#i hope i sold the idea of 'little things adding up' well enough. the previous installment worked well as a single coherent story

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Summary:

Studies show it takes water millions of years to cleave its way through solid rock. It takes Dorothy about the same time to finally break open. A sequel to 'i hope you do believe me / i've given you my heart'.

No, don't -- don't look at the word count. Don't mind it. It's fine!

For anyone that remembers that old ask game about the WIPs in my folder -- this is the one that was called 'karst'. The reason will hopefully become clear as you read it.

Just like its predecessor, this work was originally inspired by this post (thank you once again, friend!). If you read it, I hope you'll enjoy it! It gave me some trouble here and there, but all in all, it was a pleasure to write. Hugs and kisses to you all!

[dearreader]

hello fellow members of the tortured poets department.

apologies for my absence from meeting, was being a little to tortured and not enough poet lately 😑.

but i would like to enter into evidence the songs for the days i missed. because it is late i might combine some songs together if they’re next to each other and if the idea for both over laps.

because of that this post will be analyzing fresh out the slammer and florida!!! but specifically how these songs start to explore more about the “american dream” theme that runs throughout the album. i’ve been waiting until these two songs to fully explore it as florida!!! is well… the most obvious place for me to start.

previous days: fortnight; THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT; my boy only breaks his favorite toys; down bad; so long, london; but daddy i love him

references to america are prevalent throughout the album. this does make perfect sense actually considering taylor had set up home base in london and even wrote songs mentioning certain spots (and even liking a boy from london). so taylor choosing to focus the next album on america and coming home after being away fits very well. taylor spent years away because she was afraid of people and moved to a different country to get away. but when she was left all alone and the relationship ended (so long, london) she had to go back home.

this is what we see in fresh out the slammer. the song feels more like a transition song, ie. moving from one location to the other. the song over all is not one of my favorites on the album as while it is nice i don’t feel like it adds as much depth. though i do think it adds more details to certain things touched on. specifically with taylor personifying london as her former partner transitions a bit to this song as she refers to him as a place and what that place did to her. it’s especially interesting to me seeing her refer to it as a prison at times considering in reputation there was also those motifs too but with fame and she felt more sheltered with her then partner. but now it is shown to be also caging her. she ran from one cage to another to protect herself, which is valid, but is now realizing that instead of seeing it as a safe haven.

the main part i want to focus on the song though is how she refers to her next partner viewing her as “the girl of his american dreams”. this is an interesting line and totally not referencing the 1975 as it paints a very distinct picture. the phrase “the girl of his dreams” means the person he thinks would be the ideal partner. this is shown in the media though as negative or in a overwhelming personification with the “manic pixie dream girl” archetype. so already the phrase is on shakey ground, but there’s nothing wrong with saying a partner is “your dream” partner. it can be a compliment.

however, taylor specifically adding the “american dream” to the phrases changes it entirely. she’s now evoking the idea of the american dream that’s the pull yourself up by your boot straps and end up with a house, a car, a wife, and two kids idea. i’m not going to sit here and dissect THAT cause that’s a whole ass lecture. but taylor saying this man views her as “the girl of his american dreams” is saying that she is the ideal partner to settle down with and start a life with. to have a family and get married. which is also noted on many other tracks as something a partner did to her but never followed through. which is ironically what the american dream is. it’s a lie sold to people to keep working and they can hope for a better future. but in actuality they have to keep working and climbing relentlessly to achieve it and never can reach it.

so by taylor saying she’s the girl of his american dreams, he’s selling her a false narrative that she desperately wants and craves but he has no intention on following through and will just use her until he’s done. it’s a very interesting word choice i really like.

and how that idea connects to florida!!!

florida is probably one of the most notoriously known states in america next texas and new york. it’s a hub for weird stories and hurricanes and just all together a chaotic place. but people still love it. in fact, it’s also another part of the american dream as the idea for a lot of people is to retire in florida after they lived their life. which is why i wanted to combine these two as they flow into each other.

taylor uses florida as both a place physically but also metaphorically (and technically as a person if we view it as the “miracle move in drug”) which ties into her using london as both a place and person. florida is the “state” your in post break up and leans into the chaoticness of the actual state. she uses the wildness that everyone has of florida to describe a post break up high.

there are MANY things she uses to describe this. but let’s first look at her referring to her partner as a “hurricane with her name/i got drunk and i dared it to wash me away/barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine”. hurricanes aren’t a stranger to florida and have done extensive damage to the state. but taylor refers to it as a storm with her name, ie. he was made just for her and in this state he’s out to destroy her because of how much damage their relationship did to her overall. but she acknowledges that she did tempt it, she did let it get this far and she had to drink her way through while hiding just to make it out alive.

but this florida, no one asks for questions about why you hate your ex because no one else in this state cares. in fact, they’ll help you hide the body if you help them. so taylor can throw her former lovers who she considered her home town (a reference to london boy “home is where the heart is, but that’s not where mine lives”/“but god i love the english”) but he never considered her more than a passing guest or her feeling like she was arrested there, because of her love for him and wanting to make it work or him keeping her locked away is open to interpretation. so she’s pissed, she’s running free and wanting to escape it all and is in the one state no one cares because they’re going through hell to and can’t bother to care about you.

in this case taylor is referring to florida as the clarity of post break up and running wild and free. which also does tie back into my previous days post about but daddy i love him as that plays into the classic romance piece of a forbidden love. it’s a very quintessential american idea of trucks through fences and small town elders saying to stay away from the good girl. and taylor even introduces it in fortnight by refrencing florida and “another night lost in america”. she is actively introducing the listener on page one to the idea of her longing to run away from it all and have freedom, but freedom looks different there than in florida.

bdilh->florida!!! just screams the idea of american hopes and dreams and young love. it’s wild and loud and messy and destructive and doesn’t see the future. which then later gets wrapped up somewhat in i hate it here from the anthology tracks. because taylor saying “i’d say the 1830’s but without all the racists and getting married off for the highest bid… nostalgia is a minds trick if i had been there i’d hate it” which can be her acknowledging that the idea this man sold to her and the freedom she fantasized about wasn’t what it actually was and hates it in hindsight.

this post is disjointed, and i apologize, but the idea of the american dream running through has been something i keep going back to on relistens and i wanted to introduce it to the community for discussion. thank you again for letting this be late.

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

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

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

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

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

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

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

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

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

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

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated. 

[2manyfandoms2count]

I love you (not) - Chapter 15

It's already September and I can't believe this fic isn't finished yet, I swear May was like. Last week.

Anyway, this chapter is full of soft touches because yes, hope you enjoy!

First | Previous | AO3

---

Chapter 15: In which the real pining begins

“Hey Chat, it’s LB, I might be a little late for tonight’s patrol, I’ve been running all day and I still have a couple of things I need to take care of… Could you maybe get some pastries? I’m starving, you’ll forever be my absolute hero (and of course I’ll pay you back, I just can’t swing by a bakery right now). See you in a bit!”

Chat Noir paused as he finished listening to Ladybug’s message, slowly wrapping his head around the fact that she probably wouldn’t be the only one arriving late, despite his best efforts at being early. He looked at her profile picture pensively. His partner had absolutely no idea, but even she was trying to get him to do the right thing, namely: sending him to Marinette.

Well, to a bakery, but he knew very well that he wouldn’t find it in him to bring anything less than the best pastries in Paris to his Lady, especially if it meant getting a grip and owning up to his actions.

Because yes, he was ashamed of admitting it even to himself, but he’d been a coward ever since the fight against Hostzilla. He’d avoided Marinette for almost two weeks (as Chat Noir, obviously, although the past few days had seen his guilt increase so much that he’d struggled to even hold her gaze at school), partly because of last minute additions to his schedule, but mostly because he’d gotten cold feet anytime he’d come remotely close to her building.

It was time this stopped and that he bit the bullet. It wasn’t like Marinette could easily make the first step; even staying up to scrutinise the skyline would have been fruitless: he’d made some convoluted detours on his way home from patrol to avoid a rerun of the fateful night that had brought them into their fake - no, not fake, complicated  relationship.

He’d had enough time to mull it all over, and it was clearly time to do something about the situation.

This tiptoeing around the issue ended tonight.

---

The bells jingled quietly as he pushed the bakery door. The warm backlighting and the sweet smell of rising dough welcomed him and made him relax a little, as did the sight of Marinette tiredly stretching behind the counter. He smiled softly. There really was something about this place that made him feel at ease, safe, even.

Marinette straightened up at the sight of Chat Noir awkwardly shuffling near the entrance of the shop, leaning forwards to take a look at one of the displays, and bit back a smug smile at the thought that her plan to lure him in had worked perfectly. His stomach grumbled and she stifled a giggle. The sound was enough to draw his attention; their gazes met, and both felt their cheeks pinken.

“Hey, Chat,” Marinette said almost breathlessly after what seemed like a thousand years of just staring into each other's eyes. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Even though her tone had been void of any accusation, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, making her melt slightly. “I’ve been pretty busy lately.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he still felt bad about leaving her hanging for so long.

“It’s alright, being a superhero is a full time job, after all." She cleared her throat. "How can I help you today?” She winced imperceptibly at her cowardice. They were the only ones in the bakery, it was stupid to ignore the elephant in the room. Still, she grabbed a paper bag and a pair of tongs, and looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, erm, I need pastries. I’m on snack duty for patrol.” He chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, I can't let our beloved heroes starve, can I? I wouldn’t want the responsibility of another Feast on my hands.” She winked.

"Don't remind me.” Chat shuddered at the memory of the sentimonster’s gooey tongue.

“Is there anything I can get you in particular?” She stifled a giggle at the same image.

“Well, you know me, I can’t leave those chouquettes on your hands, it would be a waste.” He eyed the relevant basket hungrily.

“Are you sure you want all of them? This is... 500g, the equivalent of six portions.”

“And?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Right, nevermind.” She shook her head, an amused smile spreading to her lips. “Anything else?”

“Hmm, could I have a collection of macarons for Ladybug? Anything but passion fruit, she always gives those to me so I’m not sure she likes them, and since I already have the chouquettes... I think I'm covered.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she picked the sweet delicacies for herself. Leave it to Chat to believe that her leaving his favourite macarons aside was because she didn’t like them.

“Will that be all?” She cocked her head to the side when she was done packing the box.

“To ring up, yes.” He paused. “But I was actually wondering if you purr-haps had time for a quick chat?”

“With you? Always,” Marinette flashed him a relieved smile as she handed him the pastries and signalled for him to follow her towards the back. She saw he was about to protest, so she added: “If you’re thinking about paying for this, I’m pretty sure my parents would cut me off if they found out I’d sold anything to you or Ladybug, so I'm not risking it. And don’t worry, it’s been a slow night so I don’t have to stay at the counter - we’ll hear if anyone comes in. You said that this was going to be quick, right?”

“I did.” Chat scratched the back of his head nervously as they sat down on the bottom steps of the building’s staircase.

There was a pause as the both of them tried to organise their thoughts and put them into words that would lead to a definite, yet delicate rejection. Marinette smoothed the fabric of her apron as she did, while Chat fiddled with the pastry bag.

“So, the other night, huh?” He awkwardly cleared his throat, wincing at his sudden lack of eloquence. He decided to go for the half-lie route rather than delve straight into their kiss. If he was already this tongue-tied while keeping his thoughts about it at bay, who knew what mentioning it would do. “I couldn’t find you at the hotel after the fight… Were you hit by the akuma?”

Marinette’s head shot up and she squinted at him, calculating her next move. Chat’s hypothesis provided good foundations to build on. Maybe he’d even get to the conclusion she wanted him to reach on his own.

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t be mad.” He smiled softly.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I overheard Hostzilla say she was looking for me just after you left, and I thought I could placate her a little so I went out in the open. She didn’t even see me, I got knocked out by a fancy table almost just as I came out of the hotel.” She rolled her eyes, hoping her lie was believable enough.

“Meowch.” Chat winced, before gently cupping her chin and tilting it to either side, trying to assess any remaining damage.

“I’m fine though, don’t worry! Ladybug’s cure got me right back on my feet.” She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then reluctantly pushed Chat’s hand away.

“I knew it wasn’t like you not to show up at some point during the fight.” He smiled triumphantly to himself at the thought that his vigilance during the battle hadn’t been completely uncalled for. He frowned and cleared his throat before continuing. “But it’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not entirely sure why you were targeted this time, but I’m just afraid that if we…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of what to say next. They’d never actually elucidated their relationship status; if they went forward, would they be continuing to date, or just starting? Would Marinette be offended if he used the latter?

“If we… continue on our set course?” Marinette offered.

“Yes, exactly, thank you.” He flashed her a quick smile. “I’m afraid that if we continue on our set course, there might be more opportunities for you to get caught up in fights, especially if word about our relationship gets out. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way, Marinette, I couldn’t bear you getting hurt because of me.”

Marinette was struck by the apparent anguish in her partner’s eyes as he looked at her. She instinctively reached for his hand.

“And I don’t want you to have to worry about me. I… I got my hands on footage of that battle, and I saw how distracted you were. You already have so much on your mind… I wouldn’t want to be a burden and put your safety in peril.”

“You could never be a burden, princess.” He absentmindedly ran his thumb across the back of her hand, but smiled sadly. “But I suppose you’ve reached the same conclusion I did.”

“Taking this relationship further would be a mistake.” She nodded gently.

“I’m sorry, Marinette.”

“Whatever for?” She took a deep breath and smiled bravely. “It’s not your fault. Just… Bad timing, I guess. If a hero-civilian relationship was ever supposed to work.”

“You're probably right.”

Marinette sighed and looked at her watch. “Anyway, you should probably go, Ladybug will wonder what happened to you.”

They both stood up, and walked slowly towards the bakery door. Marinette opened the door for him, but he paused and turned around before he’d crossed the threshold.

“For the record, I really enjoyed being your boyfriend while it lasted.” He felt his heart rate pick up as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“It was really nice.” She smiled gently. Then, feeling a burst of braveness, she took a couple of steps forwards to stand face to face with him.

She stood on her tiptoes before she could process exactly what she was doing and lose her nerve, tenderly kissed his cheek, and took a step back with a soft, if slightly sad, smile. Chat gasped slightly, his hand flying to his cheek. The point of impact of his… friend ’s lips felt like the epicentre of a wave of warmth, just like it had the last time she’d pulled something of the sort.

“Maybe we can make it work one day.” She looked down and blushed, rocking on the ball of her feet.

“Maybe one day,” he echoed.

He gave her one last, longing look before taking off into the night, afraid he might throw all caution to the wind if he stayed any longer.

[thekitschdiet]

the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

  Who is the Kitsch Girl? 

 I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall-  with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that.  If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on.  I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced.  One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 2 – The Decision

(Mando x f!reader)

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

Summary: The child taken, his ship destroyed the only one who can help him? A woman he sold into slavery several months earlier.

Notes: Wow wow wow! Thank all for the likes im glad ive gained some interest lets hope I can keep it! Comment or message to be added to the tagged list!

Tw: mentions of dubcon/sex, depictions of violence and coarse language

Tagged list: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 3.7k

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

7 months later

Mandos POV

Using all his wits and a touch of charm the Mandalorian had managed to make his way to a nearby town. Once there he’d likely be able to hitch a ride or win some kind of ship in a game of cards. He didn’t need a good one, just something to get him to Navarro. He makes his way to a more upscale bar, hoping its clients would be more lucrative with their belongings. Scanning the gambling hall he chooses his target carefully, opting for a rich looking idiot who had been trying to impress the man next to him since the Mandalorian had walked in. He takes his seat at the round wooden table amongst a variety of lavishly dressed characters. He had to find the child as soon as possible. If he wasn’t with the empire yet there’s no doubt he would be soon.

“Deal me in” He says, taking a seat between an Iktotchi and an Ortolan.

“Not so fast, what's your buy in?” the dealer asks.

“How about that helmet?” The Ortolan pipes up.

“No.”

“The creature then?” the Falleen across the table ponders reaching out to touch Anya, who had been at his side when Grogu was taken and has refused to leave it since.

“No” he says, batting her hand away and tapping on his shoulder piece “Will this do?” The dealer nods and they begin. In the second hand he ends up winning a ship from his target who was seemingly unbothered by the loss as he nonchalantly tosses Mando the keys, before leaving the table.

Twirling the key on his index finger he makes his way to the bar, hoping to gain some insight on how to go about finding Grogu.

“Quite a game, didn’t know Mandalorians played cards.” The older humanoid bartender stated, shining off a glass. With no response he speaks up again. “Can I help you with something , give me something to tell the kids if I helped out a Mandalorian.”

“If someone was looking to find something lost where would he go?”

“You have any idea what this thing is?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea where it is?”

“No.”

“Tell you what, there was a woman, from a forest planet somewhere on the outer rim. Hair as white as snow, an old language on her body, a face that’s hard to forget. She helped me find my youngest after she was taken by smugglers.”

“Vryssa?” The Mandalorian says slowly, causing Anya to perk up.

“Aye that’s the place. You’ve been?” the barkeep ponders.

“Thank you, here” he says handing over a portion of the credits won in his game of cards to the speechless keeper.

Exiting the bar shaking his head in disbelief, of course the one person who could help him track the kid was someone with a personal vendetta against him. At least he knew who he had to find and where to start looking. Opening the doors to his new ship he gives it a quick once over. It was roomier than the razor crest, but not by much, too fancy for his liking in all honesty. Nicer amenities though and a decent sized bed which Anya had made her way onto, it would be a better place for when he gets the kid back. It had an armoury, but nothing in it, at least not yet. He closes it and makes his way up to the ship's cockpit. Decent enough system, more of a flashy ride than a functional one, made for a decently skilled pilot by the looks of it. Locking in the coordinates for Coruscant he begins his search.

For two weeks he attends black markets around the galaxy until one day he sees him, the man who had bought you. He follows him cornering him in a nearby alleyway.

“What do you want Mando?” The Kel Dor responds.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“She was bought by you a few months ago. Not jogging your memory? White hair, eternal blood.”

“Oh. Her difficult one, had to break her in a bit.” The choice of words was less than favourable to the Mandalorian, but in favor of time he brushed by it.

“What happened to her?”

“ Sold her.”

“ To who?” He says getting impatient

“Gladiatorial ring on Geonosis , she was a big hit, sold her for twice what I had paid, moved into the big arenas quickly. I’ll take you if you want.”

“No, give me the coordinates.” Mando says

“Should be easy enough for you to get her. She's been broken in well, nice and obedient if you know…” He knocks the guy out before he can finish the sentence.

R-16, Geonosis, Outer Rim Territories

Stepping out of the ship it doesn’t take long for him to figure out where you are. Large projections of posters with you line the street, apparently you were fighting today. The sounds of the arena increase as he gets closer, as does the crowd of people awaiting the show.

“A Mandalorian, you here to see the fight? Gonna be a good one. Fan favourite tonight the huntress.” A native geonosian exclaims.

“Is she the girl in the picture? The white haired one?”

“ Yes, and if you like what you see I’m sure a piece of that armour will get you a night with her, I’ve heard the trainer sells her off after fights.” The Mandalorian nods and heads off “How much for a ticket” he ask the seller,

“100 credits”

“For a fight?”

“For today’s fight? Yes.” Begrudgingly he pays the fee and enters into the dome. It is enormous, the revenue it brings in must be astronomical he thinks as he takes his seat.

Your POV

It hadn’t been an easy few months, but you were still alive. The handlers knew if they bled you all at once the value would decrease, and after having you fight and win over the fans, keeping you alive became more economically sound than killing you. Your most recent trainer, an older Duras named San Korliks, had gotten you into a slightly more dubious but very lucrative business. Turns out the rich love nothing more than spending the night with a victor. Between the fights and the suitors you’d have enough saved to live comfortably once you were out. Yes you were close to buying your freedom, 12 fights and a few more rich idiots and you’d be out of here. You’d find a planet with plenty of sand and water and settle down living out the rest of your days in peace. You could hear the crowd cheering from your cell, San would be here for you shortly. You stand up smoothing out the red tunic that had seen better days. It was shorter than you’d like and impractical for fighting, but your handler was right sex sells and it had kept you alive thus far. You move to the drawer of the cell, though tightly watched it was decently large and relatively comfortable. More wins meant better quarters. You pull out the gold plated armour clipping the chest plate, arm bands and shin guards into place before lacing up your worn down brown leather boots. Moving over to the small mirror you dip your hand into a bowl of burgundy paint smearing it down your face and onto your neck then around your well defined biceps. You're admiring your work when you hear a knock on your cell door.

“C’mon darling let’s give them a show” San says, he was nicer than your previous trainers, probably as you were bringing in the big bucks. You walk over to the cell door, he opens it and guides you to the enormous door that would soon open up to the arena.

“Try to let a little blood get spilled tonight, we need to sell some.” You nod, cracking your neck and stretching out your arms. “I also have some suitors lined up, high payers.”

“How many more till I’m out?” you question.

“ Just a few more darling, promise.” He says squeezing your shoulder. You hear the crowd chanting in the background as San leaves. You grab the spear left out for you, tossing it from hand to hand to gage its weight. You bounce up and down on your toes shaking out your body and calming your mind and preparing for whatever they were planning on throwing at you tonight. You repeat the number of days until you're free in your head. You could do this, you’d done it a hundred times now. Not that the killing gets any easier, but in order to survive you had to forgo morality. The doors open and the crowd erupts in applause as you enter waving to the adoring fans.

Mando’s POV

The loud speaker blares out over the crowd “ Tonight a special event, the huntress will take on not one, not two, but four opponents! Now to make it a fair fight, only one will be allowed to challenge at a time, but we have a lovely admixture of beasts and an extra special surprise for you all. The return of another fan favorite. Hang onto your seats folks, this is going to be a night you won’t soon forget” Four versus one, Mando thinks, as he watches you enter the arena, the odds definitely weren’t in your favour. He was prepared to jump in and get you out himself if he had too, you were his only chance at finding the kid after all. He hears a rumble of applause as a door across from you opens revealing a Rancor. He watches you closely, noticing how unphased you seemed by it. In no less than a minute he sees the spear fly from your hand hitting the creature right in its jugular killing it instantly. Not bad, he thinks, but it was just a Rangor, yes they were big, but they weren’t known for being strategic fighters. You pull the spear out of its neck, the crowd cheers seemingly alerting you to the presence of the Nexu that had appeared from the door behind you. It leaps towards you and he watches intently as you tuck and roll out of the way, spear still in hand, thrilling the crowd even more.

He wonders how much of the fight is a performance and how much of it was real. You and the Nexu circle each other, seeing you plant your feet he finds himself curious as to what your next move will be. You kick the dirt up causing the creature to charge again, as it leaps you take a knee lifting the top of the spear up, slicing the creature open causing its guts to fall down on you earning more zealous applause from the arena. He sees you stand up lifting your arms to get the crowd chanting, more showmanship. “What can you tell me about her?” he asks the couple sitting next to him. “Never lost a fight, and she’s beautiful, you need anything else?” They reply. He sees you wiping the creature's guts off your face when a door opens and a Terentatek appears, where the hell did they find one of those things the Mandalorian thinks. He sees your shoulders deflate, more so in annoyance, than fear based on the look on your face. It’s obvious you weren’t expecting a creature so large. After a few dodges and spear swipes the creature has you cornered, he sees you look side to side searching for an out, but there isn’t one, at least none he can see. Its mouth descends on you, seemingly engulfing you whole. The crowd is silent, it’s only then he notices he’s out of his seat. When had that happened? A glimmer suddenly appears from the creature's head as it gets brighter; he sees the spear had sliced through the Terentateks thick hide. The creature collapses and the skin on its head separates as you appear victorious. He sits back down observing you closely as you walk back towards the door from whence you came. The announcer's voice starts up again.

“Now for an extras special treat we’ve brought a fan favourite out of retirement, the demon slayer!” Just then the door opens and a Deveronian in head to toe black armour emerges wasting no time in launching his attack. He throws a dagger which catches you in the arm, the crowd erupts, the sight of your blood enticing them. He watches you intently as you bend over retrieving the knife off the floor and tossing it to the audience. Your opponent’s armour was thick, with very few openings in it. The crowd was getting excited, noticing that you had lost the spear to the Deveronian who had thrown it behind him.

You were the more skilled fighter, but the demon slayer was larger and stronger. He watches you try to make a pass. He thinks you’re in the clear but the opponent grabs you by the hair pulling you back into him as he brandishes another knife bringing it up to your throat. You bite down on his hand giving you just enough time to wrestle the knife from him no doubt slicing your hands open in the process. He doubts that this part of the fight was showmanship, both you and your competitor were evenly matched. It was anyone’s game. Your stunt had given you enough time to retrieve your spear. Just as he thinks you’ve gotten the upper hand he sees a mace extend out from one of the slayer’s sleeves, it sparks with electricity. If it so much as hit you, that would be it. The Mandalorian can feel his heart pounding finding himself wrapped up in the atmosphere of the arena as the creature approaches you swinging the mace. It wraps around your spear, the crowd is silent, they think it's all over, but looking at a nearby screen Mando makes out what appears to be a small smile on your face.

The mace wraps the spear and you pull back on it, hard, drawing the Deveronian in closer. As the electricity hits your arm you release the force from the pulling causing the spear to plunge up in-between the opening between the Devaronians chest plate and helmet killing him instantly. He sees you drop to your knees catching the falling opponent whispering something before laying him down on the floor. The crowd erupts in cheers, flowers and money are thrown to the ground, before picking it up he sees you circle back to each opponent kneeling on the ground for a few seconds before rising and moving on to the next.

“C’mon Mando” the people beside him say “blood auctions this way”. He follows them, but half the auditorium seemingly had the same idea and he was too far back to reach you. He sees you standing with your trainer as the blood spilled during the fight was sold to the highest bidder, the crowd intermittently grabbing at you. You’re quickly shuffled out the room. The Mandalorian exits through a back door, as he does he sees your trainer speaking to a Sephi. He hangs back, close enough to hear the conversation, but far enough away so as not to be noticed.

“Room 801. She’ll be ready for you in a half hour.”

“Perfect, makers, where will I go when she’s free? No one has ever compared to her” the client laughs.

“She’s not leaving, at least not for a while. Far too good for business at the moment. Hope’s what keeps her keen though. I oblige in her fantasies, so she can oblige yours ” The Duro gives the man the key and heads back into the arena. The man exits the alley bumping into the Mandalorian.

“Watch it Mando.” The Sephi says, pushing by him. As he pushes by, Mando snatches the key and makes his way up to room 801.

Your POV

“Hey San, how'd the rest of the auction go?” you ask, wiping off as much slime as you could in the small sink. “Good. I’ve put your cut in the bank for when you’re out. We have a client room 801, penthouse, he knows you apparently.”

“Half the galaxy knows me” you murmur “Do we have to tonight?” you ask, wanting to get out of your gear and go to sleep.

“C’mon he’s rich and not bad looking.”

“Fine” you sigh, not like you had a choice anyways. He chains your hands together and leads you up to the penthouse suite, at least you’d get to sleep in a large bed, maybe get a shower with decent water pressure. He unchains you and ushers you into the room, closing and locking the door behind you. You rub your wrists and crack you back stretching out your arms, you hear a cough. Weird, you think, clients were usually brought up after you’d had time to settle in. “I'm sorry I wasn’t expecting...” you say in your sweetest voice turning around. The tone is quickly dropped. The client was none other than the very person who had landed you in this situation.

“YOU” you shout, not thinking twice before charging at him, slipping a knife out from one of your arm bands and lunging for the Mandalorians neck. He grabs your wrists before they can make contact with him, bending them back causing you to drop the knife on the floor. He tries to restrain you causing you to panic accidentally using the force to throw him back against the wall. He crashed into the wall landing on the floor with a soft thud probably wondering what the hell’s just hit him. His hands quickly shoot up in the air, as you pick up the knife again pointing it at him.

“If you think for one second I’m going to sleep with you, you have another thing coming you stupid tin can, you’re lucky ...” you start but he cuts you off

“That’s not why I’m here.” He says quickly.

“ What?” you say, lowering your knife, but not your guard.

“ I’m here for your help.”

“ YOU want MY help? Makers you’re funny, you know I didn’t know Mandalorians could tell jokes.” you say sitting down on the bed across from him as he cautiously stands up, hands still in the air.

“I’m here to get you out” He offers.

“Why? what do you want from me?” you question

“Your help, the child he was taken I...” he pauses, you feel the sadness emanating off him, but you hold the knife true. “I need to find him before the others do, they’ll kill him.”

“Well should have thought about that before you lost him.” you say snarkily. Standing up you make your way to the door.

“Please, I can get you out of here.” He starts, you turn on your heel.

“Newsflash, I’m making my own way out of here just…”

“ ...a few more fights” he finishes for you. you look at him confused. “There never letting you out of here I heard your trainer he’s not letting you go. Something about being too good for business.” Was he telling you the truth? With the helmet covering his face it was hard to tell. From what your grandmother had told you, Mandalorians rarely lied, and deep down something was telling you to trust him.

“Bastard” you mutter moving away from the door. “Well i'll find my own way out.”

“Please” he says, taking a step towards you, causing you to lift the knife up again. “You wasted your money coming here, leave.”

“I didn’t pay”

“What?” you respond and he looks over to you . “You’re not the client?”

“No” he says dryly, as if the answer was obvious. The tension is cut by a sudden knock at the door.

“Shit, you have to hide” you say dropping the knife and pushing the Mandalorian in the direction of the bed.

“Where should I hide behind a curtain?” he deadpans

“I am not in the mood for jokes right now, get under the bed” you say lifting up the bed skirt.

“No”

“Yes” you say pointing ferociously under the bed.

“No”

“Fine, but you have to go somewhere or we're both screwed.” You say turning around to get the door. As you open it you start “look I can explain.”

“ Explain what?” The Sephi asks, pushing past you taking a seat on the bed. “You’re performance out there was almost as enticing as you” you turn back to close the door looking around the room in an attempt to locate the beskar clad man. “We’ve met before, remember?” he asked, as if you would.

“Hard to forget such a lovely night.” You lie, sitting down next to him realizing you were going to have to talk your way out of this one. “Listen, tonight’s been rough, and I want to be at my peak performance for you, we can reschedule for another night” you say stroking his cheek. The Sephi grabs your wrist, harshly. “ No, I paid for it now so I’ll get it now” . Just then you hear a blaster go off and the guy drops. The Mandalorian appears from behind the curtain

“Seriously.” you say, “I was going to deal with him”

“And I wasn’t going to sit and watch it happen,” he responds re-holstering the blaster.

“They’ll use this to keep me here forever” you say, more sad than angry.

“They were doing that anyway” the modulated voice says. “Come with me” he says reaching his arm out, “now or never”.

Standing up, you push past his hand and walk over to the dead client laying on the floor. Kneeling down you rummage around for his wallet before throwing it to the Mandalorian.

“Let’s get out of here” you say

“Here” he says, taking off his cape and offering it to you. You wrap it around yourself.

“I look like a goddamn Jawa” you say, making note of how long it looks on you.

“Come on before your handaler comes back” he says. The two of you make a swift exit, creeping through the back alleys until you reach his newly acquired ship.

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4 Paranormal Stuff: Developer Blog (Part 1)

SimGuruConnor has released part 1 of the Sims 4 Paranormal Developer Blog series.

Hello Simmers! Welcome to a small 2-part Dev Blog about our newest Stuff Pack, Paranormal Stuff! This pack has been an absolute blast to work on, and I’m excited to share what this pack is all about!

I’ll try not to reveal too many spoilers for the pack either, so I’ll keep things somewhat brief. Our topics for today are the new Scared Mood and the Haunted House Lot Type, plus an interview with our Audio Artist too!

Get Scared

Sims can now relish in the mortal dread of the Scared Mood! The Scared Mood affects Sims in a variety of ways, with my personal favorite, the new Scream Incoherently interaction, where a Scared Sim runs up to another Sim to scream their lungs out. This can result in the other Sim calming down the Scared Sim, or resulting in both Sims becoming Scared. This can create a Scared Mood wildfire if you’re not careful!

Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay!

Sims afflicted with the Scared Mood also have trouble communicating with others, the urge to panic-run everywhere, and are slightly more prone to accidents. If no other Sims are around to help calm down a Scared Sim, they might just have to Hide Under The Covers for a while.

But if being Scared just isn’t your Sims style, consider purchasing the new Brave Trait. This Satisfaction Reward Store Trait will rapidly reduce the incoming fear a Sim feels and help Sims regain their composure faster. While no Sim is totally fearless, this trait should help mitigate some of those creepy feelings.

The Scared Mood and the Brave Reward Trait are all base game features coming with the Paranormal Stuff patch on January 21st. Tons of previous Uncomfortable Buffs are now becoming Scared Buffs, such as the “Startled By Ghost” Buff or the “Thalassophobia” Buff from Island Living.

While being Scared might not be a common occurrence in your everyday Sims life, living in a Haunted House is a whole different story…

Happy Haunts

Introducing the Haunted House Lot Type!

The Duplantier Dwelling, created by Doctor Ashley! This “canon” Haunted House will be available in the gallery!

They’re like regular houses, only haunted! Although unassuming during the day, at night, these places get super weird. Your Sims may notice things like flickering lights, pipes rattling, or even creepy dolls staring at them in the corner. All are totally normal occurrences in a Haunted House, but it may take some time for your Sims to adjust to their new surroundings.

Sims living in a Haunted House will also be introduced to floating apparitions known as Specters. They’re cute little critters, but their motives aren’t entirely clear. You can try talking to them, or even offer them presents in hopes of establishing a good rapport. If they like you, they’ll drop special loot for you and your family. If they don’t like you, well, you’ve been warned.

o o o (> ‘ u ‘ )>

Learning to get along with your new ghostly inhabitants is crucial in a Haunted House. Things like botching seances, neglecting Specters, or letting accursed objects invade your house will have a negative impact on its spiritual serenity. There is a delicate art to co-existing with the entities of the house, and thankfully you’ll have an expert on the matter to assist you!

Meet Guidry

Claude René Duplantier Guidry was a seasoned Paranormal Investigator in his previous life, but now he exists to help anyone brave enough to live in a Haunted House! You’ll probably run into him eventually living in a Haunted House, but don’t worry, he’s a nice ghost!

Guidry will gladly offer his wisdom to those who seek it. If you’re confused, alarmed, or slightly uncomfortable by your new haunted surroundings, give Guidry a holler and he might be able to help. He can also offer valuable objects to help your Sims, too; all you need is to reach out!

Still got it.

All Guidry wants in return is to crash at your place for the time being. Sounds like a fair deal, right? But if you’d prefer to fly it solo, you can always disable his nightly visits—he won’t be too upset, maybe.

As mentioned before, Guidry was a Paranormal Investigator before his untimely demise. If he sees potential in you, he can certify you with a Paranormal Investigation License, granting access to the Paranormal Investigation Freelancer Gigs. Only those who are qualified enough can join the ranks of Paranormal Investigators, but more on that next time!

Be Brave!

Living in a Haunted House adds a layer of risk and reward for your Sims, and each successful night yields Reward Store Satisfaction Points for everyone in the Household. Specters can also drop treasure that can also be collected, consumed, or sold to an Oddity Collector. So although your Sims might go through a bit of peril, they’ll thankfully be compensated.

One of my favorite pieces of haunted treasure is the new Sacred Candle. Not only do they look cool, but they also help protect Sims from paranormal influences. Place them around your house to make sure Sims are properly shielded!

A properly protected Sim.

Things like Sacred Candles and performing ceremonies at the Séance Table are integral to keeping your Sims happy in a Haunted House. Without using these paranormal tools, the entities of the house might get a little bossy.

And while it might be in your Sims’ best interest to keep the spirits of the house in check, watching things go horribly wrong in a Haunted House can be just as fun too. So whatever works for you!

Like Tiny Homes, this Lot Type can be toggled on or off at any time. So whether you’re a casual thrillseeker who wants to spend a couple of nights in a Haunted House, or a seasoned Paranormal Expert who wants to take on a new challenge, this Lot Type should offer something for you!

Crosspack Stuff!

Pets get to share the fun too! They especially love the accursed objects that show up!

I think they’re gonna get along great.

As mentioned before, a ton of old Buffs from multiple packs are now being converted to the Scared Mood. I think 70 something Moodlets were converted? Honestly, I lost count. Anything that seemed more appropriate for the Scared Mood was transferred over.

Oh, and you might remember an old Lot Trait from City Living called Haunted. For clarity’s sake, it needed a name change, so now it’s the Spooky Lot Trait. It also benefits from being combined with the new Haunted House Lot Type and will have an increased chance of spawning Ghosts at night. So use both for maximum haunted-ness!

Audibly Frightened

Last but not least, I’d love to turn it over to our Audio Artist for this pack, Briana Billups! She did a killer job bringing Haunted Houses to life! Trust me!

Conor: Can you tell us what an Audio Artist does on The Sims 4?

Briana: Big, broad picture: an audio artist decides what everything in The Sims 4 sounds like. We record, create, and edit sounds to the art and animation of the game. Little, very detailed picture: creating the actual sounds is usually one of the smaller aspects of our job. We are meeting with other departments, like design, animation, and VFX, to understand the overall vision of new game features and how we can fit in sonically. We are meeting with each other to make sure all our new content still keeps the very fun and quirky vibe of the Sims. We come up with new tools and implementation where necessary.

Conor: What sort of things go into the creative process for creating audio?

Briana: Every audio artist/sound designer has their own creative process, but I like to make a “sonic mood board” of sorts. I typically like to have a good idea of what I want something to sound like in my head before I record or edit it, so it’s nice to have sound effects or music to refer to that represents my original inspiration or ideas. When I was in college, I would make Spotify playlists for whatever I was working on. I would listen to them once a day, adding and editing as necessary, so when I actually got to work, I was in the right headspace. Now I’m usually less formal about this sort of stuff, but for this pack, I would refer back to things like Vincent Price’s demonic laugh from Thriller or Casper the Friendly Ghost Cartoons and the looping soundtrack from the queue of a horror ride at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk (Ghost Blasters)

Conor: What were you most excited to work on for this pack?

Briana: Definitely all the haunted house sounds! Good sound design is the crux of so many horror movies and video games, so even if we were keeping things more “Casper” and less “Poltergeist,” I still wanted to give a good scare here and there. I actually scared myself one day while playtesting another feature in the game!

Conor: If you had to choose, what is your favorite audio clip you’ve ever added to The Sims 4?

Briana: I would say my favorite SFX were the sports arena loops in EP08: Discover University. When you visit the arena for the soccer/esports match or graduation, you can actually listen to the whole game or ceremony. It was great to craft a whole story from start to finish using just sound. I also snuck in a lot of developer names when writing the scripts for our voice actors.

Thanks, Briana!

More To Come!

That about covers this first foray into the Paranormal Stuff Pack! This pack has been a ton of fun to work on, and watching my Sims flee in terror has been more enjoyable than I’d like to admit.

Next blog, we’ll focus on the Séance Table and developing your Medium skill, as well as the new active freelance career Paranormal Investigator.

Big thanks to the Stuff Pack team for helping this pack come to life, and thank you, Doctor Ashley, for building our featured Haunted House!

Until next time, SimGuruConor

[carewyncromwell]

The Cinderella AU is back...and with it, a proper introduction to the character who fills the “evil stepmother” role -- Carewyn’s cold, cruel grandfather, Charles Cromwell. If you’d like to learn more about Charles and his family’s canon counterparts, you can consult this post, but to summarize quickly, in Carewyn’s canon, Carewyn’s mother Lane ran away from home to elope with a Muggle, which ended up protecting Carewyn and Jacob from Charles’s emotionally abusive influence. (At least until R started going after them, because hey, what d’you know, in Carey-bear’s canon, Charles is R’s leader.) But in this AU, Carewyn has to answer to Charles for some reason...so yeah, that doesn’t bode well, does it? You’ll just have to read on to learn a little more about why that might be...

Fashion changed very dramatically during the Renaissance, thanks in large part to the cross-pollination of different cultures and influences that came from more extensive travel, the growing popularity of published works, and royal funding of the arts. Pre-Renaissance men’s fashion, at least for the nobility, was very big on oversized sleeves, which ended up creating a more “top-heavy” frame. (Just look at most portraits of King Henry VIII.) As the Renaissance went on, though, trunk hose (which creates that kind of “bubble butt” look that we’re used to seeing in William Shakespeare Halloween costumes) became the latest fad, shifting a man’s frame to be much more “bottom-heavy.” Women’s fashion briefly flirted with wide trumpet sleeves (as one can see in this portrait of a young Elizabeth Tudor, later Queen Elizabeth I), but by the time the 1550′s were over, rounded sleeves grew much more popular. Fitted sleeves also went in and out of style in a lot of Europe throughout the 16th century, though sleeves were considered a special feature on gowns, so they often had a lot of embellishments, such as paneling, embroidery, or puffs. One exception to this rule, however, was in Italy, where fitted, detachable sleeves that could be used on multiple gowns became fashionable. Fashion in Italy in the 16th century was notably understated and modest compared to a lot of Europe, which tended to favor a lot of ornate beading and embroidery -- there were even laws on the books restricting how “bedazzled” women’s fashion could be. One such law even banned stripes, as it was considered wasteful to use two different kinds of fabric just to make a pattern. That being said, there were plenty of people in Italy who said “screw the rules” and worked around them anyway. Carewyn’s dress in this picture is somewhat based on this design, but with some tweaking, most notably with a fuller skirt and more ornate and puffy sleeves.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When the end of the month arrived, Andre requested that Carewyn come to his chambers bright and early in the morning. Carewyn had anticipated that the prince had some extra duties for her to attend to, but instead, he immediately led her over to a corner of his bed chamber that he’d drawn a curtain around. When he pulled the curtain back, he revealed a full tailoring station inside his walk-in closet, complete with organized rolls of fabric, various jewels and beads strewn about over a table, several unfinished hats stacked on the nearby desk, an entire separate wardrobe of unfinished pieces, and several mannequins with fine fabrics half-pinned on them.

One mannequin, however, was wearing a completely finished, luxurious dark scarlet gown. It was made of about six different fabrics, all cut and sewn together in a complex tapestry of folds and textures and trimmed with many sparkling beads and jewels. Also lying on the floor just in front of the dress was a pair of heeled shoes made of off-white cloth with red and white roses sewn into the toes.

Carewyn couldn’t help but gape. Andre was grinning from ear to ear.

“So?” he asked. “What do you think?”

Carewyn glanced out the side of her eye at the prince, over to the dress, and back.

“Did you...make this, your Highness?” she asked, amazed.

Andre laughed. “Carewyn, please, it’s ‘Andre.’ But yes! I got inspired while working on your shoes, so I stitched this up to go with it. ...Do you like it?”

Carewyn walked around the mannequin to look over the gown, not daring to touch it. She’d never seen so many fine fabrics on one dress before -- velvet, linen, silk -- and all the embellishments must’ve taken full days to finish --

“It’s -- well, it’s extraordinary, your -- Andre,” she corrected herself very quickly noticing the prince’s pointed smile. Even she was finding it difficult not to smile too. “The beading on the sleeves, the lace work -- the alternating wool and cotton paneling along the bodice...it’s worthy of an artisan!”

Andre looked clearly both incredibly pleased and impressed. “You have an eye for detail, Carewyn!”

His face burst into a bright white grin as he bent down and picked up one of the off-white cloth shoes.

“I’m pleased you like it,” he said brightly. “I thought it’d be the perfect thing for you to wear today. Lord Cromwell sent a message to the palace asking Father if you could return home for a visit -- so I worked all night to get this done in time so that you could wear it for your outing with your new shoes.”

Despite her best efforts, Carewyn couldn’t completely keep the dismay and discomfort she felt off her face.

“What? Oh -- oh, your Highness, I -- ”

“Ah, ah, ah,” chided Andre, “what have I asked you to call me?”

“Andre,” Carewyn corrected very quickly, her eyes drifting up onto the dress rather than at Andre, “this dress is...truly beautiful...but it befits a lady of status, not -- ”

“It fits you,” Andre said, undaunted. “I used the measurements from your uniform fitting. It should fit you like a glove -- or better.”

Carewyn felt like her stomach was shriveling up. She hated turning away such a lovely gift -- under any other circumstances, she would love wearing it out and about. But...

“That...that is...it’s so kind of you, to use me as your template...”

Or “dress-up doll” -- that is what the Queen said I would be, isn’t it?

“...but I simply couldn’t wear such a gift on my visit...not when I have no comparable gifts to bring my cousins. Many of them are around my age, and...and well, I know Heather, Iris, and Dahlia would be very upset, knowing I got to wear such a beautiful dress and they didn’t.”

None of her cousins had ever been very respectful of Carewyn’s personal belongings. Not long after she first arrived, her aunt Pearl’s two bullying sons, Kain and Arsen, stole her jewelry box while she was sleeping and sold both it and its contents for pocket change. Her youngest cousin, her uncle Blaise’s bratty son Tristan, had once thrown a bottle of red wine out the window that shattered mere feet away from Carewyn and soaked her dress so badly that it never washed out. Even Iris had -- after Carewyn caught the eye of one of her suitors who’d come to call -- ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress so badly that she had to hide from sight for most of the day, until she’d managed to sew it up enough that her chest wasn’t exposed. Carewyn had had to hide her mother’s old dress from her cousins for years, for fear they might steal and/or ruin it.

Andre frowned deeply.

“Well, I hardly can send along anything for your cousins without knowing their measurements,” he said with a quick glance at the wardrobe full of unfinished pieces.

His face then brightened with an idea.

“How about this -- I’ll order you. I order you to wear this dress on your trip home, and to have your cousins give you their honest opinion of it. Then you must bring their opinions back to me. Goodness knows I could use some feedback -- and maybe a few new ideas, if they have them,” he added with a teasing grin.

Carewyn opened her mouth to object, but Andre cut her off.

“As your prince, I command you to showcase my work to your family,” he said through a broad grin. “Am I clear?”

Carewyn really, really didn’t love the idea -- but she had to concede that she could use this to her advantage. She needed a stable place at the palace in order to achieve her goals, and she could help maintain that stable place at the palace by justifying to Charles why she had to be there. And Charles’s whole interest in her being there was to try to endear the Cromwells further to the royal family, and maybe even secure one of her Aunt Claire’s daughters a space in that family...

So, with a heavy sigh, she put on a small smile and inclined her head respectfully.

“Very well, Andre. I’ll wear your work proudly.”

And so Carewyn set off for the Cromwell estate on horseback, dressed in the new shoes and dress Andre had made for her. The shoes were lovely and fit perfectly, but they were rather impractical for walking around outdoors. Carewyn thought to herself that she might have to continue wearing her old shoes when she returned to her palace work, if for no other reason that she hated the thought of getting them scuffed up.

As to be expected, when she arrived, her cousins reacted very hostilely to her appearance.

“Well, well,” sneered curly-black-haired Kain, “what do we have here? Playacting as a lady, little Winnie?”

“All hail Lady Cinderwyn, Duchess of Dust!” sniggered his similarly dark-haired brother Arsen.

He reached for her wide skirt, but Carewyn -- remaining on her horse -- steered herself far enough back that he couldn’t reach.

“I wouldn’t damage this, if I were you,” she said as coolly and levelly as she could. “It’s not mine.”

Arsen and Kain exchanged a mocking, wide-eyed look and an “oooooh.”

“Are you a thief now, little Winnie?” asked Kain. “How far you’ve fallen -- we might need to call the castle guard on you -- ”

“Cinderwyn’s a thief!” crowed tiny Tristan in a sing-song voice. “Cinderwyn’s a thief!”

Claire’s three daughters looked a lot less mocking.

“You have some nerve, stealing clothes from your betters,” spat dainty, brown-haired Heather. “Grandfather should lash you within an inch of your life -- ”

“I haven’t stolen anything,” Carewyn said very firmly. “Now I wish to see Grandfather. I have a message from the Prince he’ll want to hear.”

“Grandfather’s inside,” said Claire’s gangling, button-nosed son Elmer with a crooked smile. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy your new look, Lady Cinderwyn...especially with the finishing touch!”

He jumped right into a mud puddle that splashed everywhere. Carewyn just barely avoided the spray, but when she moved back, Dahlia and Iris successfully grabbed hold of her velvet brocaded skirt and yanked hard in either direction, as if trying to rip it.

“Iris -- Dahlia --  ” said Carewyn, her voice growing colder and harder as she struggled to hold in her temper and emotion as best she could, “if either of you have any ambition to marry his Highness, I would strongly suggest letting go of his dress this instant!”

All of Carewyn’s cousins stiffened.

“His dress?” repeated Dahlia, looking outraged. “You mean to say you took this from the Prince?!”

“He bid me to wear it, for my visit,” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Or would you have me oppose his Highness’s will?”

“You...arrogant, pretentious, ungrateful little rat!” shrieked Dahlia. She tried to yank Carewyn off her horse, and there was a slight struggle as Carewyn tried to both comfort her horse and prevent Dahlia from dislodging her.

“Now, now, children,” said a very coldly serene voice, “a little less noise there.”

All of the Cromwell children looked up to see Charles Cromwell striding across the lawn. He was dressed in black, gray, and white with a dark red cape with black trim, and he supported himself on an ebony-wood cane with a dragon’s head carved out of black zircon for a handle. Behind him were Carewyn’s aunts, Pearl and Claire, with their husbands, as well as her uncle Blaise. All three of them were looking over Carewyn’s outfit disapprovingly -- Blaise looked particularly irritated, his upper lip curling as he rested a hand on top of Tristan’s shoulder that made the small boy flinch.

Iris and Dahlia were still clinging to Carewyn��s skirt, but they’d frozen up like startled cats when their grandfather appeared.

“Grandfather -- ” stammered Iris, “W-Winnie’s a no-good thief -- she stole this dress from -- !”

"I have stolen nothing,” Carewyn repeated coldly. She stroked her horse’s white mane several times to soothe it.

Pearl too had come up to rest a hand on Arsen’s shoulder and was looking at Carewyn very critically out her own almond-shaped blue eyes -- most of Carewyn’s family had them.

“Is that so?” she said, her voice a low growl in her throat. “Explain, then, what gives you the nerve to show up here dressed in such obnoxious clothes.”

“It’s positively garish,” added Claire in a higher, simpering tone from her comfortable spot in her husband’s arms, mirroring her sister’s disapproval like a child would imitate their older sibling.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very coolly. “Prince Henri will be very disappointed to hear that. He worked very hard on this.”

This startled all of the Cromwells. Blaise looked scandalized.

“And I suppose that makes you think the Prince favors you somehow?” he spat, his eyes flashing dangerously as he released Tristan’s shoulder and approached Carewyn’s horse. “Rather than just thinking of using you as some saucy little tart and then discarding you, just like your wretch of a father did your mother -- ”

"I think nothing of the sort,” Carewyn cut him off coldly.

Don’t you dare talk about my mother.

Charles, the least visibly startled, took a few steps forward. Iris and Dahlia finally released Carewyn’s skirt so as to get out of the way, and Charles came to a stop about three feet from Carewyn’s horse, his own almond-shaped eyes locked on his ginger-haired granddaughter’s face.

“I believe you owe me a full report, child,” he said quietly. “Stand before me and give it.”

Carewyn’s red-painted lips pursed as she picked up her skirts and descended from her horse at last. She looked up at Charles with a very stoic expression.

“Prince Henri learned that I would be coming to see you, as per your request,” she explained. “He commanded that I wear this dress, for my visit. He’s heard about my cousins and desires Dahlia, Iris, and Heather’s opinions on it. Then he requested I deliver their feedback back to him this evening.”

The time limit was a flat-out lie, but one Carewyn knew she could get away with. She did not want to stay at the Cromwell estate overnight -- she’d rather sleep on a lumpy old cot in the servants’ quarters than on the floor by the kitchen fireplace. 

Claire looked at Charles, her face breaking into a rather eager expression. “His Highness wishes to hear from my daughters? He must have heard from the rest of the court of their extensive talents -- ”

“Or at least purported talents,” said Blaise under his breath with a rather cynical look. “Seems the rumor mill is working well...“

Pearl shot Blaise a glare, but Claire didn’t seem to hear him -- she had already whirled on Carewyn.

“Tell his Highness that the dress is a work of art, fit for a queen!” she said insistently. “And make sure that he knows that there are much better models for his work here, at the Cromwell estate -- Iris has a far superior build, Dahlia the most perfect shoulders -- ”

“I suppose Winnie can do far worse than inanely fawning over your daughters’ target on their behalf,” said Blaise in a rather cutting voice. “Mindlessly swooning certainly worked for you.”

“Blaise!” Pearl snapped reproachfully.

Charles’s eyes drifted over Claire and her three anxious-looking daughters thoughtfully.

“...What feedback...do you believe would most please his Highness, child?” he asked Carewyn.

“He appreciated it when I noticed the details,” said Carewyn. “I would think if anyone had any creative ideas to add onto it...or perhaps constructive criticism...he might react well to it. His Highness is very interested in fashion and tailoring...I’m sure he would appreciate knowing someone who could indulge in that passion with him.”

He must be awfully lonely, locked up in the palace all the time. It’s no wonder he tried to find things to do indoors that could bring him some joy, if he’s unable to go much of anywhere...

Charles’s eyes flitted over the silk and ornate beading on Carewyn’s sleeves.

“His Highness certainly does have an eye for finery...has the royal family come into additional wealth recently?”

“I don’t think so,” said Carewyn. “The castle staff is very limited. And although the nobility are all dressed and fed well and the castle is decadent, the staff is frequently short of common necessities like nails and coal for the fire. Not to mention the staff’s rations are sparse.”

Iris gave a loud, haughty laugh. “Ha! Probably just as well -- you could do with getting some of that meat off your thighs!”

“Iris,” said Charles very sleekly, even as the rest of Carewyn’s cousins sniggered.

His lips curled up in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

“...It seems that the King and Queen are indeed in need of our family’s charity. But we must indulge their pride. It’ll be far easier for them to accept help from a future daughter-in-law and princess than simply from a loyal servant of the realm. Carewyn -- you shall report back what his Highness wishes to hear. Customize three answers for Heather, Iris, and Dahlia -- one fawning, one critical, one creative. Whichever answer he likes best, we will then pursue that route with the cousin you’ve assigned to it.”

His almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“And once we’ve secured an invitation from the Prince...I expect that you will step aside, to make room for your cousin to make her move.”

Carewyn’s expression didn’t shift.

“I’m not interested in courting princes,” she said lowly.

Heather, Iris, and Dahlia can knock themselves out. Andre will see through them sooner or later, and it’ll be all their own fault.

There was a cold, diamond-like glint in Charles’s eye. “...Yes...you truly don’t care to chase any man except for your brother...do you, Carewyn, my dear?”

Carewyn tried not to blink or look away.

“You have news of Jacob?”

Charles sighed airily. “I’m afraid not, my dear. I know he’s well, of course...but news from the War front, as you know, is simply impossible to come by...”

“You know he’s alive,” Carewyn shot back a bit more sharply than she meant to. “That doesn’t mean he’s well. No one could be doing well out there.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re happy that the first is guaranteed?” said Charles. “At least, so long as you do your duty to your family, and to me?”

It was a warning, but it was done so delicately -- it was like his voice was flirting with a threat, rather than flat-out making one.

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly as her gaze drifted to the ground.

“You know I wish no harm to come to either you or Jacob,” Charles said softly. “Losing a child was terrible enough, losing grandchildren as well...well, it would deeply upset me. And per our agreement, you are the one who must shoulder the burden of your brother’s and your debt to me...particularly since you have no dowry and no possible claim to my estate. Remember, Carewyn...you are responsible for how you are treated -- and for how Jacob is treated.” 

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly together over her closed eyes.

“...Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now then -- rehearse the answers you plan to give to his Highness with your cousins. I wish them to sound convincing, so that when one or more of them is invited to the palace, they will be able to play their part appropriately.”

Carewyn hated every minute of hashing out responses with Heather, Iris, and Dahlia. Like their mother Claire, they and Elmer were all “follower” type personalities who tended to echo whatever they thought would please others -- so Dahlia, Iris, and Heather were constantly trying to steal each other’s ideas to “improve” Carewyn’s answers, despite all three of them supposedly needing to take three different approaches as part of Charles’s plan. Even the three girls’ hostile attitude toward Carewyn largely came down to her refusing to follow their direction, despite her lowered status in the family giving them authority over her -- something that, Carewyn believed, they would never do if their positions were switched.

When Carewyn was finally ready to leave (and successfully avoided Tristan’s muddy hands when the wickedly grinning little boy forcibly tried to hug her goodbye so he could leave stains on her dress), Blaise pulled Charles aside. As the male heir of the Cromwell legacy, Blaise had always followed in his father’s footsteps most, but there was one thing they didn’t agree on.

“Father,” he said, his voice very low in the back of his throat as he watched Carewyn ride away at a fast gallop, “I don’t approve of her returning to that place.”

Charles smiled coldly. “You always have disliked sharing your toys with others, Blaise.”

“It’s a bad influence!” said Blaise, whirling on his father. “We can’t monitor what she does, how she behaves -- who she speaks to -- how can we hope to keep her, if we consistently open her cage?”

Charles’s eyes, the same color and shape of all of his children and most of his grandchildren, sparkled with something crueler.

“Ah, my boy,” he said sardonically, “you have much to learn about cages. Physical cages have strong bars, but ones easy to see and constantly weathered. But a cage forged carefully in another’s mind...can become so strong that the prisoner willingly chooses to stay.”

Charles turned on his heel, his lips curling up further still even though his face remained so doll-like and emotionless.

“As weak and overemotional of a thing she is, Carewyn is far more like you and me than Lane ever was. She’s very resourceful and she’ll do whatever she has to in order to get what she wants -- and that drive fuels everything she is and does. It may make her spirited, but it also makes it so that as long as she sees Jacob’s life in the palm of my hand...so too will she be.”

Blaise’s eyes flickered with a strange skepticism. “And...if Jacob’s life were ever not under your sway?”

Charles’s expression grew even more detached and emotionless as his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“...Would Carewyn really want to contemplate what state he’d be in, if he weren’t?”

Carewyn couldn’t be happier to leave the Cromwell estate behind. She didn’t slow down her horse’s pace until she’d reached the outskirts of the market, well after the manor house was out of sight. Only then did she slow her horse down to a leisurely trot, so that she could enjoy some time on her own wandering down the village streets before heading back to the palace. The castle staff wasn’t expecting her back to work until the following morning, so she could take her time.

Unfortunately for Carewyn, there was another reason her cousin Tristan’s hands had been so muddy -- and that reason soon became apparent when Carewyn reached into one of the pockets on the side of her saddle, thinking to temporarily change out of the pretty shoes Andre had given her and were now pinching her feet for the ride home. When she reached into the pocket, she instead found the tiny snake that Tristan had stolen out of the reeds by the nearby pond.

With a scream of surprise, Carewyn flung the snake to the ground -- the snake arched back, hissing angrily, and that in turn spooked Carewyn’s horse. With a loud, scared whinny, it reared back, bucking wildly.

“Whoa!” cried Carewyn. “Whoa, boy -- whoa!”

Several passerby turned around at the sound of the noise. A few looked like they wanted to help, but were too warded off by the horse’s kicking feet. Carewyn tried desperately to calm her horse, stroking its mane with one hand and clinging desperately onto the reins with the other, but it was no use. She wasn’t strong enough to wrench her horse into submission. And so when the horse gave a particularly violent jerk, Carewyn was thrown right off.

“AHH!”

Out of nowhere, someone dashed forward. Carewyn ended up slamming right into them, and the two landed roughly in a heap in the dirt.

Carewyn watched her horse gallop off the street, her face very tense and distraught. She then looked down at the person she’d landed on top of, and she gave a visible start.

Her “hero” was a man about her age dressed in modest clothes with tanned skin, slightly-too-long dark hair, and a beard. His sparkling black eyes were squinted slightly as he winced in pain, but nonetheless shone with some concern as he looked her over.

“Are you hurt, Lady Cromwell?” asked Orion.

[joonsdragoneyes]

Forte [1-1][M]

Summary: Min Yoongi is a world renowned musician. Loved by millions, his shows are always sold out, and he’s usually busy getting ready to leave for another country during his many, many world tours. You are also a musician, matching his level of fame perfectly and on top of that, you happen to be dating him. There’s only one issue- you’re from rivaling companies, forcing you to be full of hate towards each other for the sake of your careers whenever the cameras were rolling. Thankfully for your career, everyone, your manager included, thought it was real. Sadly for you though, everyone thought it was real.

Genre: Angst, romance, fluff, eventual smut probably

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Profanity, angst, an innuendo, but nothing much

This is part of my Facing the Music series. This is part 1.

[18+]

--

"So, number two on the charts! That's quite the feat."

The interviewers' voice was excited but somewhat dulled and hollow- likely from the sheer fact of how many celebrities this exact phrase has been spoken to. The man on the couch simply smiled, tired from the knowledge that he'd have to be here for another hour while doing his best to attempt to keep the upbeat energy. "Yes, I suppose it is. I honestly never thought I'd ever reach it." He spoke, his leg bouncing as he leaned forward. His hair was beginning to lose its previous well-groomed appearance, now slightly covering his eyes, much to his annoyance.

"Speaking of which, the number one spot. It must be quite the feeling knowing you've been beaten by a mere 5 points." The interviewer pointed out, leaning slightly against his desk as he attempted to look at the celebrity sitting on a chair next to him, drinking up his change in expression. The shift from genuine joy to shock was precisely what he was hoping for, but seeing it now was so much better than he thought it'd be.

"Yeah, it's not really something that happens too often, huh?" The celebrity laughed tiredly, attempting to break the tension. "It'll be interesting to see what happens in the future. Maybe I'll even get to number one. We'll see." He grinned, shuffling in the soft seat under him.

"And what about your competition?" The interviewer asked, leaning yet closer, his eyebrow raising as he awaited a response. The celebrity across from him paused before smirking as he leaned forward as well. "Doubt she could've made it if not for her team. Personally, I think you have to actually be talented to chart, but I guess they let anyone on there." He laughed, his mouth opening to speak once again only to be cut off by the click of the t.v going black.

You turned to your manager, hugging your pillow as you looked at the man, his face noticeably red with anger. "Did you hear that?" He asked, turning to face you once again. "He dissed you on national television. Who does he think he is?" By then, he was beginning to yell, rising off the couch, his hands shaking in his anger. You only followed, yawning from the warmth of your pajamas, your brain tired as you tried to find something to say.

"We'll get him back." Your manager spoke once again, leaning against the back of the couch as he moved close to you. The action caused you to jump slightly, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Do you have any ideas?" He asked, you only shaking your head in response. You could feel your phone vibrate from where it sat under your thigh, and you were beginning to grow sleepy. All you wanted was to be alone.

Your manager sighed. "Alright, well, it's getting late. You can go. We'll think of something." You nodded, standing up from the soft couch, placing the pillow back down in its spot as you grabbed your phone, having an idea of who it was. After all, there was only one person who'd bother to text you this late. "Thank you, sir." You smiled. "Sleep well."

"You too." He responded as you began to head towards the stairs leading up to your bedroom. "Just remember what we have to do in the morning." He called after you, his voice causing you to pause before you slowly turned to face him once again. "What do we need to do in the morning?" You questioned, genuinely confused. "Brainstorming." He responded. "We can't let him get away with that."

You merely smiled, laughing a bit to yourself. "No, it's fine; we don't need to do anything about it." You responded, holding your constantly vibrating phone close to you. "I think he's just trying to be intimidating in the hopes that I'll drop down to second place. I doubt he truly meant it."

Your manager sighed. "You're too nice about all of this. Something like that could ruin your career," he explained, flopping tiredly onto the couch as his head came to rest in his hands. He sat up, leaning against the back of the long, curved sofa. You sighed a bit. "I don't think one man could ruin my career." You spoke softly. "I doubt he'd sabotage his own career in order to ruin mine." You attempted to assure him, glancing at your phone for a split second as it began to aggressively vibrate, holding it close once again as you noticed it was ringing.

"But that could be his tactic. He's on tour right now, and you have to leave for yours in a week as well. It's all part of the plan. You're both the biggest artists right now; he only sees you as competition." Your manager spoke, standing up once again as he moved his arms around to emphasize his point. You simply nodded, deciding it wasn't good for either of you to continue arguing- not that you had the energy to continue anyway.

"I see your point." You yawned, exhausted at this point. "We'll brainstorm in the morning then." Your manager seemed to finally calm down a bit, nodding tiredly at your words. "Yes, you're right, you can go now for real this time. Sorry for keeping you up longer than you needed to be." He apologized, moving to grab his coat from one of your chairs, sliding it on as you watched, waiting for him to leave so you could lock your door. He paused to glance at the clock on the wall as he turned to leave, grimacing slightly at the sight. "Ah, it's almost 3 am."

You quietly followed your manager downstairs, smiling as he opened the door, turning to face you. "Sleep well." He smiled. "You too." You responded happily, listening as the door clicked shut, listening for the other two clicks as you made sure it was locked. You sighed tiredly, surprisingly much happier about being home alone than you thought you would be. Your hand traced along the light switch, flicking it down as darkness instantly filled the room. You lifted your phone, unlocking it as you made your way along to continue turning off the lights, yawning as you returned the missed call, listening to it ring as you made your way back upstairs.

A smile snuck onto your face at the soft click of someone answering, the familiar voice coming from the small device already enough to make your heart rate increase.

"So, you were awake."

His voice was much deeper than usual, raspy with exhaustion. It made your cheeks ever so slightly warm. "Yeah, sorry, my manager just left." You explained, finally sliding into your bedroom as you finished turning all of the lights off, the door clicking behind you as you moved quickly across the large space, flopping onto your bed in joy.

He hummed softly with understanding, his pajamas loud against his sheets as he shuffled on his bed- at least that's what you assumed he was doing. "This late? It's-" He paused, the shuffling continuing as he mumbled out a confused "fuck, what time is it?" His bed creaked a bit as moved around, mumbling to himself as he seemingly got up, the whole thing making you giggle silently to yourself. You guessed he had rolled out of bed to find a clock, but what in his likely exhausted mind make him look for a clock somewhere instead of just checking his phone was a mystery to you.

Another creak sounded at the loud thump the sounded from the device, the shuffling continuing as he got comfortable. "It's 3 am; why is he just now leaving anyway?"

"Your little interview last night." You snapped playfully, doing your best to pretend to be mad. There was a short silence before his laughter filled your ears, the sound enough to make your heart skip a beat. "Why is he booing? I'm right." He chided just as playfully, you laughing as well in response.

"Speaking of which, how's your tour going?" You asked, letting your body sink into the pillows behind you, sliding under the thick blanket you were resting on top of. The groan you got immediately in response told you everything you needed to know, listening closely as he began to speak. "I'm having the time of my life, the crowd's energy has been insane, and I've been excited for each day." He spoke softly, you letting out a hum in response. "I'm exhausted, though." He admitted, the exhaustion in his voice heavy enough to be felt.

"At least I get to talk to you now." He mumbled, a smile once again returning to your face. "Plus, we'll be in the same town soon." He added, his voice low. You grinned. "Sweet, we get to hang out." You added. "Hell yeah." He laughed, humming tiredly as he moved closer to the phone, the sound of his phone rubbing against his pillow heard instead of whatever he was also trying to say.

"Anyway, hey." He piped up, seeming to finally sit still, yawning loudly as he settled down. "Are you busy in the morning?" He questioned, his voice growing raspier with his growing exhaustion; the rumble of each word practically felt deep within your thighs, the feeling surprising to you. "Yeah, we're supposed to be coming up with things for the tour and how to get you back. My manager was really upset by your little remark."

There was a long silence, his breathing the only thing stopping it from becoming a long, crushing reign. "How early do you think you'll need to be up?" He asked, his voice much lower than before, a feeling besides his own tiredness now present, though one you couldn't quite name.

"Probably about..." You paused, glancing at the clock on the small table next to your bed. "8-9." You finally finished your sentence, a loud yawn escaping immediately after. "Damn."

"Yeah, sorry."

Silence finally reigned, this time somewhat crushing. "Can I turn the camera on?" He suddenly piped up, yawning as you told him that he could. You stared at the small screen in your hand, rolling onto your side as you pulled one of the pillows next to you, propping the device against it as his face finally flashed up in front of you.

His hair was messy, flopping messily over his eyes, his head resting limply against a pillow, which caused his cheeks to noticeably squish. His eyes were bright in the light of his phone, a noticeable grin spreading on his face, a face mask could be seen clinging to his face glossy against the pale glow.

"Come on camera, too; I wanna see you." He mumbled, his eyes focused on his screen, shuffling to pull the blanket up past his shoulders. "Alright, alright." You chuckled softly, his expression lighting up the second your camera switched on, his gaze soft as he took your relaxed form in.

The soft flashing light of a T.V could be seen illuminating his face, whatever show was playing somehow not enough to catch his attention even slightly, the lack of sound causing you to assume he had muted it. His blinks were slow and tired as he continued to look at you, smiling to himself. Many sheets of paper and notebooks surrounded him on the bed, just behind where he was lying, easy to miss if you weren't careful.

Your eyes dropped to the notebooks on the bed, wondering what was contained within. You were always excited to hear what he wrote and his thoughts, so much so that you always excitedly bought his music whenever it came out- secretly, of course. You always wished that you could have a physical album in your possession, not only to admire the artistry that was the cover and the music contained within but to have a part of him.

"Wait, I just remembered."

His head lifted slightly, his eyes bright in the light of his phone. "It's a surprise, but I got you something. It'll be a while before you can get it, but I decided I'd let you know before I forgot to tell you again." He chuckled a bit. "Thought it would give you something to look forward to."

"Can I get a hint?"

"Wouldn't be much of a surprise then, would it?"

"No, I guess not." You responded. "Just thought I'd be able to get something."

"You are getting something. Just not right now."

"Alright, smartass."

He immediately laughed- a soft but heavy noise that was like music to your ears. He was so much more carefree at night, especially when it was just the two of you. It was such a substantial difference compared to his usual demeanor, but it was one you more than appreciated even having the chance to experience. He deserved nothing more than to be happy, and seeing him in such a way made you swell with a feeling you didn't even know existed- but it was a feeling you loved more than anything.

You didn't know what you'd do without him.

"I love you." You found yourself blurting out quite softly, the immediate change in expression causing your face to grow warm as you realized you had said it louder than you thought. He merely continued to smile, his gaze feeling as if his eyes had met yours through the phone, the feeling causing you to shuffle as he chuckled with delight.

"I love you too."

It was such a simple sentence, but one that filled your body with a euphoric feeling, one so short but so intense you felt like you were going to explode in what you were sure was less than a second. You laughed with the feeling, your legs wiggling ever so gently under the blanket. "I'm glad."

"Did you doubt that I didn't?"

His tone was genuine, but somehow understanding even though you hadn't said anything. It made you wonder if he ever had similar thoughts. 

It wasn't that you doubted his feelings for you- far from it, you just hated to admit that you often wondered about being caught. The thought of losing him was a nightmare that crushed the deepest parts of you. You had this constant feeling that you shouldn't be calling him yours- that maybe your manager was right, and it was just a ploy. Some part of you had always said that he would leave you the second he needed to in order to keep his position- or worse; if you lost your own position. 

This only led to wondering if your fame was worth not having him around.

"No, I've never doubted for a second that you didn't." You explained. "I just worry about our careers. Like, how long we'll have to keep this a secret. I mean, what if we get caught. Imagine the scandals, and how the companies would react, and-"

"They don't have to know." He interrupted his voice rumbling slightly as he spoke. "What they don't know won't hurt them, and it won't hurt us. We'll be fine, I promise. This'll just be a little secret of ours."

You nodded, knowing he was right. They hadn't found out after all of these months; why would they now?

"Our little late-night secret." You grinned, enjoying the slight rush you got from keeping such a large secret. "Little night of love." He added, your nose scrunching immediately from the words. "Ew, Yoongi."

"What?"

"Don't say-" You stumbled over your words, flustered by his apparently innocent sentence. "Don't say that- ah, Yoongi." You stammered, his eyes growing wide as he apparently realized the connotations of what he said. 

"Oooh, I get it, 'cause fuc-"

"-Yoongi!"

He began to laugh once again, this time so loudly he needed to bury his face in one of his pillows, his body shaking. You merely rolled your eyes, trying to fight the smile that threatened to appear on your face. He had attempted to cheer you up you realized, and it had worked, but he didn't need to know that.

You yawned, suddenly realizing just how tired you had become, noticing quickly as Yoongi looked up, yawning as well, that you weren't the only one. "Tired?" You asked, teasing a bit playfully, watching as his laugh tiredly filled your ears.

"Hell yeah, always am."

You didn't want to go. He had to be up extremely early, if not in a few minutes, then very soon, and you didn't want to keep him up longer than you needed to, and you both had been at this for quite a few hours; in fact, it was about 6 which meant you yourself had only a few hours. His blinks were already slowly as was his breathing; his face sunk fully into the pillow as he continued to look at you. You took the opportunity to take his features, your breath being stolen as you wondered how someone could look so good even with a bit of darkness under his eyes and messy hair.

It wasn't until after a few minutes had passed that you realized that you had been sitting in silence the whole time. His eyes by then had closed, his breathing slow and deep as you realized he had already fallen asleep, little groans and hums escaping as a result of whatever dream had already started.

You snuggled closer to the small screen, each breath causing you to feel a sense of home, your body growing comfortable under the thick blankets as you began to feel your own eyes growing heavy. His hand twitched ever so slightly, his nose scrunching up on occasion, the sight making you wonder what it was he was dreaming about. He looked so peaceful when he slept, you noticed, a comfort you didn't usually see when he was awake. It was a peace you seemed to understand, enjoying how the mere feeling of him sleeping next to you- despite not actually being next to you, was enough to make you feel like you were on cloud nine.

Your eyes had become too heavy to keep open a long time ago, as you were beginning to feel your thoughts leaving you. All you could process was this moment, your brain attempting to hold onto it for as long as it could as your mind finally went blank, the warmth eventually overtaking you.

[destroyyourbinder]

I want to thank Jacob for his enormous bravery in speaking out publicly about how the “puberty blocker” (GnRH agonist) protocol and the medicalization of his identity affected him as a struggling trans teenager. 

I want to note before I share the article that stories like Jacob’s are being politicized by groups like Mermaids (the primary transgender child lobbying organization in the UK) to claim that while "blockers” are “safe” and “reversible” and ought to be immediately provided to trans children who are beginning puberty, that any problems with GnRH agonists indicates that clinicians should begin cross-sex hormone treatment early. Organizations such as Mermaids and various other groups in the US frequently claim that there ought to be no formal lower age bound for the initiation of cross-sex HRT (i.e. testosterone for female children, estrogen and an anti-androgen drug for male children) and Johanna Olson-Kennedy (a pediatric gender “expert” and head of the gender clinic at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles) advocates regularly for female children to receive testosterone at twelve and has possibly given children as young as 8 testosterone treatment. So in sharing this kid’s story, I want to be careful, since there is a real danger that exposing the harms of using GnRH agonists such as Lupron on gender-variant children will lead to a change in strategy where these children are merely dosed early with cross-sex hormones, a protocol that to my knowledge that we have zero long-term data on. (Children are given GnRH agonists as a means to halt precocious puberty, and in fact, these drugs are approved for this purpose, so we have some data on their effects already. As far as I know, there has been no previous medical reason to give female children testosterone or male children anti-androgens and estrogen.) The article is behind a paywall but I am transcribing it here: Puberty blocking drugs: ‘For the past four years I’ve been stuck as a child’ Jacob has just turned 16 and for the past four years the teenager’s body has been put on pause. He has been on hormone blockers to stop puberty while he decides how far he is willing to go to become a transgender man.

He claims that taking blockers was “the worst decision I’ve ever made”.

Jacob was born a girl but felt unhappy with his gender. “I always felt so weak and pathetic and inferior to the men.” He started using the male pronoun and imagined himself growing up and “dating a woman”.

When Jacob became one of thousands of young adolescents to be referred for puberty blockers by the NHS’s main gender clinic for children he was delighted. “It was sold to me as a  miracle cure for being trans,” he claimed. He told another trans school friend about them, who started requesting blockers too.

Hormone blockers are only licensed in Britain to delay the onset of puberty for children suffering “precocious puberty” — that is, those who start developing abnormally early before the age of eight or nine.

However, their use is promoted by the transgender campaign group Mermaids as a way of giving young people “a pause button” while deciding whether to graduate to the irreversible, cross-sex hormones that will trigger the life-changing, fertility-reducing jump from one gender to another, once they reach 16. The vast majority of children who begin blockers go on to take that step.

Blockers are physically reversible, insofar as puberty will eventually restart once someone stops taking them. But no one — not even the directors of the country’s leading gender clinic, the Tavistock’s Gender Identity Development Service [GIDS] — knows their long-term impact, for example, on the teenage brain.

After just a few consultations at the Tavistock, Jacob was referred to the endocrinology clinic at University College London Hospitals [UCLH]. He claimed the clinic did not consider his background, such as the trauma of a sexual assault at primary school, or his parents’ difficult divorce. He and his mother were soon making regular visits to London from their small village in the west of England for the injections.

“They promise you that your breasts will disappear, that your voice will be deeper, that I would look and sound more like a boy. For me, that was the best thing that could have happened,” he said.

Only, Jacob found that wasn’t what happened at all. Far from becoming one of the lads, as he’d hoped, he felt even more alienated from them as their physiques changed and Jacob’s remained the same.

“At school, other people were maturing into adults. The guys I grew up with were growing hair and growing up. For someone who’s trying to fit in as a boy, that’s not what you want.” Jacob had always been the tallest among his friends. Now he was the shortest. When his little brother overtook him in height and strength, he found it too upsetting to be in the same room as him. “My little brother is 18 months younger and now he has completely outgrown me. I go to school and I feel like other people are developing and I still feel like a child,” he said. Jacob also claims he was not warned about the side-effects of the drugs. These have included insomnia, exhaustion, fatigue, low moods, rapid weight   gain which caused his skin to become covered with angry, itchy stretch marks, and a reduction in bone density. “I’d never broken a bone before [taking puberty blockers],” he says. “I’ve since broken four bones.” “I stubbed my toe, it broke. I fell over, my wrist broke. Same with my elbow.” As he took the blockers, Jacob’s mother watched her child become even more introverted and body-conscious. “The blockers contributed more to the self-image problems that were already there,” she said. Jacob found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on schoolwork. If sitting GSCEs is hard enough with raging hormones, it’s even harder without them, he said. “I’m someone with the developing mind of a 12-year-old who’s doing exams designed for a 16-year-old.”

He added: “The worst part was probably the depression. There were moments when I wanted everything to stop. Weight gain and depression — for someone who is already self-conscious about their body, that’s a lethal combination.” Clinicians who resigned from GIDS for ethical reasons said one of their main concerns was that young people were being sent down a medical pathway without proper exploration of the possibility they may simply be gay. Jacob is no closer to understanding who he may be attracted to at 16 as he   was at 12. “My friends are all talking about having sex and girlfriends, and going to prom... but I’ve never had a crush. I’ve never felt sexual attraction to anyone. I feel so out of place.” In hindsight, Jacob finds it surprising how little his background — and the reasons why he didn’t want to be a girl — were discussed before being referred for treatment. “They didn’t even look at my history or trauma,” claimed Jacob. “They sent a child whose circumstances and feelings they didn’t understand [for hormone treatment].” Jacob is speaking out about his experience to warn other transgender youngsters to think twice before starting blockers. “I was sold a miracle cure. They promised happiness with little evidence behind it. Then four years in, you realise, oh my God, I’ve no idea about the long-term effects.“

“They asked a 12-year-old to make a decision an adult would struggle with.” “It  was like, ‘here are the drugs’ and off we went. It’s a ridiculous process. It’s not gone the way they told me it was going to go.”

Mermaids, the transgender lobby group, claims that puberty blockers are safe and “completely reversible” and that not giving them to youngsters who   request them can be more damaging than prescribing them.

Gendered Intelligence, another trans campaign group, claims on its website that hormone blockers give children “breathing space to ensure that they are  sure about the permanent effects of cross-sex hormones, without the adverse effects of an incorrect puberty.” Jacob is scathing about such claims. “Breathing space! It really isn’t. I’ve not had any space to breathe the last four years.“

“They sell it to you as a break from feeling like a girl, and that’s fine for the first few months but as soon as everyone else around you starts developing it becomes ‘spot the transgender kid’, which is so easy because you’re stuck as a child.“

“If anything, I’ve been more depressed than before. My thyroid is messed up. I’m hungry all the time. I have no idea how my breast tissue will develop.” He claimed: “They push and push you on to this one-way train you’re not allowed off.” Asked whether it was misleading to promote puberty blockers as a “pause   button”, a spokesman for Mermaids said: “Mermaids cannot comment on   clinical cases as we are not involved in any individuals’ medical pathways.” “We offer young people and their families information, support and access to others in similar circumstances.” Gendered Intelligence declined to respond. Jacob claims the main focus of his treatment at the Tavistock was on the   milestones of transition — “how far you’re willing to go” — rather than discussion of the consequences.

He claims: “My Tavistock worker was saying to me, ‘once you have the testosterone, you’ll be a boy’. “But it shouldn’t be about milestones. Being trans is how you think; it should not be about how far down the line you’re will to go.” A spokesman for Tavistock said: “All young people considering the puberty blocker or cross-sex hormones are repeatedly made aware of the known potential impacts of these medical interventions... as well as the areas of impact that remain to some extent unknown.“

“The information that we give patients about the blockers makes it clear that they may get tired and experience low mood. We explain to young people that hormones give us energy and drive, not just our sex drive but our overall ‘get up and go’. “We also emphasised to them routinely that while on the blocker they would stay early puberty whilst their peers developed. This is a routine part of the discussion.“

“In the end the decision to go on blockers is a balancing act weighing up these factors against the perceived distress of undergoing puberty in the ‘wrong’ gender and developing unwanted and potential hard to change secondary sexual characteristics.” Jacob decided to come off the drugs on turning 16. He began to feel the benefits almost overnight. “I grew taller, I lost weight, I felt livelier. It was like getting the poison out of my system,” he said. He will now wait until reaching 18 before making any big decisions.“I’m just fed up with all of it. I’ve felt like a guinea pig from day one. [Blockers] only made my life more complicated and it was pretty complicated already.” He  added: “I’ll be 18 in two years, but for the past four years I’ve been stuck as a child. Blockers took away the chance I had to grow up with other kids. Now I want to give my body a break.”

[seavoice]

Horse Trading

(link to ao3 on title, or continue reading after the read more)

“Octavian was an asshole,” Reyna said, a contemplative look on her face as she laid on the floor of Hazel’s Praetor Villa, “but sometimes I think, can you really blame him?”

“Yes,” Hazel said, from her position on the floor next to her, where she was trying to sketch Reyna, a task made inordinately difficult by the older girl’s constant moving around. “I really can.”

Reyna sighed. It was a long and contemplative sigh. It wasn’t unusual to see Reyna with a brooding, thinking look on her face, but the relaxed and content expression added a new dimension to it. It was something structural; it somehow made her look younger yet more self-assured at the same time. “Octavian,” Reyna repeated, “was an asshole. But this Villa, Hazel. This Villa. I can see why Octavian was so desperate for praetorship. This house almost makes up for the stress of leading a child army.”

“It does not,” Hazel said. “It really does not, Reyna. Distance has just made your heart grow fonder. And delusional.” She sighed as Reyna shifted her position yet again. Reyna winced as a wordless apology. “Also,” Hazel said, reaching for her eraser, “Octavian didn’t want the praetorship for the house. He wanted it because he was a power hungry and blood thirsty politician.”

“At least you agree the bed is worth it?”

The bed was very nice, Hazel had to admit. Californian King, which seemed excessive, but was appreciated, and the fluffiest pillows Hazel had ever laid her head on. “Maybe. But I’m not agreeing with you when you literally opted for laying on the floor instead of the bed.”

“Fair enough,” Reyna said. She stretched on the floor, some complicated starburst. Hazel decided to give up her endeavour at drawing Reyna and flipped to the previous page in her sketchbook where she had been working on a drawing of Arion. It was half completed, and it was an attempt at drawing purely from memory, but Hazel enjoyed the challenge. “But it’s good for your back, believe me.”

“You’re an immortal Huntress now. Does that really matter?”

“Also fair enough,” Reyna agreed. Reyna rolled over to prop herself up on her elbows and peeked at Hazel’s sketchbook. She raised a single eyebrow. “Oh, that’s certainly more...horse-y than I usually look.”

“I gave up. You move too much.”

Reyna inclined her head in acceptance. Still on her belly, she folded her arms and laid her head down on them.

It was weird to see Reyna so carefree. Weird in an undoubtedly good way, but weird nonetheless. Immortality had, perhaps ironically, taken years off her shoulders.

Hazel hadn’t invited Reyna to New Rome to draw her, but inevitably, that was what the visit had come to. She had written to her asking for advice — advice on running an entire city, advice on leading a quote unquote “child army” in times of peace, advice on not going crazy with stress — and Reyna had accepted so readily that a ventus spirit had brought her letter the very day Hazel had sent hers. Hazel had prepared for the visit with a single minded focus; she had brought a notebook for note taking, three different colours of pens, a highlighter, and her firmest handshake.

But then they had skipped the firm handshake and instead had hugged, tight, and Reyna had snagged a bowl of jelly beans from the Praetor office, and for the next few hours they had done nothing but lay on the floor of Hazel’s newly acquired Praetor Villa, swapping stories after stories, lazing around and sketching. Reyna had told her about the Hunt’s newest undertaking, some mythological boar or the other, and also about Thalia’s new obsession with 80’s rock. Hazel had told her about Lavinia’s latest shenanigans, and Gwen’s new job as a much valued mental health counsellor for the Legion. No notetaking had taken place. No praetor advice had been shared.

“It’s very good,” Reyna said, gesturing to Hazel’s drawing of Arion. “The likeness is stunning.”

Hazel beamed. “Really?”

“Of course!” Reyna scrambled to sit up. “It’s uncanny. This is really, really good, Hazel. It’s like…” Reyna made a hand gesture like she was pulling something; Hazel recognised it as an unconscious tick that Reyna had, one usually employed in Town Hall meetings when she was struggling to find the correct words to use for convincing reluctant denizens. “It’s like make a career out of it good,” she finished.

It was a warming compliment. Hazel’s smile grew wider; this was a pride unlike any other, something simple and easy and painless. Hazel had convinced herself to take pride in the smaller things more often. It made a dreary life just a little bit happier and easier when she could take pride in mastering her mist magic, in baking a sweet cupcake to perfection, in a good sparring session, in making a friend smile. But this pride in her artwork was somehow—brighter. It was something she’d dedicated long hours to.

“Horse artist?” Hazel said. “You think there’s a market out there for that?”

“Are you kidding me? Pet artist! Lucrative as they come.” Reyna laughed, an easy, lovely sound, and this too was unusual, this too was good, this too warmed Hazel. “People go crazy when they get pets. Put them in all cute little kinds of outfits and hire professional photographers, artists...I’m serious, Hazel. Business idea.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Hazel said, with a laugh of her own. Then she sighed and set down her pencil. “I appreciate the business advice, though honestly, what I need more is Praetor advice. I feel I’m going insane.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Reyna said. “You don’t need my advice, Hazel. You’re a force of nature.”

This was a sweet sentiment, and Reyna probably meant it, but it didn’t help Hazel’s case. “Thanks,” she said. “Like—genuinely. But I do feel...I do feel like I’m going insane. It’s—it’s a lot.”

Reyna’s eyebrows furrowed. She looked older at once, older in all senses of the word. Like the Reyna of before the Hunt, and the break from her duties—Reyna in charge, Praetor Reyna, sixteen year old Reyna with the world on her shoulders. She sat up straighter. “Is someone giving you trouble?” Reyna asked. “I was joking about Octavian earlier, but gods, if someone’s coming up to take his spot as Asshole of the Year—“

“No,” Hazel said quickly. “It’s nothing like that. That’s nothing. I could deal with someone like that no problem. It’s just—like you said...child army.”

Reyna exhaled softly and closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

Hazel hated bringing the mood down, hated evaporating Reyna’s good cheer, but she set that uncomfortableness aside for the time being. She pulled up her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. And there was solidarity in this too, acknowledgment. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Everything’s—okay, now, for the time being. Doesn’t mean it’s going to stay that way forever.”

“That’s not really ever in your control,” Reyna said with a rueful smile. “But I do...I do get what you mean. I understand.”

“I thought you would,” Hazel said. “That’s why I wrote to you.” She’d thought of going to Frank with these thoughts too, and she was sure he’d give good advice, and be kind about it, but a part of her—a stubborn part, maybe, a conscious part, sure, but a valid part, nonetheless—hadn’t wanted to show a weakness to her co-Praetor, even one as familiar as Frank.

“I don’t know if I can give you any great advice,” Reyna said at last. “I don’t know if I can tell you anything you don’t already know, and you are doing a great job.”

Hazel tried to keep the sadness out of her smile. “Hm.”

“What I needed?” Reyna said. “What I needed when I was a praetor was...gods, just a ear. Just someone to bear it with me. Someone to understand. Jas—he was gone, and it was just me. For the longest time. But then with Frank, it wasn’t as hard again, because we could...we could switch off. We could share. That’s the only thing I can really tell you, Hazel. Only advice I can give you. Share. Share it with me, always. With Frank. Lavinia. Nico. Your friends. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re alone. You don’t have to be.”

“I know,” Hazel said. She’d been alone for so long in Asphodel she had thought she could survive loneliness, if she had to. But she didn’t have to. And she didn’t want to. “And you sold yourself short Reyna—you do give great advice.”

“Sounds like I didn’t say anything you didn’t already know.”

“But I think I needed to hear that from you,” Hazel said. “From someone else. You said it yourself—I just needed to know someone else understood. Otherwise it gets...it gets lonely.”

Reyna’s smile was soft. “You’ve got good instincts, Hazel. You’ll be just fine.”

Gods, she hoped. “Thanks for coming out here on such short notice. You probably were busy with the hunt.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Reyna said, and there was that strange new lightness to her again, a relaxed happiness. “Haven’t you heard? I’ve got time now.”

Hazel picked her pencil back up. “You know, if you try sitting still, maybe I can still do a quick sketch. Before you leave.”

“Actually,” Reyna said, and was Hazel imagining things or did she actually look self-conscious? “I have a sketch request, if you’d accept.”

Hazel was intrigued. “Oh. Oh. Sure. Who?”

Reyna smiled a little sheepishly. “Don’t laugh okay? I miss him. Scipio.”

Pet artist...Hazel let out a small giggle. “Oh, so when you said people go crazy when they get pets, you meant—“

“I told you not to laugh!” But Reyna was laughing herself. It wasn’t sad, but it was sort of wistful. “I never dressed him up or whatever, but he’s been on my mind lately; I’ve been wondering when he’ll reform. Pegasi reform slow, apparently. I thought I’d never see him again in this life, but now that I’m a Hunter—holy Pluto, I can. And you drew Arion so well—“

“I think it’s sweet,” Hazel said. It was, exceedingly so. Hazel was trying to recall Skippy in her memories, and she felt a pang of sadness as she remembered him soaring above them during the War Games. It had been a long time since she had seen him, but she thought she remembered enough to manage a sketch for Reyna. “It might not be a perfect likeness—“

“I’ve got a photo.”

Now, Hazel absolutely couldn’t control herself. She smiled wide, a fond laugh bubbling in her chest. “Oh, Reyna—“

“Will it, or will it not make it easier to draw him?” Reyna asked, tips of her ears a faint pink.

“It’ll be perfect,” Hazel promised. “Where have you got it? In the Praetor office?”

Reyna reached into her pocket and brought out a worn out photograph. As much as it was hilarious, it was also heart-warmingly sweet, a touch melancholy. Hazel sympathised with her—she couldn’t imagine losing Arion. She probably would start carrying a picture of him everywhere too; it wasn’t a bad idea.

“Sure,” Hazel said, studying the picture. “I can do a drawing for you no problem. You can carry it everywhere along with the picture. A horse drawing in exchange for solid advice. My first political quid pro quo as Praetor.”

“That’s a terrible deal, Hazel. I can literally commission you, if you want.”

“I’ll settle for a refill of my jelly beans,” Hazel said, gesturing at the now empty bowl of jelly beans. They’d made fast work of it. It hadn’t survived the first hour.

Reyna sighed and stretched out on the floor. “Oh, I forgot,” she said glumly. “One more piece of advice, Praetor to Praetor.”

Hazel looked up. “Yeah?”

“Stock up on those beans,” Reyna said mournfully. “And never let anyone break into your stash. You’ll need them.”

[isolavirtuosa]

Cass & Dean's Infinite Playlist 6-10

[fanfiction] Dean/Castiel

Canon Compliant Coda

The one where Dean makes a lot of mixtapes.

Parts 6-10/26 under the cut.  Previous parts here. Referenced songs playlist on Spotify.

- 6 -

“Hey, Cass, you wanna go for a drive-”

“Yes,” he said agreeably, appearing out of thin air.  Then his nose wrinkled.  “Motörhead?”

“What’s wrong with Motörhead?”

“Nothing, it’s just… loud,” Cass said, loosening his tie.

“You say that a lot,” I said, “but you know that we could just turn down the volume?”

“No, not loud like that,” he said, shaking his head.  “It is… difficult-to-have-a-conversation loud.”

“I don’t really see the difference, but okay, what do you want to listen to?” I asked.

Cass seemed to freeze.  “…me…?”

“Yes, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, what do you want to listen to?” I asked, nodding my head towards the cassette collection.

“I can… choose?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.

“But I am… the passenger,” he said, baffled.

“So you want to listen to Iggy Pop?”

“No, I… I mean, the passenger is to shut his cakehole, is he not?”

“Generally, yes,” I agreed.  “But just this once.”

Cass seemed flustered.

I had just said it offhandedly.  It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

The way Cass was reverently flipping through the tapes seemed like A Big Deal.

“I get final veto power,” I mumbled, trying to regain some semblance of my authority.

Cass hummed his assent, then pulled out a tape.

I held my hand out to him and he placed it into my waiting hand.  I felt the warmth of his fingertips, then held up the tape for inspection.  “You really like Bowie, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said, ejecting Motörhead and putting in The Man Who Sold the World.

Cass rolled down his window, letting the wind blow against his face as he watched the passing scenery.

Our conversations always meandered, about Cass’s work, about what was going on in my little patch heaven, about the past.  I felt relaxed, listening to Cass’s low voice talk about organizing angel tree planters floating over heavy guitar and a cacophony of drums.

He paused when the title track came on, his mouth tilting into a little smile.  “I like this song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, it’s hard to put my finger on it, but… it makes me think of you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.

“Did I sell the world?”

“You might have.”

“Huh.”

“I like the Nirvana cover, too.”

“Really, Cass?  Grunge?” I scoffed.

“Kurt Cobain was an exceptional poet,” he informed me.

“Oh, man, are you trying to recommend music to me now?” I asked, amused.

“You know Dean, they did not stop making music after the 1980s.”

“Might as well have.”

Cass exhaled a little laugh, turning to look out the window again.  He started singing quietly to the chorus, “who knows?  Not me.  We never lost control.  You’re face to face with the man who sold the world.”

I liked listening to my tone-deaf angel sing, joining him in the final lines.

When the tape finished, I ejected it, then nodded my head to the cassettes again.  “What’s next?”

“I can choose again?” Cass asked, surprised.

“Pick something good.”

He grinned happily as he started going through all the tapes.

- 7 -

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, rocking out to Van Halen.

Cass held out the bag of donuts he’d brought for our drive and I took one, taking a bite and continuing to mouth the words.

“I like sprinkles,” he decided, staring very hard at the strawberry donut he was eating.  “They do not seem like they add anything of value, and yet without them, the donut is lesser.”

“Rainbow sprinkles for Cass, check,” I said, going back to singing.  “I can barely see the road from the heat comin' off of it.  Ah, I reach down between my legs.  Ease the seat back.”

“Apparently there are many people who think this song is called Animal,” Cass put in.

“But it is actually called…?”

“Panama,” he said, beaming at me.

“Look at our little Cassie, all grown up,” I said, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder.

“The younger angels all come to me to learn about the ancient music of the 1970s and 80s,” he said proudly.

“Ancient?” I repeated.

“Quite,” he agreed.

“Anciently awesome,” I muttered.

“Are songs about strippers… anciently awesome?” Cass asked, his tone implying that they might not be.

“Strippers are awesome,” I declared.

Cass snorted at that.  “Dean, your performative masculinity is unnecessary.”

“Performative… what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growled at him.

He shrugged, a bizarrely human gesture on him.  “If your idea of a good time is watching scantily clad women struggling to pay their bills while dealing with issues of paternal abandonment-”

“-which I do-”

“-then you should spend your time in heaven doing that instead of driving around in your Impala with me.”

“I can do both,” I protested.

“When have you…” Cass trailed off, squinting at me.  “Dean, I think you need feminism.”

“You sound like Sam,” I groaned.

“No, our tones are significantly different.”

I just rolled my eyes.

“I am going to make you a mixtape,” Cass decided.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Of only female artists.”

Something inside of me rebelled against the idea of it.  But another part of me thought about that catchy Taylor Swift song that I couldn’t quite get out of my head.  “I don’t need weepy chick music,” I said dismissively.

“Deaaaaan,” he sighed heavily, like my name was ten syllables long.

“Do you even know how to make a mixtape?”

“I am very good at figuring things out.”

We all knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t say anything more, and the next time Cass appeared in my car, he was proudly waving a cassette at me that read in very tiny lettering, ‘A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification'.

I shook my head at him.

He just grinned.

“You gonna put it in?” I asked.

“No,” he said, adding the tape to my collection.  “You should listen to it alone.”

“That sounds ominous,” I said with a snort.

“I just mean that your reaction will be more authentic.”

“Okay,” I said, squinting at him.  Like I was performative.

“Can we listen to Led Zeppelin today?” he asked.

“Um, we can always listen to Led Zeppelin,” I said.  “Whaddya wanna hear?”

“We could start at Led Zeppelin and proceed chronologically?” he suggested.

“I like the way you think,” I said, feeling around for the tape and then pushing it into the deck.

After Cass had left, I could feel his mixtape sitting there, staring at me.

I glared at it.

What had Cass said?  That I needed feminism?

This was going to be so annoying.

I pulled the tape out and pushed it into the deck.

The guitar that greeted my ears was familiar.

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waiting for a train.  When I was feeling nearly faded as my jeans.  Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained.”

I felt a little smile tugging at my lips.  I could respect some Janis Joplin, and the fact that Cass had chosen to open up his mixtape with Me and Bobby McGee actually had me a little impressed with his mixtape-making skills.

Then the song ended, and I could hear Cass’s faraway-sounding voice in the back of the recording.  “Did it record the song?”

I cracked up, listening to him struggle to figure out how to stop the recording before putting on the next song.  I had no idea what kind of equipment he’d decided to use for this, but the sound quality was a little scratchy, suggesting he might have just been holding up a microphone to a tape player.

Then the twangy guitar of Fleetwood Mac suddenly filled the speakers.

I listened to the tape from start to finish.  There were some random moments of Cass mumbling to himself, trying to figure out what he was doing.  There was also a very loud crash in the middle of Patti Smith, followed by some cursing that had me laughing so hard I had tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

And at the end of it all, I couldn’t help but wonder how the hell Cass had known enough to pick out each of those songs.  Sure, Metatron had braindumped him with a bunch of pop culture references, but there was a depth to his choices.  It was obvious he was mostly trying to choose songs he thought that I would like, with rockers like Suzi Quatro and Heart.  But then there was Joni Mitchell, which was just so Cass to me.

“I am on a lonely road and I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling.  Looking for something, what can it be?”

It was kind of beautiful, and I found myself rewinding it and listening again.

[Listen to Castiel's full C46 mixtape 'A Mixtape of Various Female Artists Made by Castiel for Dean as a Means of Edification' on Spotify.]

- 8 -

Me and Cass sat on the hood of the Impala, drinking beers while Black Sabbath blasted through the speakers.

Cass suddenly leaned back, staring up at the sky.  “The stars are beautiful here,” he observed.

“Yeah, no ambient light in heaven,” I said, laying back beside him.

“Shooting star,” Cass pointed out happily.

I was looking at him instead of the sky.  I looked back up, but it was already gone.  “Haven’t you seen a million of them?”

“And I hope to see a million more.”

“How can you be like that?” I asked, shaking my head.  I sat up again and took a pull from my beer.

“Like what?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said.  “Hopeful?”

“Is it hopeful to enjoy the beauty of my father’s creation?”

“I got no idea.”

“What’s on your mind, Dean?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You just seem like you want to talk about something,” he said, sitting up next to me.

“Not really,” I said with a shrug.

He stared at me for a long moment, then looked away with his own shrug.  “Don’t tell me, then.”

“Don’t be like that,” I complained, nudging him with my elbow.

“Then talk to me,” he said with a scowl.

“Hey, Cass,” I said.  “How you doin’?”

“Crappy,” he responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t be like that,” I repeated, nudging him harder.  That of course did nothing because he was an immovable lump of celestial intent.

“I am just being myself.”

“A grumpy-ass angel?”

“A grumpy-ass angel,” he agreed sarcastically.

“I like when you’re a happy, non-grumpy-ass angel,” I said, looking him in the eye.

“I am very happy, Dean,” he said, staring back unbothered.

“Why?” I asked before I could help it.

His expression took on a more thoughtful countenance.  “Well, to be happy is to be ‘characterized by well-being and contentment’,” he said, like he was reading from the dictionary.  “Heaven is still a work in progress, but it has been greatly transformed by Jack, and I am able to be a part of that.  I derive great satisfaction from my work.”

“And that’s enough?” I asked.

“No, it’s not enough,” he said, shaking his head.  “Work is just one part of life.”

I found myself chewing on my bottom lip.

“I have my friends and my family,” he continued, leaning in a little closer and trying to maintain eye contact.  “When my work is finished, I can visit with them, go for drives with my best friend.”

“And that’s… good enough?” I asked.

Cass gave me a scrutinizing look.  “Are we talking about me…?”

“Yes, we’re talking about you, who else would we be talking about?” I grumbled, feeling annoyed for some reason.

“Dean.”

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I looked away.

“I find great satisfaction in my personal life,” he finally said.  “And I am enjoying my new hobby immensely.”

“Hobby?”

“Earth music,” he explained, his expression softening into a smile.  “I want to listen to it all.”

“Yeah?” I said.  “That’s a lotta music, Cass.”

He nodded happily.

“So me makin’ you mixtapes… that makes you happy?” I asked, weighing the words out before I spoke.

“Yes, Dean, so very much,” he said sincerely.  “It’s like you’re giving me a piece of your soul with every song.”

“Um, I don’t think it’s quite that deep.”

“Music is truly powerful.”

“Not that powerful.”

“And yet…”

I let him have the last word, shaking my head and taking a drink.

“Dean, are you happy?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a shrug.  “Ya know, for a dead guy.”

Cass sighed very loudly.

I gave him my most charming grin.

“You are in heaven,” he said to me.  “You are supposed to be experiencing the ultimate form of contentment.”

“I am,” I said, knocking our shoulders together.  I realized he was starting to get upset, and I didn’t want that.  I liked Happy Cass, as unsettling and foreign as he was.  “I am experiencing many forms of contentment right now.”

He looked at me.

I let my hand drop to his knee, resting there.  “I’ve got my baby, I’ve got my beer, I’ve got my tunes, and I’ve got my angel.”

That got him to half-smile.

I squeezed his knee.  “I’m okay, Cass.”

“I wish that you were more than okay,” he told me.

“How much more okay do I need to be?” I asked, rolling my eyes and reclaiming my hand as I took a drink.

He just looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Can we listen to something else?” he asked abruptly.

“Too loud?”

“Yes.”

“Put in whatever you want,” I said, nodding my head back towards the car.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tape, smiling at me hopefully.

“What’s that?” I asked, holding out my hand.

He passed it to me.

“Joni Mitchell?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Blue is a masterpiece,” he informed me.

I looked at him.

“You said whatever I want.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, handing it back to him.

Cass looked pleased as he slid down off the hood and headed back into the car.

Ozzy Osbourne’s voice cut out, and suddenly the night was quiet.  It was only a moment, and then Joni Mitchell’s acoustic guitar kicked in.

“I really like this song,” he told me as he climbed back up on the hood.

“It’s alright,” I said.  “For chick music,” I couldn’t help but add.

“Dean, there is no such thing as chick music.”

“Uh, it’s music made by chicks.”

“So music made by men is dick music?”

I spit out my beer.

Cass shrugged, playing it off like he was just making an observation.  Like he didn’t know exactly what to say to make me laugh.  “I might like chick better than dick,” he decided.

I was dying.

Cass smiled a happy, pleased smile.

I slung my arm around his shoulder and drank my beer, contentedly listening to the haunting sound of Joni Mitchell’s voice.

- 9 -

“This album is a revelation,” Cass informed me.

“Really, Cass?” I asked incredulously.  “Beyoncé?”

“Queen Bey, yes,” he said with a sincere nod.

“Oh, is this a monarchy?” I asked.

Cass sighed loudly.  “Be quiet and listen.”

I was quiet, but I couldn’t guarantee that I was listening.  “What is the point of sampling?” I grumbled.  “Come up with your own music.”

“Sampling is like a storyteller passing down the oral history of one generation down to the next,” Cass explained, using that voice that sounded like he was talking to a child but usually meant he was talking to me.  “It is actually incredibly intricate and beautiful when done well.”

“I don’t know, Cass, I don’t think Andy Williams reggae is for me.”

“Listen to the words,” he growled at me.

I tried.  “I’m just not into jilted lover chick music.”

Cass straight up scowled at me.

I groaned.  This was going to be a long ride.

Then something caught my ear.

“…is that Zepp?!”

Cass gave me a haughty look.  “Funny how excited you get at hearing a lowly ‘sample’.”

“Zepp rules,” I said with a shrug.

“You should try being more open-minded, Dean.”

“I’m very open-minded,” I said incredulously.

“Because you like that one Taylor Swift song?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Cass ignored me and started singing along.

I decided to ignore him, too.

We got through a few more tracks that had me really thinking this wasn’t an album for a middle-aged white guy, but then out of nowhere there was a country song blasting through the speakers and Cass had gone quiet, touching my arm.  “Listen,” was all he said.

“Came into this world daddy's little girl.”

“So relatable,” I mumbled, and Cass pinched me.  “Ow!”

“And daddy made a soldier out of me.”

That gave me pause.

“Daddy made me dance and daddy held my hand.”

Losing me again…

“And daddy liked his whisky with his tea and we rode motorcycles.  Blackjack, classic vinyl.  Tough girl is what I had to be.”

I swallowed.

“He said take care of your mother, watch out for your sister.”

‘Watch out for Sammy,’ Dad’s voice echoed in my ears.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

‘All right, if somethin' tries to bust in?’ Dad asked.

‘Shoot first, ask questions later,’ I found myself answering.

Cass didn’t say anything for the rest of the song.

I hit the ‘stop’ button.

His head tilted as he gazed at me, waiting.

“The fuck was that?” I finally ground out.

He blinked at me.

“I didn’t like it,” I said abruptly.

A frown tugged at Cass’s mouth.  “I’m sorry, Dean.  I did not mean to upset you.”

“Who’s upset?” I growled, speeding up.

“You are,” he said, like he was pointing out the obvious.

“Whatever.”

I almost jumped out of my skin when Cass put his hand on my arm again.

“Sorry,” he said softly.  “I didn’t know that things between you and John were still so… unresolved.”

“Dad and I are fine,” I lied, and no one believed me.

Cass left his hand on my arm, and after a while he reclaimed his Beyoncé tape and put in some Metallica.

- 10 -

Cass left the damn tape mixed in with my collection.

I kept rewinding it, listening again and again.

“Oh, my daddy said shoot.  Oh, my daddy said shoot.”

Cass caught me, appearing in my passenger seat out of nowhere without the customary invitation.

I hit ‘eject’, and neither of us said anything about it.  “What do you want to listen to?” I asked.

“Driver picks the music,” Cass said.

I shrugged.  “Fish out some Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

He did so, pushing in their debut album.

I started singing along to I Ain’t the One.

This was what we did.  Except, usually I called Cass.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

“Hm?” he said, looking away from the window to face me.  “Oh, I just wanted to see you.  I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” I said.  “You don’t need an invitation.”

“You have said that before, so I thought… I thought I might take you up on it.”

“Good.”

Cass leaned back more comfortably in his seat, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows.  He’d been taking off the trench coat and the suit jacket more and more often lately.  “Sam said the same thing, but I didn’t know that kitchens were a place for sexual intercourse.”

I slow blinked.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“Sam told me to stop by any time,” he said.  “Then he told me to knock first.”

“Wait, wait, so Sammy was hitting it on the kitchen table?”

“He wasn’t hitting anything,” Cass said, squinting at me.

“Cass, come on, you mean to tell me that you still haven’t figured out the art of the sexual innuendo?”

“Sam and Eileen were… in a compromising situation on the kitchen counter,” he explained.

“Nice,” I said agreeably.  “Good for Sammy.”

“Sam was not quite as enthusiastic about the situation,” Cass said, shaking his head.  “At least Eileen thought it was funny.”

I leaned back against my headrest, chuckling.  “Eileen is so cool, how did she ever end up with my dorky brother?”

“Opposites attract?” Cass suggested.

“Apparently,” I said.  “So you got a real eyeful?”

“I saw more of Sam than I ever wanted to, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

I cracked up.  “Gross, man.”

“Indeed.”

“Pick up any new techniques?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows at him.  “Knowing Sammy, probably not…”

“Sex techniques?” he asked, making a face at me.

“Yeah, man,” I said.  “Never know when some lovely lady- or uh… dude, uh… might, ya know, walk into your life.”

“I am not interested in having sex.”

“Dude, come on,” I said.  “You don’t ever get the urge…?”

“No.”

“Cass, you’re killing me here.”

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he said with a shrug.  “Your sexual activity decreased significantly after the whole Mark of Cain skulduggery.”

I was scandalized.  “I did not-” and then I thought about it.  “How would you know?” I blustered, deciding to take a different tack.

“It is very obvious when you’ve had sex, Dean,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.  “Elevation in mood, increased winking and eyebrow waggling, excessive cockiness…”

“How is that-”

“Also, the smell.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The pheromone smell,” Cass said, nodding his head.  “Very distinct.”

I sniffed the air around me self-consciously.

“There’s also the ritual,” he said, gazing ahead thoughtfully.  “Primping yourself-”

“Hey, now, I do not primp-”

“Fixing your hair, making sure your clothing lies just right…” he explained.  “Then it is off to the bar, a few drinks, a few well-placed aw-shucks country boy smiles-”

“I do not-”

“Find a willing partner and take her to where it is convenient to fornicate-”

“Dude, really?”

“All I am saying is that you stopped having a strong interest in such superficial acts, so I do not know why I should have to be interested in them.”

“I am still very interested in those superficial acts,” I grumbled.  “I just… there was always so much going on, ya know?  And I just… well, okay, maybe I didn’t just want to pick up some random girl at a bar and take her home.  I…” I trailed off, at a loss to explain.

“I understand,” Cass said.  “I wonder if I would be more interested if sex with the person I love was possible, but since it is not, it all seems rather frivolous.”

“You can’t just dismiss it like that when you’ve barely even tried,” I said, shaking my head.  “Look-” I started and froze, the synapses in my brain finally firing.  “Wait, I’m the person you love.”

“Yes,” Cass agreed.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

He waited.

“So… you would want to have sex if it was with… me?” I asked slowly.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, nodding.

“And I’m not… interested… so, you’re just gonna be celibate…?”

“Correct,” he agreed.

“Cass, man, I can’t be the reason for you not getting laid.”

“You’re not,” he said, giving me an amused look.

“You just said…”

“Dean, I have experimented with human sexuality, and I do not find it fulfilling without a ‘connection’,” he said, making air quotes.  “Maybe someday I will make a ‘connection’ with another being who returns my feelings, but for now I am content without sexual contact.”

“But-”

“Perhaps you should worry more about your own sex life than mine,” he said.

I glared at him.

He held his hands up.  “I just mean that if sex makes you happy, then why aren’t you having it?”

“Oh, you watch,” I muttered.

“Are you inviting me for some sort of voyeuristic experience?” he asked, looking perplexed.

“No!” I cried, but then I couldn’t help but laugh.

Cass was quiet, but he had a little smile on his face.

“Is this really enough for you?” I asked softly.

“What?” he asked, eyes flicking to mine as he studied my expression.  “You and I?”

I nodded.

His smile went soft.  “Of course it is, Dean.”

“Okay,” I said, because when he looked at me like that I had to believe him, as improbable as it seemed.  “Cass, I…”

“Yes?”

I struggled for the words and finally gave up.  “You can drop by whenever you like.  You don’t even have to knock.”

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, looking pleased.

“Yeah,” I said with a shrug.  And that was all there was to say.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: So...

Let’s talk for a second.

Remember I said I was procrastinating so hard that I was considering resurrecting old works?

Yeah… This is one of them… lol

It was going to be a Sansa/Willas/Oberyn, then it became a Sansa/Willas and now I’m not so sure.

I’ve stopped quite a while back on it with just two and a half chapters done, so I’ll just post it here and you guys tell me what you think.

Sounds fair?

***

Willas Tyrell quietly chuckled as his friend Oberyn Martell kept pretending he was an innocent human being. Oberyn’s “trust-me-I’m-a-saint” face never failed to amuse Willas.

The Tyrell was about to tell his friend to cut the shit -not with these words, because Willas would never be this crass -when they heard the library door opening.

“I should give up on having a sex life.”

“I should wash your mouth with soap for even suggesting it.”

Oberyn and Willas exchanged curious looks. The first voice was clearly Sansa Stark; her charming accent was unmistakable. The second was Margaery, obviously.

The two older men were hiding in the library, escaping the party. Olenna Tyrell gave the classiest parties in King’s Landing, but they were also crowded with hopeful socialites trying to grab a husband, and Oberyn and Willas were prime game. Therefore, this was a tactical retreat, before they inevitably had to go back to the party.

The young women hadn’t seen them because the men were behind a bookcase, sitting side by side on armchairs. As a matter of fact, they also couldn’t see the two ladies, but they could hear their conversation quite clearly.

“Well, it’s been… Disastrous, for a lack of a worse word.” Sansa continued.

“I’m pretty sure ‘catastrophic’ is worse than ‘disastrous’.” Margaery informed her, quite matter-of-factly.

Willas saw Oberyn opening a grin at that.

“Marge, I’m serious.”

“I refuse to believe that. It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was.”

Willas was wondering what he should do. This was obviously a very private conversation, and they had no right to be listening to it. Sansa was a reserved person and she’d probably feel embarrassed if she knew they could hear something so personal.

“I mean, sure, there was Joffrey…” Margaery was still talking.

“Do I need to say more?”

No, she didn’t. Willas hated the little piece of shit with a passion, and so did Oberyn. It was quite clear his friend was fighting to hold in his comment.

“Selfish little prick, treated me like crap all the time, including the two times we had sex. But at least the second time made me realize I needed to get rid of him fast.” Sansa’s tone was derisive in a way Willas had never heard before. Normally she was a really sweet girl who wouldn’t use a single bad word.

Though… If anyone deserved every single bad word ever invented it was Joffrey.

“Then there was Harry, who thought that his big…”

“Cock?” Margaery offered innocently.

Oberyn pressed his lips together, now really fighting to stay quiet.

Sansa sighed. “Yes. He thought that meant he’d already done his part and everything else was up to me.” They heard Margaery making a noise of disgust. “Besides that, he never took care of me before it…” Now she was sounding really embarrassed. “So it was always painful for me.”

“What a waste.” Margaery grumbled. “Harry doesn’t deserve to have a big cock.”

Sansa’s chuckle was completely humorless. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Did you have sex with Baelish?”

Willas and Oberyn shared identical looks of complete shock. Were they really talking about Petyr Baelish?

Sansa sighed again. “Thank the Seven no. I’m grateful I was never that stupid.”

“And you escaped Bolton.” It wasn’t a question.

Willas arched an eyebrow at Oberyn, asking if he knew of that one, but his friend just shrugged, also looking confused.

“Yes. He tried to grab me, but Robb punched him on the face.”

“Your brother is so hot.” Margaery fawned.

They giggled together and Willas couldn’t hold in a smile. He liked the fact that Sansa Stark was a true friend to his baby sister. It was just one of the many things he liked about her.

“So they all sucked.” Margaery concluded.

“Well…” Sansa dragged the word and Willas could almost see her biting her lower lip as she decided if she should say something or not. “There was Jon…”

“YOU FUCKED YOUR COUSIN?” Margaery said it so loud, that it wouldn’t be shocking if Olenna came in to hear the rest of the gossip.

“Almost.” Sansa let out a long-suffering groan. “We were drunk at a family party, he was feeling shitty, I was feeling shitty… We were talking, next thing we know we were snogging…”

“Then what?” Margaery demanded and Oberyn was almost falling forward on his seat, wanting to know as well.

“He…”

“What?”

“He… Gave me… He…”

Willas furrowed his brow, wondering at what she could possibly be trying to say.

“He ate you out?” Margaery offered.

“MARGE!” Sansa screeched.

“You can just say it.” Margaery teased.

“Yes, he did and it was amazing, but… When I was about to… Reciprocate… He called me ‘Ygritte’.”

“Ouch! Talk about killing the mood fast.”

“He was feeling bad, it was the red hair. At least he said it before we actually had sex, so, there’s that.” It was easy to realize that even Sansa knew this was a weak compensation.

“And you got great oral out of it.” Margaery tried to sound cheery about it.

“Yes, but it was also the first and only time ever.”

“Wait! Are you honestly telling me…”

No, this couldn’t possibly be true. Sansa might be younger than him, but Willas wasn’t blind; she was a goddess. How could it even be possible…?

“Do any of the previous mentioned boyfriends sounded giving to you?” Sansa asked dejectedly.

Margaery’s sound of disgust was answer enough.

“Anyway. This disastrous ending is why I’ve never told you about Jon.”

“Makes sense.” Margaery conceded.

“And that’s it.” And fuck, if this was the extent of Sansa’s sex life he was angry on her behalf. 

What was wrong with the boys out there that a woman like Sansa would feel so damned unloved? Willas was quite aware she’d been a bit of a brat when she was younger, but then again, so had Margaery. Sansa was smart, charming and absolutely gorgeous; she deserved much better than that.

He didn’t even have to look at Oberyn to know he was thinking exactly the same thing.

“Don’t say that.” Margaery’s voice was gentler now. “You’ve just had rotten luck so far.”

Sansa snorted. “That’s one way of calling it.”

He heard his sister humming something. “What you need is an experienced guy to give you a few orgasms and restore your confidence.”

Oberyn was nodding along with that particular suggestion, but Willas was more interested on Sansa’s answer.

“Sure, do you keep one of those in your pocket?” She snorted, opting for sarcasm.

“There’s always Oberyn.” His sister offered.

The man in question arched an eyebrow, now clearly delighted by the turn of events even as Sansa screeched in protest.

“I’m serious.” Margaery insisted, with her musical laughter. “He has the fame of being a sex god. It can’t possibly be a lie.”

Willas wasn’t one bit amused by this whole conversation, but Oberyn was clearly having the time of his life.

“How would you know?” Sansa challenged.

It would be a terrible moment to find out his sister had slept with his best friend. There were some things he’d rather never know.

“I met Ellaria. She’s not the type of woman to pretend to have an orgasm just to spare a man’s ego.” Margaery indicated reasonably. “And she was not complaining about him at all. In fact, the things she told me…” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

“He’s older than me.” Sansa indicated, but it didn’t seem like a protest at all.

“But he’s not old.”

“I’m not considering this.” Sansa said, but it sounded like she was talking more to herself.

“You’d have to be dead not to think about it.” Margaery insisted. “Come on! If sex was a person, it’d be him.”

That got a giggle out of Sansa. “So what? Should I just walk up to him and say…” She trailed off so Margaery could complete.

And his sister didn’t disappoint. “Cure me from my orgasm deprivation.” She proclaimed dramatically.

Oberyn shrugged, seemed sold on the idea. Willas gave him a warning look.

“You’re the worst.” Sansa said, but she was laughing.

“You love me.” Margaery sang aloud.

“But… maybe you’re right.” Sansa mused. “Not about Oberyn, I think he’d see me too much as an inexperienced little girl.” Willas was the one to almost snort this time. Sansa might be younger than them, but Oberyn would not see her like a little girl in a thousand years. “But maybe I do need to find a man just to…”

“Fuck?”

“I give up on you.” She declared. “Let’s get more champagne.”

They heard the click of heels, then the door opened.

“How about Willas?” Margaery suggested, as their voices started to get farther.

Now Oberyn was giving him one hell of an annoying look.

“Marge!” Sansa barked a laughter. “Are you seriously pimping your brother out to me?”

“Are you saying my brother isn’t…” But the rest of Marge’s question was cut by the heavy door closing after them.

“Don’t.” Willas spoke immediately, because he knew Oberyn well enough to know where this was going.

“I wasn’t about to say anything.” Oberyn told him, the huge devilish smile on his lips immediately denying his words.

“Oh please.” Willas gave him a flat look. “You’re dying to make some inappropriate comment on this whole situation.”

“I resent that.” Oberyn somehow replied with a straight face. “How do you know it’d be inappropriate?” He challenged.

“Because I know you.” He replied dryly. “Besides that, what we heard was an extremely private conversation. If there was any way we could’ve revealed ourselves without embarrassing Sansa, I’d have done it.”

Oberyn sighed. “You’re right, of course. She’s quite sweet and I don’t think she’d be happy if she knew we heard that.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“Don’t you feel like beating them all up, though?” Oberyn immediately added. “How is it possible that they all had her and managed to be so bad about the whole thing, she’s considering quitting on sex all together?”

“She’s young.” Willas said, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. “She just needs to find a better lover next time.”

“Don’t make it sound like she’s a child, Willas.” Oberyn rolled his eyes. “She’s… What? 23?”

“24.” Willas corrected.

“And these bad experiences will just make it harder for her to choose next time. She needs to know how good sex can be, so she can feel more confident about it.” Oberyn insisted.

“Oh really? So what are you saying exactly? And choose your words carefully.” Willas warned.

He realized soon enough his mistake; he’d been too vehement on his defense of Sansa’s honor, and now Oberyn was looking at him like he was a particularly interesting bug.

“Oh Willas, that’s so adorable of you.” He cooed.

“Shut up, Oberyn.” The other man grumbled.

“You’re sweet on the lady.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Willas protested. “She’s way too young.”

“Hardly that young. You wouldn’t be taking advantage, if that’s your concern.”

“After what I just heard? I think I would.”

Oberyn let out a long-suffering sigh. “Why are you always so eager to play the martyr?” He wanted to know. “If you like the woman, ask her out.”

“No.” Willas said firmly. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

Oberyn’s look made it quite clear he knew what was going on in Willas’s head, but he humored his friend by changing the subject.

Thank the Seven.

[fallen029]

I’ve been busy. 

Want the beginning of the next OpB part? :)

Operation Bosco: Revisited, III

Sometimes, it was difficult to remember his mother.

She’d come to him in flashes, other times, in strange remembrances of an age he’d mostly blocked out now. There was a certain scent in the air, during the summer, that permeated around the region in which he’d been born and when he caught whiffs of it, in his travels around Bosco now, it immediately sent him back to those nights.

That place.

Shae told him it was a good thing, that he didn’t remember it.

She couldn't exactly relate, personally, to his story, as she’d grown up in Joya, in a loving home with both a mother and a father, where she never even dreamed of the atrocities that were taking place down the river, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t empathize.

It didn’t take a genius to realize, having been born into the trade, there had to have been very little, if not none at all, of Xavier’s life that should be carried over. And Shae thought it was best for him to put it all behind him, if he could.

“You have a new life now,” she’d told him when the first had just met, joining up with Astra’s fledgling group, when things still seemed bright and possible. “Here. With everyone.”

And he was happy for it.

Honest, he was.

But as those two years came to pass and he’d watched so many people that he was excited to get to know walk away from the trade.

Everything was falling apart.

Astra took him to the side once, out on the tiny porch as she smoked and the sun set, him fiddling with his unloaded gun, cleaning it, and maybe in another life, they could be something else. Siblings. Out in the dead of nowhere. Watching their life pass them by.

But things weren’t different and he didn’t know Astra well, maybe, but he knew her enough, he always thought, and he wanted to do anything she asked. He’d always had. Not just because he thought she was attractive (because, oh, he did) or because he had nowhere else to go (that was also a rather big one), but because he just believed in her.

In them.

It was the first time that he’d ever truly felt like he was apart of something, not even a family, really, maybe, but something and to watch it die, slip through their fingers, without accomplishing anything at all…

He’d been hurt. So much. In his very short life. But to have a task, no matter how small, in dismantling the thing that had hurt him felt like a step towards healing that.

He couldn’t give it up without fighting for it.

“Richard’s thinking about heading back home. To his guild.” Astra had taken a long inhaled, he remembered, because there was such an extended pause, maybe left for him to fill in the gaps on his own, but when he didn’t speak, she took care of any guessing. “And I want you to go with him.”

“What? No, I have to stay here. And patrol and-”

“Patrol what? Everyone’s gone.”

“Astra-”

“I made a mistake, X.” It felt weird for her to admit such a thing, to him of all people, but maybe she wasn’t. Speaking to him, at least. She didn’t look at him, anyways. Just out into the sunset. “In coming here. I just always thought-”

“You just have to give it a little bit more time.” He frowned over at her. “We’re all already here. Me, you, Shae; we’re not going anywhere. And Richard will stay if you ask, I bet. Maybe things will be even better, just the five of us. Can’t we just hold out? A little longer?”

She didn’t answer him, that night. Only sighed and he went back to his gun and it would only be a few more weeks before Haven and Locke arrived.

He found he really liked them as well.

Richard was hard to get along with and too old, really, to entertain a lot of Xavier’s nonsense, but Locke was always a good sport about most anything. And Haven was always willing to throw down, in the yard, with him.

He loved the idea of freeing Bosco, of working to do so, but…

The past few months, he mostly just love the feeling he’d gotten. Even into the summer months, where the smell of the fresh grass and late evenings usually sent him swirling backwards, towards the uncomfortable memories of his past usually crippled him, but not this time.

This time he had training to focus on, people to talk to, Haven, Shae, and Locke to bother.

Liberation of the country felt so distant and almost unreal, but if attempting it meant perpetually living the life he was currently, Xavier was content.

“You’ll come back with us, one day,” Haven told him once, when they patrolled together, late at night, and he asked her what she would do, when she got back to her guild.

She’d claimed she’d probably be awarded S-Class immediately, as well as drown in all of the praises of her family and associates. Plus, marry Locke or whatever and all that dumb shit, she’d added though the former thought seemed far more intriguing to the woman.

X had smiled in agreement, nodding his heads in all the right places, before wondering allowed if he’d have a proper place, really, stuck between Bosco and Fiore, but Haven had only made a face as she insisted on her previous statement.

“I have a cousin your age,” she’d continued on. “Ajax. You guys could even be a team if you ever figure this magic thing out. You’ll be a hero too. Just...not as much as me”

And he’d shoved her and she shoved right back, with a bit of electricity behind it, and Xavier liked it there.

With all of them.

So much.

It’s why he missed them so much when they were all gone.

He’d begged and begged to be allowed to go to Joya, but Astra insisted he had to remain behind before she took off as well, back for Bosco to hook back up with Richard, where he also wasn’t allowed to go, and it just wasn’t fair.

It was never fair.

For all he was supposed to feel in charge, Xavier felt that most of the women from the Factory still defaulted to following the lead of the three that had been in charge of them there while the few that stuck around from Ewing’s manor kept to themselves as well. It made it difficult for him to exert any sort of control over anyone when they all seemed intent on ignoring him all together.

There was one person, though, who couldn’t find herself rid of him.

Nessa was a...complex case.

One that, in an ideal state would be handled by someone who wasn’t awkwardly juggling his own previous baggage. She shouldn’t have been shoved off on Xavier, but there wasn’t quite anyone else on the property that could deal with her either and it was just the worst case scenario being played out as everyone was too busy to accurately solve it.

He didn’t get to spend a lot of time around kids his own age growing up. There were other children on the property, but they were the ‘Master’s’ actual children, with his actual wife. Locke told him, once, when he was explaining it all to him late one night that they were his half siblings, if the Master was his father, as he surmised, and that sounded right to Xavier, maybe, but it had never felt that way.

It wasn’t until he was sold away, after the Master’s death and his oldest son took over, that Xavier was able to escape, tumbling out of a transport vehicle and lucking into stumbling upon a meeting in a nearby forest that Astra was holding.

Fate, she told him as she ran her hand over his arm and, just like that, the thing that had always marked him, kept him contained.

Enslaved.

There were no children in Astra’s group and, originally, he was meant to be brought back across the boarder, into Fiore preferably, and dropped at an orphanage. It was great there, she’d insisted to him. Learn a bit of magic and you could make your own way eventually.

But it was overwhelming.

The idea of it.

Being sold off from his home had been difficult enough, but to now suddenly be free…

He’d imprinted on her. That’s what owe of the guys who used to be around claimed, when they thought Xay was asleep one night. Astra was his savior, atop being a rather pretty young woman, and it was unlikely for the boy to be easily parted from the woman. And when he begged and cried and insisted, throughh tears, that he could contribute, if she just let him try, if she just let him stay, he’d be the most productive member of her group, he swore, Astra just…

Gave in.

To it.

At the time they weren’t doing anything too dangerous. Outside of, well, hoping to overthrow not only a regime, but also a way of life that was so ingrained in the culture, it would surely tank everything to rip it away.

Mostly, back then, they passed out fliers.

And X was allowed to go to Bosco often anyways. Astra kept him save back at base, where he was taught by some of the older guys how to fire a rifle and instructed to keep patrol around the property. He did this with pride, walking around the perimeter and watching, nightly it felt like at times, as instead of keeping people out, he tried to keep people in. People liked to dip, in the middle of the night, to never return, rather than face the rather persuasive Astra and Xavier tried his hardest to keep them there, to keep every single person who slipped out there, but there was just nothing he could do.

Things felt different, when Haven and Locke came. Yes, there was no one left, really, and yes, things felt like they were falling apart, but Astra agreed to try, to really try again, and he knew that they’d change things. The two of them. He hadn’t been raised in Fiore, but even he’d heard of the power of Fairy Tail.

And, well, he liked Haven and Locke for other reasons too.

Even though he was mad at them before they left, when he was given the directive of looking over things while they were out atop keeping up with Nessa, he intended to do so to the best of his ability.

“I told you,” he bragged to Nessa that first day everyone had cleared out and it was just him, only him, that was supposed to run things for a few days. “I’m a top dog around here.”

In her time definitely not being held captive, nope, not at all, Nessa had found use of her time in the same way she’d spent all her other days, back on the manor, cooking and cleaning where need be. She kept busy this way, not unlike how Xavier was placated with a gun and a job, when he first arrived.

They lacked something, growing up the way they had, and the idea of fun and games was beyond children or teens in their positions.

At that moment, as he was lording this over her, Nessa was actually in the main house for once, sorting through some stacks of maps and things that had been left strewn about the living room. Astra had told Xavier one of his jobs was to pick up in her absence, but that sounded like a lot of work and he figured he could kill two birds with one stone by shuffling Nessa into the house to do this portion of his work for him.

“It’s quite dusty,” she’d told him softly and, well, yeah, maybe, but it was home.

Now though, she was folding and placing maps and papers while he bragged himself up and it felt like a good day.

A great one even.

“The top dog, huh?”

This didn’t come from Nessa. Even she looked up, surprised at the voice. Neither she nor Xay had noted the nearly silent opening and closing of the back screen door and both teen’s jumped some, to find Wanda standing there, her eyes accusatory and sent towards the boy. But, as his surprise wore off, Xavier only laughed some with a nod, not feeling the least bit of unease Wanda had tried to force upon him many times.

This was his home, here. He was safe.

He was the top dog.

Of course.

“Wanda,” Nessa spoke her name with a bit of a bow of her head, looking back at her maps before her as she said, “We’re cleaning up. It was Mistress Astraea’s orders-”

“She is not,” Wanda reminded the girl softly, “a mistress.”

“Nope,” Xavier agreed with a slight laugh. “She’s just Astra.” But, then he paused, thinking, and remarked, “Well, I guess she couldda been one. A mistress. But she’d probably like to be called Master a lot better. Haven told him that Mistress sounds weaker, so-”

“What do you mean?” Wanda had gone over to where Nessa sat, before the coffee table, to glance over the papers she was straightening up. “About Astraea?”

“She’s, like, apart of a top family or something.” He even shrugged, not too concerned. “She couldda been a Mistress. I guess. Who cares about her though? I’m the one in charge now.”

“For,” Nessa whispered a soft correction, “now.”

He stopped short, Xay did, to smile over at the other teen as she blushed a bit, at her own words, unable to help as a laugh escaped his lips. He’d never rightly heard her do it before, rib him, even in the lightest of ways, and it felt like something close to a breakthrough.

Maybe.

Her mother frowned though, glancing between them before remarking, “Don’t you have something else you should be doing then? Boy? If you wanna be the one in charge around here-”

“I am the one in charge around here.”

“For,” Nessa whispered softly again, “now.”

“Well, the people outside who are meant to be partaking in training seem rather lost without you,” Wanda informed him. “Not to mention, I think there was some confusion on the schedule for lunch-”

“Crap.” Xavier took off then, running even, as he refused to allow his first post as leader to be undermined. He couldn’t risk one of the other men or women to fill in, perhaps even have Astra take notice of them, and then the top hierarchy he was on be put even further out of reach. Still, to Nessa, he managed to call over his shoulder, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Which left the girl with the mother she knew about as well as the boy, honestly. Blushing now for another reason, she busied herself with cleaning while the older woman merely looked after the teenage boy.

It would be a strange few days back on the property.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

SIXTY ONE - YET ANOTHER FIGHT

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 2,000ish

Summary: Bailey and Tony’s fights reach a whole other level.

 I left my lab soon after that and headed to the main floor. I went into the kitchen and found some paper plates, napkins, and cups. I set them on the island and then grabbed myself a can of Dr. Pepper and Tony a bottle of his favorite whiskey. 

“Bailey,” SARAH started, “Mr. Stark has entered the elevator and is on his way up.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said to myself. “Maybe I should’ve given myself another day to think things through. I don’t think I’m ready to talk it out with him yet…” I heard the elevator open and looked over at it. Tony came strolling out with two large pizza boxes.

“I brought food!” He announced.

“Yay!” I cheered. He walked over and set the boxes on the table. “Two large pizzas? Do you think that’s enough?”

“I got our favorites.”

“And those are…?”

“Mine is pepperoni and yours is…” He dramatically flipped open the top box. “Yours is bbq chicken with pineapple added, on thin crust!”

“Wow, I’m surprised that you actually remembered!” I laughed. I winced when I realized that I had said that way meaner then I meant it.

“You think I wouldn’t?” I could feel his hurt and anger building. It was coming off him in waves. Something wasn’t right here, and it wasn’t just about what I had said.

“Tony,” I quickly started, hoping to calm the situation before it blew up in our faces. “I didn’t mean—“

“You’re my daughter! You—“ He hit the counter and looked down at it. I stepped back at his outburst and tried to stop myself from feeling his emotions. “I have known you for five years now. You are my world… Why? Why do you think that I wouldn’t know your favorite pizza?”

“Tony, I’m sorry.” I was still trying to calm the situation by projecting the emotion to him, but the anger flowing through him was causing mine to get worse and also causing me to get scared. I had never felt emotions so strong from him, especially anger. I knew that it wasn’t all me, but what I had said was the last straw. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how did you mean it, Bailey? Hmm?” He snapped. “I know that you believe that I am the worst father in the world and that I have caused you so much pain! So why don’t you just be honest with me and yourself for once?!”

“You are not the worst father in the world! The worst father sold me to HYDRA! Yes! I’m extremely angry at you right now, but that doesn’t mean that you’re the worst! Ugh!” I shook my head and looked away. “I was hoping that we could peacefully settle things tonight, but it looks like I hoped a little too much.” I rubbed my temple with one hand as a headache was forming. “Stop, I can’t do this right now.” I whispered to myself, Tony still heard it.

“Stop? Oh, we’ve only just started sweetheart.”

I quickly looked at him, flinching at the nickname. That was it. “I wasn’t talking to you! Gosh! Not everything’s about you! Other people live in this world too! I’m so done with it! You signing the Accords affected every one.” I pointed accusingly at him. “You have not the slightest clue at what this past week as done to me!” I pointed at myself. “I am dying on the inside. Falling apart, but you don’t care. You kept going and going until my family was in pieces!” Tears were now waiting to escape my eyes. I didn’t let them though, I couldn’t give him the satisfaction. “My best friends, my family, my boyfriend—“ I quickly stopped when I realized what I had said. 

“Wait a minute. Did you just say boyfriend? Who? Which one of them—“ And then he stopped. He didn’t need to go on anymore. He knew. He knew who it was. The way that he had always protected me, stood up for me, cared for me, saved me. “Rogers.” He growled. “You and Rogers?!” I backed away nervously, as his anger rose. He never got like this with me, and it was beginning to terrify me. “I questioned you about him, and you lied. How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“We wanted to tell you but—“

“But? No buts! How long Bailey?!”

“Since right after I was rescued from HYDRA last year…” I timidly admitted.

He slammed his fist on the counter once again. “Eight months! You and Rogers hid your relationship from everyone for eight months?” He looked at me with an anger and a disappointment that I had never seen from him towards me before. He took a drink from his bottle of whiskey, keeping it firmly in his hand once his had taken a long swig.“I’m glad he’s gone then! I’m glad they’re all gone! You don’t need them! And they don’t need you!” 

“You don’t mean that.” I whispered, trying to keep the tears at bay still. But I was failing miserably. 

For some reason, my brain decided to betray me now as flashes of the Winter Soldier getting mad and beating me played through my mind. It was probably the emotions that were radiating off of Tony. They were similar to what the Winter Soldier had felt.

“I damn well mean it! Every word! And you don’t need to go to college either! You can learn everything you need to here, with me. Between online courses and giving you more responsibilities at Stark Industries, you’ll learn everything you need to know.”

“No! Please, you said—“

“No! I can’t trust you anymore! You lied to me. You’re staying home. For good! It’s final!”

“I’m sorry… I was worried about how you would react.” I kept slowly backing away from him. His anger had now turned into rage.

“How I would react?” He took another swig of his drink. “You haven’t even began to see my reaction, sweetheart.” He walked towards me. 

“I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t back away anymore. Oh how I wished that I could go through walls like Vision about now.

“Stop saying that! Cause I know it’s not true… You… You’re… You are such a disappointment. I am so disappointed in you.” He harshly pointed at me. “I now understand how my father felt.”

I let my tears fall. My emotions were so all over the place that I couldn’t tell if he meant it or not. “I’m sorry.” I slowly inched along the wall towards the elevator.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Somewhere else… We both need time to calm down…”

“Calm down? Calm down!” 

And then Tony did something that I never thought he would ever do to me. He threw the whiskey bottle at me. The glass broke and a few pieces embed themself in my right shoulder. I cried out in pain. Something about my cry caused Tony to break from the state of rage he was in and come to his senses. 

“Bailey… Bailey, honey, I am so sorry.” He took a careful step towards me, hands out to reach for me.

“Stop! Don’t come near me,” I cried.

“Bailey..” He took another step.

“Stop right there or I’ll have to stop you myself.”

He immediately stopped. “Bailey, I am so sorry. I didn’t—“

“Yes you did.” My left hand was ripping out the glass in my shoulder as I slowly walked towards the elevator. My eyes never left Tony though. “Don’t follow me. I’ll force you to if I have to. Please don’t make me.” The elevator opened as I stepped in front of it.

“Please, Bailey.”

“I’m done with your apologizes, they don’t mean anything.” I stepped back into the elevator. “You’re words have never meant anything. Nobody’s have.”

As the elevator doors shut, Tony began to rush towards the elevator. “Bailey, please! Come back!”

The elevator moved faster than normal. The AI’s knew that something was up. I leaned against the back of the elevator and continued to pull glass from my shoulder as it moved. I sobbed against the wall of the elevator until it came to a stop at my floor and I rushed out. The moment I rushed out, a metal panel slid over the elevator doors and the stairwell doors.

“I’ve phoned Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan, Miss,” FRIDAY stated. “They’re on their way and I’ll make sure that Mr. Stark can’t access your floor.”

I nodded my head and I hugged myself and collapsed onto the floor in the middle of my living room. I rocked myself as I sobbed. Both the men I had trusted most in my life had broken their promises and hurt me. And my family was too torn to do anything about it. I could feel Tony on the elevator trying to get in but, thankfully, FRIDAY had sound proofed my floor. His overwhelming guilt was radiating off him, and I was too emotional to block it out. Which wasn’t helping anything. The more I could feel his emotions mixed with my own, the harder it became for me to breath. My chest felt tight and I started gasping for air.

“Ms. Potts and Mr. Hogan are entering the building,” FRIDAY informed me. “I’ll put them on the line and let them know of your condition.”

A few long seconds later, Pepper’s voice sounded throughout my apartment. “Hang on, B. We’re almost there,” she tried to comfort me. “I need you to try to calm your breathing. FRIDAY told me that you’re struggling. I need you to try so that you’ll still be with us when I reach you.”

“Stay with us B,” Happy urged. I heard the elevator ding on the other side of the call. “Get out,” I heard Happy growl. I had never heard him so angry before, especially towards Tony.

“You’ve gotta know. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I would never mean to hurt her like that—“ Tony’s rushed rambles were cut off by Pepper.

“Yet you did,” Pepper’s tone was harsh and cold. “Now move so that I can see if she’s alright.”

“Miss Bailey is still on the line, Ms,” FRIDAY informed the three. “She has not calmed at all.”

“Bailey! You’ve got to believe me! I am so sorry!” Tony shouted.

“Cut the line FRIDAY,” Pepper instructed. FRIDAY quickly obeyed.

I don’t know how much longer I was curled up on the floor before Pepper and Happy finally got to me. They both ran over at the site, helping me sit up, Happy letting me lean on him. Pepper’s eyes raked over me, quickly noticing were the glass had cut me because of the blood but was grateful to see that my wounds had healed. She grabbed one of my hands and held it to her chest as her other one cupped my wet cheek.

“Breathe with me, hun. In… Out… In… Out…” She instructed. I mimicked her breathing while Happy put an arm around me, pulling me close to his side. “Very good.”

“I-I… didn’t mean… to make him… so mad at me…” I hiccuped. 

“Ssh… No matter what you said, it gave him no right to use violence against you.”

“He called me a liar… He-he said he couldn’t trust me anymore… He told me that no one needed me…” Pepper and Happy’s anger grew. “He said that he finally understood how his father felt…”

Pepper wrapped me up in her arms. “I need you.”

“I need you too, B,” Happy said, rubbing soothing circles on my back.

“He had the same rage as the Soldier…” I whispered. “He was going to hurt me…”

I sobbed in their arms as they tried their best to calm me down and Tony cried in the elevator. He knew that he had messed up bad this time. And he had no idea how he was going to fix it.

next >

[bcbdrums]

Learning Beautiful

No idea what inspired this.  But here it is, written on less than three hours of sleep.  Enjoy the random Drakgo.  Oh, this has some mentions of mature subjects.

FFn link --> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13662895/1/Learning-Beautiful

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

"My mother used to take me with her when she went shopping..." Drakken said absently as he trailed behind Shego through the department store, not really looking at the racks of clothing they passed.

He hadn't set foot in one of those places since...the last time his mother had taken him. When he needed clothes after leaving home, he either ordered online, or went to the nearest big box store that also sold clothing and bought in bulk. He hadn't needed to care much about his attire other than his lab coats for years, anyway.

"She took you as a little boy? Hmm... I guess I can see your mom not wanting to get a babysitter."

"Little boy... Seventeen year-old..." Drakken said with a grimace.

Shego whirled from the clothing rack she was looking at to stare at him.

"And then I had to sit outside the fitting room while she tried things on. And modeled them for me. And asked my opinion."

"Ouch," Shego said, returning to grabbing items. "Well...hope you don't mind some modeling today."

One corner of Drakken's mouth quirked up. "Watching you will be different."

"Oh, I meant you."

"M-me?" he choked out.

"Uh, hello, men's department?" Shego said, gesturing broadly around them. Drakken blinked at the very obviously male clothing on every rack and then looked back at Shego's single raised eyebrow. "Past experience traumatize you that much?"

"No," he retorted, stiffening slightly. "What...what am I modeling, exactly?"

Shego rolled her eyes. "We're going to a beach resort. You need vacation wear. And a new bathing suit," she added.

Shego held up a man's Speedo on a hanger. It was a unique shade of orange—not quiet neon, but very bright—and had a dark blue drawstring at the top which may or may not have just been for show.

She held four other Speedos on hangers in her other hand, one patterned in intense green and black flames that reminded him of Shego's glow, another with skulls and teal, green, and red tropical leaves, a third that was electric blue with black and silver lightning bolts all angled down in a V-shape, and one that was simply...a very pale blue. Eerily similar to his skin tone.

Drakken lifted his gaze from the tiny garments which Shego began swinging playfully on their hangers up to her face. She gave him a broad smirk before thrusting an arm outward and pointing across the store to the fitting room.

Drakken gulped nervously.

One week later...

Shego walked through the old henchmen's quarters of the lair, checking every room for a certain blue mad-scientist. It was the seventh time that week that she had lost track of the man. Each previous time she hadn't found him until hours later, always freshly showered she knew by evidence of his wet hair, and one time actually catching him in the shower.

Why had he been showering mid-day? "Because I feel like it, Shego!"

He hadn't appreciated the interruption. But why all the showers, and where was he disappearing to for hours on end?

He wasn't in the henchmen's quarters, she determined, closing the last door with an annoyed sigh. He wasn't up in their living quarters. He wasn't in either lab. He wasn't in the dungeon, or on the beach. He wasn't on the roof, on any of the balconies, or in the garage. The vehicles were all present and accounted for.

She hadn't missed him in the hallways either, as she'd been meticulous in her exploration in case he was deliberately trying to hide something from her.

She snapped her fingers as another place occurred to her. The gym. She headed down the hall as she shook her head at the impossibility... Drakken never went there. Except after that cupcake incident, when he'd had no choice...

When she reached the door she felt a mix of relief and satisfaction as she heard the heavy clatter of weights within. But her face twisted in confusion as she stepped through the door, wondering again why Drakken would be there and apparently...hiding it from her.

Drakken was clad in his hideous red sweatsuit and using the bench press machine. Shego watched in silence for a few moments as he whined and wheezed while he struggled to lift what was obviously too much weight, his legs wiggling and his back contorting the whole time. When he finally managed to almost fully extend his arms, he released the handles and let the weights and his arms fall. Then, he took a deep breath, and began the process all over again.

Shego rushed forward in concern.

"You're going to hurt yourself!"

Drakken shouted in surprise and let go the handles, the weights falling again with a crash.

"Shego!" he cried in a mixture of alarm, anger, and scolding.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to weight train?" Shego continued. "You have to hold still. If you're moving around like that, the muscle groups aren't isolated and none of it does any good. And you're supposed to bring the weights back down, not drop them."

Drakken had sat up on the bench and was staring at her almost fearfully as he tried to catch his breath. Shego noted this, but was busy removing weights from the bars.

"And this is way too heavy for you. You could tear a muscle trying to lift too much, or worse. What's wrong with you?"

When she'd set the weights down and brought her full focus to Drakken, his eyes were downcast and his chin was dipped toward his chest. He glanced at her, took a breath, and sighed.

Shego's brow furrowed in confusion. "...Do you want me to show you how?"

Drakken lifted his suddenly sad eyes briefly to hers, before nodding and grunting to the affirmative. His expression morphed to frustration as his jaw set and he stood up from the bench.

Shego's brow knit even tighter, but she shook her head and lay down on the bench.

As she demonstrated the proper form and gave Drakken instructions, she watched his face. He was unusually focused on her words, paying close attention and taking in everything as he did when he was finishing preparations for a new world domination scheme. After showing him a few repetitions on the machine, she sat up and his gaze darted away.

"Um... Can you show me how to use the other ones?" Drakken asked a bit timidly, giving a small gesture around the gym.

"Sure... Dr. D., is this where you've been disappearing to all week?"

He nodded.

His worried and ashamed expression was perplexing to Shego. And concerning. As was most any mood of Drakken's that wasn't unbridled exuberance.

"Doc...I could have showed you how to use all this stuff. Nobody just knows how. Everyone has to learn."

He took a deep breath and glanced at her. "I know." He let out the breath in a huge sigh and started toward the chest press machine. "What about this one?"

Shego felt a bit of pain in her forehead for how much her brow muscles were twisting in confusion. In the past, she would have ignored his bizarre behavior... Knowing that prying would cause her more grief than just ignoring it, and also knowing that he would shake off whatever it was and come back to himself sooner or later.

Annoyingly, she found she couldn't do that anymore.

"Dr. D., what's wrong?"

She watched his jaw set as he stood with his back to her at the new machine and crossed his arms. "Nothing."

She frowned and moved to stand in front of him, a difficult task with the machine in her way. He took a step back to give her some space.

"Nuh-uh, I know you better than that. Why are you down here trying to train for a decathlon?"

"Maybe I just want to get into shape!" he protested in annoyance, raising his chin in defiance and looking away.

"You're in good enough shape. Sure you don't work out and you could stand to lose a few pounds, but you do enough just through...normal activity to be pretty healthy."

Drakken's face had fallen the instant she said 'lose a few pounds,' and he was presently staring at the floor again. Was that it? Was he suddenly worried about his weight?

"...If it's that spare tire you're concerned about, don't be. It's gone flat," she quipped, trying to brighten the room that his anxiety was darkening.

Drakken grimaced. "You—!"

He cut his words off as he suddenly studied her. Shego shifted her weight and crossed her arms as she calmed her expression and tried to encourage him with her eyes. The silent standoff lasted for about five seconds before he sighed and gave in—something he wouldn't have done in the past.

"I'm just trying to look like what you like," he explained in a rush, his cheeks reddening as his eyes looked anywhere but at her.

Shego felt the familiar pain in her forehead as her brow wrinkled. "What?"

Drakken glanced at her as his shoulders and jaw tensed. "You're attracted to men with huge muscles. So I...want to look like what you like."

Shego frowned. "What makes you think that's what I'm attracted to?"

Drakken finally looked at her, his own face falling into a frown. "You've brought some of them to the lair before."

"...Oh."

"And you're always going to those resorts where the male staff uniforms are nothing but...but skimpy bathing suits, like that one you bought me."

"How would you know that?" Shego asked suspiciously.

Drakken glowered. "You leave the brochures lying all over the lair. Sometimes you leave them on my desk."

Shego coughed into her shoulder and then rolled her eyes self-consciously before muttering under her breath. "Maybe I was just trying to get you to come with me..."

"Hn?"

"Nothing. Dr. D...." She took a breath, and sighed. "Fine, you're right. I'm attracted to that tanned...heavily-built...oiled-up look."

His face fell. She closed the space between them, and setting her hands flat on his chest she ran them slowly up the thick material of his sweatsuit until they rested atop his shoulders.

"But I'm in love with you. All of you."

Drakken looked up, but his expression didn't change. Shego leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss which he returned, but when she leaned back again his eyes were still clouded.

"What?" she asked, worry finally cracking her shell and starting to creep into her heart.

His gaze darted away. "...We're going on vacation next week. To that resort in the Bahamas?"

"Yeah," Shego nodded, a small smile curling up the corners of her mouth. Finally they were going on a vacation together, after years of her hinting. And she'd been fantasizing and making plans for the better half of the last year.

"With all of those...men who work there, in their bathing suits," Drakken grumbled.

Slowly, it started coming together in Shego's mind. She frowned in irritation and blurted out the first thought that came to her.

"The women on staff don't wear much more than the men."

Drakken barely looked up at her, his glum expression unchanged. Shego rolled her eyes.

"So I don't have anything to worry about when those bikini babes are serving you shots?" she said pointedly.

"You're probably prettier than them!" Drakken argued.

Shego stepped back and crossed her arms. "Probably?"

"Ngh. I don't know, I haven't seen them! But I wouldn't look at them anyway!"

"Because somehow you're the only man on the planet whose head isn't turned by a pretty face?"

Drakken scowled. "No. Yes. I mean, nyhn, right! I'm not interested in any other women."

"And I'm not interested in any other men," she argued back.

"But you're beautiful! I don't... I don't look like those men that you're attracted to."

Shego let her arms fall and her tense posture relax as she considered, watching his almost defeated expression as he stared down at the floor. He was really, really worried. To the point that he could have seriously injured himself in a desperate attempt to bulk up fast.

"Dr. D. I've enjoyed going to beaches and resorts since before we met. And...I've liked looking at big men in Speedos for even longer."

He winced, and his eyes fell closed. Shego reached forward and set her hands on his chest again, wishing he wasn't wearing the heavy sweatshirt. He opened his eyes and looked at her sadly.

"But..." she continued with a smirk, "you're the only man in a Speedo I've jumped and had sex with in a department store changing room."

Drakken blushed fiercely, his hands moving to lightly hold onto her elbows.

"You mean...you...?"

"No," Shego said, rolling her eyes, "I've never jumped anyone but you."

Drakken's blue face gradually started to look brighter. His hands rubbed her elbows gently.

"And you're the only one I'll be looking at on our vacation," she continued, moving her hands up and folding her fingers together at the back of his neck. His hands floated to her waist where they rested gently.

His expression cleared a bit more as she grinned at him. And then, his brow rose in curiosity.

"Did you...buy a new bathing suit too? I can't remember."

Shego grinned. "You'll see it on the beach."

Drakken pursed his lips. "That's not fair."

"What, you want me to put it on?" she asked, leaning forward to hug him. Drakken embraced her back and then lightly pushed her away to see her face. His lips were pressed into a pout.

"I modeled five suits for you. I want a modeling show too."

"I only have the one new one. You've seen my other ones," Shego said.

Drakken considered a moment, and then grabbed her hand and started walking toward the door.

"Then we'll just have to go back to the mall so you can try on more."

Shego stared at his back for a few moments as she was tugged along, and then her heart began to pound in anticipation.

"But," Shego squeezed his hand to get his attention, happily accepting the idea, "we can't go to the same store."

Drakken looked thoughtful. "They probably haven't had time to clean up from the fire damage... And they wouldn't let us back in anyway."

Shego caught up to him and walked at his side. "New plan. You can see my bathing suit next week. But how about we go to Elizabeth's Mystery and I can model lingerie for you?"

Drakken's steps halted as his brow shot up and his eyes widened. He stared unblinking at the door inches away from him.

"What do you say? Dr. D.? Yo. Hey Dr. D., you in there?"