the realities, you can go out and locate the ideal ring for her. Email the Platinum Attendant at ............................... for help discovering platinum retailers close to you.

Utilize this precious stone wedding band purchasing agenda to help recollect significant subtleties. This will enable the retailer to discover you the correct ring.

Pre-Schoolwork

Her ring size: __________________________________________________________________________ Budget range: _________________________________________________________________________ Style preference: _______________________________________________________________________

Ring #1 Description: ____________________________________________________________________ Ring Style Number: _____________________________________________________________________ Setting Price: __________________________________________________________________________ Diamond Price: ________________________________________________________________________ Carats: __________________________________________________________________________ Precious Metal: ________________________________________________________________________ Sales Associate / Store: __________________________________________________________________ Notes: __________________________________________________________________________

Ring #2 Description: ____________________________________________________________________ Ring Style Number: _____________________________________________________________________ Setting Price: __________________________________________________________________________ Diamond Price: ________________________________________________________________________ Carats: __________________________________________________________________________ Precious Metal: ________________________________________________________________________ Sales Associate / Store: __________________________________________________________________ Notes: __________________________________________________________________________

Things to Recollect

{The Short List}

The jewel's worth and cost are controlled by the 4Cs: cut, shading, lucidity, and carat.

The setting ensures the precious stone and your venture. It likewise decides the structure and character of the ring.

Jewels look best in white metal. Ladies overpowering incline toward platinum.

Pick the ring to coordinate her style, and you will both be cheerful.

The wedding band and wedding rings are images of adoration. A long time from now, you will welcome the idea, time and speculation that went into decisions you make today.

The quality of your promises is reflected in the rings you trade. Pick a ring that suffers, and you make a treasure for people in the future.