#it's two floors. there are plenty of books that it doesn't have. plenty of sections that are very small

[britneyshakespeare]

barnes and noble has been raising the prices of everything and further pushing for their premium membership option (which they raised the price of by 60 percent this year!) and then when they have big sales events, they're less than what they used to be.

last year at this time you could get one of their leather-bound book annex tomes for $12.50 (without a member discount) because of the 50 percent off all hardcover sales. but they raised the price of those tomes from 25 bucks to 30, and they decreased the sale from 50 percent off all hardcovers to 1/3rd off. so that same book that was $12.50 at last year's end-of-year sale is now 20 bucks. and that's supposed to be savings enough to induce me to walk into one of their stores this week?

i'm sorry but b&n has just gotten so greedy, even though their business has only been doing better and better in previous years. they do not have to be raising prices like they have been, and they can damn well afford to have the same savings events they used to. if you went to one of those hardcover sales a year or two ago, even if you lived in a less populated area like i do, you had never seen a b&n so busy in your life. things were flying off the shelves. they WERE making bank.

and as a company they've only been growing and growing (as much as the publishing industry has been, in recent years). but there are so many other ways to buy books. CHEAPER ways to buy books. MORE SUSTAINABLE ways to buy books. and since books and booksellers are doing really well right now, i don't see why barnes and noble is getting so greedy when they don't have to be. i dont like new shiny books that much. people buy books for the content, ultimately. sometimes we as consumers might make the choice that a new shiny book is worth paying a bit more for, but not that much. barnes and noble has just been demanding more and more of their customers' money for less and less benefit.

[mxchellesworld]

punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

[chaotic-noceur]

malaysia truly asia

paring: Nanami Kento x Malaysian!Reader

summary: the story of how Nanami had come to know about Malaysia and his first trip to the country he had longed to visit

warnings + contents: food/eating, beach, multilingual reader (malay is mentioned, the rest is implied), malaysia references (contextual notes are provided!)

a/n: I never thought knowing the Malaysian slogan would come in handy but here I am. Words cannot express how excited my Malaysian heart got when Nanami mentioned Malaysia so I'm hurling this into the tumblr void for anyone interested :)

contextual notes + malay transalation

terima kasih = thank you

ringgit = Malaysian currency

tokyo is an hour ahead of kuantan

sunrise is around 7am in Malaysia, anytime from 4-6am in Tokyo (according to google)

roti canai = 'Indian-influenced flatbread dish' (wikipedia)

roti tisu = similar to roti canai, except thinner and shaped like a cone

pasar malam = night market, usually on closed off sections of road

flag erasers are often collected by school kids who purchase them from the on campus bookshop

"You're not from here." He says it with such assertion that there was no room to deny it, not that you were going to. You quirk an eyebrow up at him instead from your place on your bed. He nods to the english book currently in your hands as if it's a way of answer. Your head tilts to one side and he sighs before continuing. "Your Japanese is good, but you speak it with hints of... uncertainty, like it's not your mother tongue." I would know, he doesn't say. Your gaze falls from his bashfully and he seems to realise the implication of his words. "I apologise, I hadn't meant it as an insult. I was merely hoping to ask about your childhood."

Your mouth forms an o before you reply with a curt "I grew up in Malaysia and then my family moved here." He seems to consider your answer for a moment before nodding and returning his attention to his book. The pair of you fall silent, residual noise from Gojo's graduation party filters in to fill the gap. Before long, you notice his gaze flitting around the room as he shifts in his seat, a sure sign that he was looking for an opportunity to speak more. You chuckling lightly before putting your book away. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." Your eyes narrow slightly to deduce if he's teasing. But his eyes hold nothing but genuine curiosity. It was rare for Nanami to ever display his true emotions but there was something about his eyes that was always readable to you. So you talk. You tell him about the road trips you used to take up the peninsula, showed him photos of your childhood, pointed out the few bits of home that were scattered around your room. He clings on to every word as you tell him about the near-constant summer, complained about the humidity, and reminisced about the food that you dearly missed.

Truthfully, you are surprised by his interest. Few people had even heard of the small, dual-part country, even fewer have shown any interest in learning more. Maybe this is the moment you fell in love with him. Or at least, it's the moment you accept your feelings for him as something beyond an passing crush but as something worth fighting for.

“I hope we can visit it some day,” he says when you finish.

We, not I, you think. Your heart flutters in your chest at the realisation. He is seemingly unaware at the implication. You reply with a simple “maybe”, refusing to give in to the false hope that he returns your feelings.

Some months later, you find him huddled in a quiet corner of the Jujustu High library engrossed in a book of Malaysian history, a small notepad open beside him. Where he acquired the book was beyond you. With nothing better to do with your rare moment of free time, you shrug your shoulders before heading towards him, making noises as you move so as to not startle him when you settle beside him.

You're flipping through your book in search of the bookmark when he speaks, "would you like me to read to you?" You turn to look at him so fast he's concerned you might have gotten whiplash. His cheeks are flushed slightly and he refuses to meet your eye. You blink at him for several moments and he clears his throat awkwardly. "I just - well, I was hoping to practice my English with you. It's um.." he rubs at the base of his neck, "it's been a while since I've spoken it."

"Oh," you begin for lack of words. For as long as you've known him, he has never once mentioned being multilingual. Then again, he rarely ever talked about himself. Preferring to let Yuu take the lead in conversations or to direct questions away from himself. "Sure, I'd love to help!"

"Te-li-ma kah-sir?"

"Te-ri-ma ka-sih," you correct as you swipe through the selection of in-flight movies. Nanami repeats after you and you nod before smiling at him.

"And what about 'where is the toilet?'"

Your tapping stops momentarily. "Formally, or informally?" He deadpans at you and you chuckle in response. "Di manakah tandas?" His pen glides along his pocket notebook before he repeats after you once more. "Love, you know you'll be fine with just English right?"

He drops his pen and takes a sip of beer from the clear plastic cup before responding. "I know, but it's a sign of respect to make an attempt to learn the official language." A soft smile graces your face before you resume your scrolling. You really are the luckiest human on the planet to be able to call him yours.

It's mid-afternoon when you finally leave Kuatan Airport. Travel fatigue begins to set in on the taxi ride to the beach resort Nanami had booked. You loop your arm with his before settling you head on his shoulder. Instead of telling you that you should've slept on the plane like he would've done if it was anyone else, he simply graces your forehead with a kiss before returning his gaze to the map on his phone.

Checking into the resort is a smooth process. Nanami makes quick work of talking to the receptionist before the pair of you make your way to your room, the resort porter guiding you. Nanami had been inclined to refuse but the porter rejected his offer. The pair of you make light conversation with the resort porter as you walk, Nanami using his arsenal of Malay when he can.

When you arrive at your room, Nanami takes your bags from the porter as you unlock the door. He settles the bags inside as you shake the porter's hand in thanks, passing along a 5 ringgit bill. They thank you with a bow before taking their leave. Nanami shoots you a look of surprise when he notices the action. "I wasn't aware that there was a tipping culture in Malaysia."

"There isn't, not to the extent that westerner do anyway. It's really just porters and housekeeping." You shrug.

He scowls at your slightly. "Regardless, you should have informed me," he grumbles. You chuckle at him before patting his chest lightly, avoiding his sunglasses that hang from the v of his button up.

"Well, you'll have plenty of opportunities to leave a tip for housekeeping." You're staying here for two week after all.

As Nanami does a quick sweep of the room, you set up the wifi for your respective devices before making your way to the snack cabinet. You whoop when you find a packet of your favourite childhood snack. Nanami pokes his head out from the bathroom at the sound, only to raise a curious eyebrow when he finds you crouch on the floor, holding the packet as if it was your child. "What?" you exclaim, "I haven't seen these in years!" His arms shoot up in surrender before he returns to his checks, his lips curling into a smile at your antics.

When Nanami returns to the bedroom, he finds you asleep on the sofa, phone slipping from your grip. He removes it before it falls as he rubs at his eyes as the travel fatigue begins to hit him too. The long flight and layover hadn't done either of you any favours but he supposes that what he gets for choosing a city with a small airport.

He changes you out of your travel clothes before moving you to the bed. Once he stashes your valuables into the safe, he freshens himself up before crawling in beside you. You smell of an airport and the mist the flight attendants had sprayed in the cabin but he doesn't care as he nuzzles his nose into your neck.

This is peace, he thinks. No missions, no curses and no Gojou Satoru. Just the two of you and a (mostly) endless supply of sunshine. He likes the thought of that.

When he wakes from his nap, you’re no longer by his side. He panics for a moment before he turns and finds you sitting out on the wooden deck, admiring the ocean view as the sun begins to set. Raking a hand through his hair, he climbs out of bed and makes his way to you. You smile at him as he sits down before laying your head against his shoulder, his arm looping around your waist.

“Sorry I threw us off schedule,” you say after a while.

You feel his head shake against yours before he says, “as long as you're by my side, there's nothing to apologise for. We’re on holiday. Let’s enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

“Afraid Gojou’s going to appear out of thin air?” you tease. He groans at the mention of his senior's name.

"Don't mention that name again. You'll jinx us." This time, you can't help laugh against him. You peck his cheek in consolidation and he think maybe, just maybe, for once in his life, Gojou will keep his meddling fingers out of things that are none of his concern.

The next two weeks go by in a blur of delicious food, sandy toes and a ridiculous amount of sweat. If there was one thing you didn't miss about Malaysia, it was the humidity. But it never stopped Nanami from intertwining his fingers with yours or ghosting a kiss onto your temple. The pair of you had quickly settled into fragments of a routine since you had first arrived.

Every morning, Kento watches the sunrise from the cushioned seat on the wooden deck. The first time it happened was unintentional. His body had become habituated to waking up early for work. That, combined with the 1 hour time difference and the fact that the sun rose significantly later in Malaysia, meant that he had woken up well before the sky had shown any indication of light. You were still fast asleep, unmoving even as he slowly untangled himself from you. So as to not disturb you, he made himself a cup of tea and read from his Kindle on the wooden deck until the sun had began poking out of the horizon.

Then it just became his own little ritual. On occasions where you wake with him, the pair of you take a walk along the beach. The ocean waves kiss your bare feet to the beat of a song you do not know as you talk about your plans for the day. You stumble across a sea turtle laying her eggs one morning and the pair of you settle onto the sand, far enough away as to not spook her, but close enough to marvel at the rare sight.

Nanami pulls out his phone after a while to record a quick video and sends it to Yuuji. Not long after, Gojou attempts to facetime him and Nanami turns off his phone without hesitation. You chuckle at their antics before you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. Nanami declines all of Gojou calls for you and he gives up after 7 rejections. In hindsight, Nanami really should have seen that coming but he blames the cloud of holiday bliss that fogs his mind.

The rest of your days are spent enjoying the ocean breeze (or more often, the ocean heat), exploring the local attractions, immersing yourselves in the culture and best of all, devouring authentic Malaysian food. Nanami had made a list of the most recommended dining locations ranging from high end restaurants to road side food stalls and you make it your shared mission to visit every single one before you leave.

At each shop, he informs you of the best rated dishes but trusts your instincts/cravings for the most part. You point out any items that he 'has to try, at least once' and he asks questions about the items that pique his interest. More often than not, the pair of you will order a variety of dishes and share them, not able to settle on just one. Being the bread lover that he is, he takes a liking to roti canai. Although he isn't particularly unadventurous with his choices, always settling for a plain roti canai and opting for experimenting with curries instead. So, you take the plunge for him, knowing he'll likely be intrigued by the pointy hat shaped crepe that sits before you — he later learns that it's a roti tisu, or the stuffed roti that arrives. (He thanks you later.)

On your last night there, the pair of you make your way to the biggest pasar malam in the city. Nanami had a list of local fruits that he was hoping to buy while you had a list of souvenir ideas for the kids and your coworkers. You walk hand in hand, following the flow of footfall as your eyes scan the stalls. Nanami doesn't particularly know what he's looking for as he passes the snack stalls but he's enjoying himself all the same as he watches you converse with the stall keepers in a foreign tongue. He slips out of his daze when he feels a cold packet being pressed against his hand. "What's this?" He slips his wrist through the plastic loop and grips the tied-off section of the bag.

"Sugar cane!" you chirp, radiating an excited aura that rivalled Yuuji. Must be the atmosphere, he thinks. He takes a sip through the straw as you receive your change. Sweetness floods his taste buds but don’t overwhelm them. He savours the refreshing coolness it brings, contrasting the humidity. You look to him expectedly as you tug him further down the street. “Good?” you ask over the noise from the crowd.

“Acceptable.” There's a look of content tugging on his features that contradicts his tone and a soft smile tugs at your lips before you're promptly distracted by another stall.

When you finally arrive at the fruit stalls, you’re armed with a packet of cheap flag erasers for the students and an assortment of sugary snacks for the school staff room. The crowd had dwindled as you moved further towards the back of the market, allowing you a clear view of most of the stalls before you.

Nanami tugs on your intertwined hands before leading you towards a stall with mountains of rambutans and mangosteens. He nods politely at the elderly couple manning the store and accepts the plastic basket they hand him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the smile that tugs at his lips when they greet him in English. Undoubted pleased to be able to use his skills.

“I assume I should pick the ones that are not blackened and soft?” he says to you when the couple finish explaining the pricing. You nod in response as you begin carefully placing fruits into the basket. Nanami mimics your actions beside you before his attention is grabbed by the fruits to your right. “Is that what I believe it to be?”

You follow his gaze as he speaks. When they fall on spiky green fruits and packets of yellow, your eyes light up in delight. “Mhmm,” you hum before turning back to face him. There’s a sparkle of wonder in his eyes that makes you laugh before you turn to speak to the woman, “how much for a packet of durian?”

You look wistfully at the whole durians as the lady bags your items. As much as you would love to see Nanami use his 7:3 technique on the fruit (you can almost sense your ancestors rolling over in their graves at the thought), you know you won't be able to finish it off by yourselves. Besides, there is no guarantee that Nanami wouldn't hate it.

Rather uneventfully, Nanami does not hate durian on instinct — "the smell is uninviting, but the fruit itself is decent," he says as he helps himself to another. So, with the remnants of fruit juice clinging to your lips and the lingering smell of durian on your breath (despite your best efforts to get rid of both), the pair of you now walk along the beach's shoreline. Your pinkies are looped as you rejoice in the complete and utter sense of peace. There are no curses to be worrying about, no impromptu visit from a certain colleague. And for the first time in a long long time, Nanami feels like he can let his guard down. He feels like he doesn’t need to keep looking over his shoulder all the time. He doesn't feel the weight of the country's safety settling in his chest.

“We should come back some time,” he says as the waves lap at your feet gently.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “not sick of fending off mosquitoes and melting in the heat yet?” There’s a teasing glint in your eyes and he chuckles along with you.

He smiles at you then — genuinely, without fear of showing his emotions, shakes his head and kisses your temple gently. “Maybe we can visit your family next time. You can show me where you grew up, your favourite places, where you had your first date...” You smack him across his chest for his teasing while he chuckles at the action.

“Maybe one day.” He interlocks your hands then and ghosts a kiss over your knuckles before looping it over your shoulder to pull you into his chest. One day... when you’re both rid of this curse-riddled life.

[stiltonbasket]

Beauty & the Beast AU Prompt: Jiang Cheng is the Beast and Nie Huaisang is Belle. Lan Wangji is somehow sent to rescue Nie Huaisang but he refuses to leave - no one is making him train! He can paint and decorate fans all day long! Plus, Jiang Cheng just showed him a library with a very interesting section... Lan Wangji is getting frustrated, and it doesn't help that an annoying candle called Wei Ying keeps following him around and will. not. leave. him. alone!

“I was very beautiful when I was human, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji glares at the smiling candlestick and aggressively reshelves another book. “Indecency is forbidden,” he repeats, wishing he had a tablet of Lan sect principles at hand so he could make Wei Ying copy them down as punishment. “Vanity is a stain upon the mortal soul, and wise men eschew it. Please remember that in the future--whatever you may know of the human world as it is now, we are not all Nie Huaisang.”

Inwardly, Lan Wangji laments the fact that Nie Huaisang had been kidnapped by this beast, of all the rampaging creatures in the countryside that could have run across him. The young Nie scion has as many delicacies as he wants to eat (courtesy of the beautiful porcelain teapot that usually accompanies Wei Ying, who said she was the lady of this empty household, once upon a time) and plenty of paints and brushes and fans, not to mention a whole section of yellow leaflets in the library--which this shameless candlestick, Wei Ying, claimed to have collected himself.

“This is because I gave A-Sang my longyang books, isn’t it?” Wei Ying mourns, while Lan Wangji makes a violent choking sound and piles more cooking manuals--the ones Jiang Yanli lent him, so he could show the kitchen implements how to make his favorite foods--over the shameful scrolls before debating setting them on fire. “You haven’t even looked at me since you found out they were mine.”

Lan Wangji feels his face burn. “Perhaps,” he hisses, “I would be more inclined to look at you if you could go more than two minutes without mentioning them!”

“How can I?” Wei Ying demands. “That’s the reason you haven’t been getting along with me! We have to talk this out!”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Lan Wangji snaps. “You are--frivolous, and shameless, and talking to you makes my forehead ribbon curl.”

And it distracts me from what I’m supposed to be doing, he thinks guiltily. I should have been home with Nie Huaisang two weeks ago.

“Oh?” the candlestick says slyly. “So you don’t even want to stay and see the new portrait I’ve been working on?”

Something aches in Lan Wangji’s chest at the thought of refusing him, even though Wei Ying’s teasing is a deeper source of suffering to him than Nie Huaisang’s refusal to stop wasting time with Jiang Wanyin (current beast, and ex-crown prince) and go back home to his brother. “You may show me your portrait if you promise to behave,” he says stiffly, trying not to blush as Wei Ying leaps up to the drawn curtains in glee. “And then I must go to help the washtubs with the laundry.”

“You don’t actually need to help them, you know,” Wei Ying points out. “Our bodies aren’t human anymore. We don’t get tired.”

“Nie Huaisang and I are two of the only three people in this place who wear clothes. It would only be polite to help them.”

“Ah, that’s right!” chirps Wei Ying. “Well, just look at this portrait, and then you can go.”

He jerks on the tasseled rope fastening the curtains and capers in sheer happiness as it falls back to reveal a portrait of a young man in white robes, seated on a bench with his shimmering gown spread out on the floor around him and holding a fluffy rabbit in his lap.

The youth in the painting has a smile on his lips, and Lan Wangji feels the breath catch in his throat as he recognizes his own face represented above him in ink and brushstrokes and paper.

“Good, isn’t it?” Wei Ying preens. “What do you think, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji never makes it to the laundry that day. But upon later reflection, perhaps the washtubs and irons will understand.

---

Two months later, when Nie Huaisang manages to bring the Jiang household and all its inhabitants back to their former glory, Lan Wangji discovers that Wei Ying is every bit as beautiful in his human form as he always used to claim he was.

“Now I can woo you properly,” his beloved gloats, as the two of them revel in the precious feeling of actually holding each other for the first time. “You won’t be able to resist, sweetheart! I’m never giving you back.”

“I have already been wooed,” Lan Wangji says honestly, smiling as Wei Ying throws his lovely face into his equally lovely hands and wails. “I fell in love with Wei Ying the candlestick, and I love Wei Ying as he is now. You need never do anything to keep me, for I am already yours.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” groans Wei Ying. “Have mercy on my heart! Lan Zhan!”

“I’d advise against kissing Lan-er-gongzi in the courtyard, Xianxian,” Jiang Yanli laughs, appearing in the doorway with her son Jin Ling--the ex-teacup, who liked to wake Lan Wangji up in the mornings by jumping on his back--in her arms. “Nie Mingjue’s here, and I think he might tear the manor down with the way he’s chasing poor A-Sang.”

---

(Nie Mingjue does not get the chance to tear down the manor, because his brother falls to his knees in front of him and begs to be permitted to marry Jiang Wanyin before he can really get started. But that is a story for another day.)

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Spoilers: Futility 4x22

Trigger warnings: references to sexual assault and murder, angry sex, biting, marking

Evocations: XIII

Going through the motions and the paperwork after finding Gardner dead in Erin Goss' living room seemed to take a long, long time. When Olivia finally let herself into the apartment, it was so late that Sky High didn't even budge from the sofa when the door clicked open and then softly shut.

But Alex was still up. Noises drifting out of the kitchen drew Liv in that direction, where she found the blonde amid a disastrous mess of baking supplies. Open cannisters, boxes and bags were everywhere; flour, drips of mixtures, dropped chocolate chips, and empty egg shells ran from one end of the island to the other.

Alexandra baked when she was angry.

That was fine by Olivia, as they both had plenty to be angry about. The Gardner case had been a thorn in their side right from the beginning, and now it had ended less than optimally - to say the least. A rapist was dead but dead wasn't exactly justice, and none of them really believed that Erin had been defending herself.

Luck had been on Alex and Olivia's sides in the two years they had been together, in that they hadn't gone to the mat over cases very often. It was often commented on by those who knew they were together, how unusual this was.

"He's dead," Liv said flatly.

"So I heard," Alexandra replied, hands on her hips as she blew a section of blonde hair off her forehead.

Five rapes, three indictments dismissed, now a murder, and the perpetrator was dead. They were going to the mat this time, and they both knew it. Had known it since Alex had blown up over Gardner's motion to call Bethany to the stand. Very little of it was about pride; it was about the futility of it, of all the energy expended trying to protect the women, only to have things fall apart. Both women felt impotent, everything they had tried having only resulted in further complications.

"She was sleeping with him," Liv added.

Alex snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well that was obvious."

The oven timer went off, and Alex slipped on oven mitts, yanking a tray of cookies out. Sighing, Olivia slumped into one of the bar chairs at the island.

"We never should have had Carrie waive her privacy," Alex tossed out.

"So the jury could have deadlocked over the ID? It still would have given him the chance to run and kill that woman."

"That woman would still be alive if we had done our jobs!" Alex slammed a spatula against the counter, every inch of her tall body wound tight with anger and inexpressible sadness.

"We did do our jobs!"

It wasn't that Olivia didn't understand; just two nights before she had been singing the same tune to Elliot, about the fine line between doing the right thing, and doing too many right things. There was just no soft place to land when they were both feeling like this.

"I can't do this anymore," Alexandra said tersely. Liv stilled in her seat, her heartrate leaping. "It's bad enough that I never know when you're going to come home with bruises from some predator attacking you. If I can't get justice for the victims, I'm failing on both fronts."

"Alex, I can take care of myself."

"Not always."

"Most of the time," Liv insisted. Alexandra made an irritated noise in her throat and flipped pages in her cookbook angrily. "If you want to drop SVU, nobody's stopping you," Olivia told her then, taking a page from Elliot's book.

Alex scoffed openly at that.

Liv rose from her chair and rounded the corner of the island counter. "Hey, it's true! Just because you're the best ADA that the unit has ever had, doesn't mean you can't move on. But I know exactly what I signed up for - and the bottom line is, a lot of the time this job is hell. That's not going to change."

The truth of the statement hung in the air between them.

"You don't get it, do you?!" Alex snapped, stepping up to the brunette, their sparking, angry gazes meeting. "I see what this job does to you - to us - and I can't lose you. I can't."

Alex's hand grabbed Liv's forearm, fingertips biting into the skin with the force of fear and guilt and anger. Worse, though, was that Olivia did understand; she knew exactly what the pressures of their jobs was doing to their relationship. It kept her awake some nights, wondering how long they could both sustain things.

Liv put her hand over Alex's and attempted to pry the fingers away, which resulted only in Alex's other hand, locking onto her bicep and pushing her hard against the counter.

"Alex," Liv warned, but it was obvious from the blonde's stormy gaze that it wasn't going to do any good.

Alex tightened her grip so that Olivia couldn't raise her arms, and leaned in, dragging frustrated kisses along the lines of the brunette's throat. The kisses included plenty of teeth, nipping and scraping the skin, leaving red marks in their wake.

Liv struggled under the weight of Alex's body pushing her, both women breathing angrily and fast. "For fuck sake, Alex!"

The blonde sank her hands into Liv's short dark hair and pulled, dragging a hiss from her throat before she clamped a hard kiss onto her mouth. Their fear, and impotence and exhaustion with the case poured into their angry touching, ramping up with every motion.

Olivia yanked at the apron that Alex was still wearing, her hands fighting to untie the strings as Alex tried to keep her pinned. Changing tactics, Liv used her weight against her, pushing forward and away from the island altogether. They stumbled across the space between the counter and the refrigerator, crashing into the appliance and sending magnets clacking to the floor.

Grunting with surprise, Alex steadied herself and fisted the bottom of Olivia's shirt into her hands, tugging it swiftly up over Liv's head and off, shoving her backward. The brunette crashed back against the island where Alex immediately pinned her with another kiss.

Olivia bit into the blonde's bottom lip, and Alex drew back, eyes wide. "Christ!" Blood welled where teeth had cut, and when the kiss began again, Liv sucked it clean.

The apron was finally untied and, Liv's hands slid down Alexandra's back, pulling her sweater up, wrestling to get it off. When it was gone, more biting followed, over the blonde's neck and shoulders until she was slapping Olivia's hands down. Pushing her in her hold, Alex got her turned around so that she was facing the counter.

One hand slid up Liv's back, curling to a stop at her neck, holding her in place while the other hand snaked around Liv's waist to open her pants. They had never really done this - fucked out of anger, out of fear - and it felt dangerous and electric. Alex's hand manoeuvred into Olivia's pants as she struggled, and when she was met with clamped thighs, she brought her knee up to wedge between her legs from behind.

"Fuck you!" Olivia panted.

Alexandra dropped her mouth to the warm skin of Liv's back and bit her there. "That's what I'm doing," she told her evenly. Spreading Olivia open with her long fingers, Alex stroked mercilessly over the swollen clit she found there.

"Fff-agghh!" Liv cried angrily, her forehead against the cool marble of the countertop.

The blonde released her grip long enough to jerk pants and underwear down together, then sank her fingers into Olivia's hair while the other hand stroked at the dripping wet heat of her entrance from behind. Both women growled unintelligibly when Alexandra filled Liv with her fingers.

She was not gentle, nor did Olivia want her to be, as Alex pulled her head back by the hair and fucked into her hard enough to stutter her feet forward on the floor. Liv stretched her arms across the island, fingers slipping on spilled flour and other sticky ingredients.

"You're going to come for me," Alex panted, then groaned at the responding clench of Liv's cunt around her fingers.

"Fuck . . . fuck!" It seemed to be the only working word left in Olivia's vocabulary.

Come she certainly did, screaming with anger, with relief, while trying to thrust into Alex's fingers yet somehow away from them all at once. Before Liv had barely caught her breath, she spun on the tall blonde and grabbed her with both hands, planted on either side of her ribcage.

Trailing remnants of flour and sugar in their wake, Liv shoved her hands beneath the bra Alexandra had on, squeezing her breasts gracelessly, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her hiss in pain. Then Alex's mouth was on Liv's again, her arms encircled her waist and she hoisted her onto the counter.

Olivia sank another bite into the blonde's throat, her hands working to get the bra off. When she succeeded, she raked her nails down Alex's back, getting a roar of lustful anger in response. For the first moment since they'd started, Alex stepped away from her, their eyes still locked like dogs growling through a fence.

She popped the button on her pants, unzipped and shoved her pants off her hips to the floor, kicking out of them. The scratches down her back were hot and stinging as she stepped back up to Olivia and brushed her lips close to her ear.

"Fuck me," she breathed, then bit down on Liv's earlobe.

"Make me," Liv rasped out, shivering as the bite was followed by Alexandra's hot tongue.

"My pleasure." The blonde grabbed one of Liv's wrists and pulled, dragging it low and forcing the fingers to uncurl.

As soon as her fingers made contact with the damp, wiry curls between the blonde's thighs, Olivia's resistance evaporated. Her fingers straightened so Alex could guide them where she wanted them, and where Alex wanted them was deep inside her. Then Liv took over, withdrawing and then sinking her fingers back in to the hilt, over and over again.

The last of their anger and fear burned down as the sound of Liv fucking Alex filled the kitchen, not stopping until the blonde was quaking and dripping and gasping for mercy.

.

.

"Another cookie?" Alex asked quietly.

"Mm, yes please," Liv nodded against Alex's chest.

Alexandra reached across to the plate of cookies that they'd rested on the toilet cover and took one, passing it off to the slippery, wet brunette that was atop her in the hot bath.

They had been there a long while, reheating the water each time it cooled, tending to their bites and scratches, washing off flour and sugar remnants. And, of course, eating cookies.

"Lex?" Olivia mumbled, serene but tired.

"Yes?"

"I promise you won't lose me, as long as I can help it."

Alexandra took a deep breath and combed her fingers through Liv's short, wet tresses. "I know, Babe. I know."

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 8

Welcome to the Hotel On-The-Floor, Yeah

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party identified the culprit behind the murders in Barley and Wheat, but... well, it's complicated. The culprit was apparently being coerced by a dragon, and they managed to talk him down rather than fight. If they want that to stick, though, they'll need some kind of plan to get rid of that dragon. And... is it really worth bailing this guy out, anyway?

Saelhen, Oyobi, and Vayen all start discussing their plans in Elvish, which it doesn't seem like Arnie understands. Oyobi advocates for just killing the guy, but is a little less keen on the idea once Vayen advocates for the same. Saelhen would rather give the guy a chance, and points out that there's not much point to killing him as long as the dragon is still around- they'll need an answer for that, and the answer to a dragon is probably just as good an answer to Arnie.

Looseleaf, oblivious to their Elvish chatter, describes the basic plan to Arnie.

Arnie: "So you're, what... you're gonna get the church involved somehow? What're you gonna tell 'em?" Looseleaf: "Well, probably also Deathseekers," Looseleaf thinks, out loud. "We'll tell them there's a dragon conducting sacrificial rituals at the site of an altar to the god of pain. We'll get the church involved by virtue of proving to them that there's a dragon fucking around with divine shit, and we'll get the deathseekers involved by convincing them that there's a dragon stacked to the gills with cool magic items, which we'll prove by bringing them one of said items." "The important thing is to get going as soon as possible, right? There's a time-limit here measured in, uh... human... corpses..." Arnie: "Wait, how are you gonna get one of its magic items?" Looseleaf: "How do you think, mister 'I work for the dragon so he gave me a bunch of magic items to serve his dread will'?" "We'll bring the deathseekers that magic cloak you said you had." Arnie: "Uh, that's..." "Mine, though."

Eventually, after a persuasion roll or two, Arnie agrees to loan them the cloak, as long as it comes back in one piece. He also tells them how to safely retrieve it from the laundry room- as long as they exchange some dirty laundry for the clean cloak, they'll be happy and won't attack. He's got plenty lying around downstairs, which he heads down to grab.

While he's downstairs, the party confers, and decides to all go together to the nearest city- Cauterdale- to ask the local Deathseekers for aid. They figure Arnie's not a flight risk, since he doesn't have anywhere to run and a draconic boss who'll hunt him down if he tries.

(As they prepare to leave, a natural 20 on a perception roll alerts Looseleaf that Vayen has ransacked Lumiere's personal library, stealing- specifically- Lumiere's books on gods and divine magic, for some reason. She doesn't make any objection to this, though- Vayen's a creep, but it's not like they weren't all on board with looting the dead guy's tower.)

With Arnie's bloodstained laundry in hand, Looseleaf heads upstairs and retrieves the cloak without incident. She tries it out, and...

The result of her crit failing her Wisdom saving throw on the magic item is... nothing, apparently. That's always good to hear! The cloak appears to work exactly as intended! She's wearing a very fancy outfit.

Further experimentation reveals a few limitations- first, the cloak's shape is illusory, so it can't become armor or anything with particular utility. Second, it can get overly literal if you ask it to copy an outfit outright- you have to use your imagination properly. Third, it seems to get tired the more you ask it to change, so there's some limit on how often you can update your wardrobe. Those appear to be the only drawbacks!

So, with Arnie temporarily kept from murdering people, the party gets back on the road.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: For caution's sake, Saelhen calligraphs a piece of paper to say WE HAVE NOT BEEN TORTURED TO DEATH, and sticks it on the door on the way out.

As they make their way northeast, they make some Animal Handling checks to keep hold of their giraffes, as something seems to spook them. Looseleaf gets a critical success and is able to calm her giraffe right away... but the party ranger, who is proficient in neither Animal Handling nor Nature nor even Survival, because what kind of monster hunter needs to know that boring crap, has no idea how to handle an overexcited giraffe and is thrown from her mount with a critical failure.

Benedict I. (GM):There's a small sign by the road, heading off west towards what appears to be an actual forest. The prairie is giving way to a somewhat hillier and more forested terrain here, but the forest is thicker than anything you've seen on your way there. And as you're approaching the crossroads marked by that sign, your giraffes all try to bolt for it. Looseleaf is able to realize that they've been forced to graze on grass for miles, and when they see the trees, they get overexcited. Vayen and Oyobi get completely thrown from their mounts, and you have to follow them down the road a bit to catch up with them and rein them in. Looseleaf: Haha, oh, well, hopefully they don't try and spend the rest of the whole day grazing a pit-stop is within tolerances but we really do have to make it to Cauterdale sooner rather than later. Many lives are on the line! Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good thing Looseleaf can radiate peace at them! Benedict I. (GM): Looseleaf is able to beckon them back before they completely get out of reach, and pretty soon you've got them calmed down- but you've lost some time. There's a choice to make here, now: continue on to Cauterdale, but make the last hour or so of the journey in the dark- or rest at the location marked on the map near here.

On the map, where the sign marked "Umbrella Village" points (shut up, I don't even play Resident Evil, don't worry about it), is simply a warning that reads "EVIL WITCHES- AVOID!!!"

Oyobi and Orluthe inform the others that "witches" usually means "druids"- and Zero cashes in something from character creation. Looseleaf's background as an academic provided her with a book on some historical topic, which was never allocated because at character creation he didn't know enough about the world to decide on something interesting. Here he declares it's a book on the history of druids!

Benedict I. (GM): Druids, from what you've read, are sort of like clerics. They channel a divinity of some sort- which is typically revered as Mother Nature, or Gaia, or... every druid you meet is going to have a different name for it, because while it needs to have a thing to call it by, it is emphatically not a god. Druids have a complicated relationship with Ccorde, who's ostensibly the goddess of environmentalism and hippy communing with nature type stuff- but most druidic traditions regard this as a false claim on a divine domain. Nature is untamed and wild and exists on its own terms, a vital force that is not to be tamed with rules- people must forge their own relationships with Nature. The author of the tome you acquired was herself a cleric of Ccorde, and the tone of the book is defensive on that subject. The author's curiosity outweighed that defensiveness, though, and there's a long section dedicated to the theoretical differences between the channeling of Nature and the channeling of Ccorde- in particular, there's no common dispositional element with druids. Whatever Nature is, it's willing to act through anyone who puts in the effort. The author didn't seem to know anything about animism, but you suspect druidic practice might be related in some way- that their nature-spirit-channeling abilities may be a form of animism. The book is unfortunately light on the practical details of druidcraft, as the author prefers that the reader eschew the practice in favor of fealty to Ccorde.

Okay! So, they head down the road to stay at the druid village for the night- and notice something odd on the way, after some Nature checks. They notice that the dirt road they're going down seems to divide the forest in two- between a sparse, ivy-choked pine forest to the northeast, and a dense, healthy-looking deciduous forest to the southwest. You usually don't get such a sharp delineation between forests like that.

And Looseleaf notices... that their map doesn't show a forest on the southwest side of the road. The road is supposed to just go along the edge of the pine forest. Also, Looseleaf can see the trees' spirits there, and there's something... not quite right.

Benedict I. (GM):The left side of the woods- there does seem to be some ambient magic. Your Sight Unseen ability doesn't exactly detect magic, so much as it lets you see spirits, including the spirits of spells- but what's going on here isn't a spell effect. It's just that the spirits of these healthy-looking deciduous trees don't quite match their physical forms. Their spirits seem... sickly? Frail? Like they're not full trees, not trees that grew in their places from fallen seeds. There's something false about them.

Looseleaf: When you said 'the left side of the road is full of healthy-looking deciduous trees and the right side is full of misshaped thorny things' you know what the first thing i thought was it was, 'the left side is the dangerous side.' i didn't say it out loud but i was totally thinking that, and i am glad to have been vindicated.

The weird forest doesn't seem to be attacking them, though, so they head onward towards Umbrella Village, which seems to be built entirely on the pine side of the road. It's kind of cool-looking- every inch of available space, on the lawns, roofs, and walls, is covered in fruiting vines and various plants. The whole village is a carefully-cultivated ecosystem.

The villagers seem surprised to have visitors- apparently it's not a common occurrence. They seem normal enough, though- while they don't have an inn, they direct the party to visit the village elder, who might know where the best place for them to spend the night is.

(Oyobi once again crit-fails her Animal Handling check, and is unable to prevent her giraffe from ripping a tomato plant off the side of someone's house, which gets her scolded. Why are you a ranger, Oyobi?)

They head down to the village elder's house, which is unique in not being overgrown with crops- and knock on the door.

The door is answered by a little lizardfolk girl, who doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to do about there being... people... here? People she's never seen before? Who don't live in the village? What???

Benedict I. (GM): "...Who...?" "GRANDMAAAAA," she calls back into the room. Which she didn't really need to do so loudly, because there's an elderly lizardfolk woman sitting right there next to a small fire.

Looseleaf: Oh, and Looseleaf was about to ask if the little girl was the elder. Never let external appearances color your preconceptions, and all that. Benedict I. (GM): "Eh?" "Gramma there's Mysterious People!" "They don't exist!" The old woman gets up. "Who's... oh, visitors?" The little girl looks confused. "Vizza-what?" Looseleaf:"Indeed, we are emissaries from the Faraway Phantom Lands of Nonexistence," Looseleaf says in deadpan to the girl. "Behold as my incorporeal voice from out of the thin air astonishes you!" To the old lady, Looseleaf says. "Excuse us. You must be the elder?"

They inquire about a place to stay for the night, and the elder... checks the weather. Looseleaf, who has Druidcraft as a racial ability, also checks the weather, using a fancy little snowglobe spell!

Looseleaf: "I'unno, does this help?" Benedict I. (GM): "Oh, goodness. I thought you were from outside- do they..." "That's very well-done, really, and you smell delicious, but..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: uh Benedict I. (GM): "Well, it ought to be fine." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...hmm," says Saelhen. Benedict I. (GM): "Just put your bedrolls out anywhere- we're not doing rain tonight." "Well, anywhere in town, anyway." "You shouldn't set foot in the Mysterious Woods." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ma'am, rest assured that we have less than no interest in Mysterious Woods."

So the party beds down in some soft pine needles, making use of Looseleaf's recently-acquired Extremely Comfy Pillow and a few bedrolls. They have a druid elder's assurance that the elements won't be a problem, so... nothing wrong with camping!

And as they're going to bed, Looseleaf rolls a 21 on Perception.

Luckily, Looseleaf fails her unarmed strike roll, which would do no damage even if it hit because her strength mod is -1. So she does not do any damage to...

Benedict I. (GM): So, you kick out at the mouth full of sharp teeth. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Fwff, goes Looseleaf's puffy moth footsie. Benedict I. (GM): The mouth full of sharp teeth goes "Eeek!" and recoils before you make impact, and you see the little lizardfolk girl scamper away into the darkness. Looseleaf: "What." "Wh- how dare you bite me! I am an emissary of the Phantom Lands and all that or whatever." "Come back here and explain yourself to My Imperial Nonexistingness!"

The little girl, affronted, explains that if she's not real, then it's not bad if she bites her!

Vayen: Vayen stirs. "...Shouldn't kill a child," he mumbles. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...this is a new dream," remarks Saelhen. "Better than the dreams about dad." "Vayen's even deciding not to kill someone. This is super neat, subconscious, keep going."

Saelhen argues that maybe Gramma doesn't know what things taste good, because sometimes grammas think things that taste bad taste good, like bell peppers! The child has no defense against this devastating logic bomb, and scampers off into the darkness, indignant.

Next time: the journey to Cauterdale, and the menace of the bobbledragon.

[barbecuedphoenix]

I have a feeling that Valkyon doesn't know very well how attractive he is... Like when he was so surprised when Gardienne told he is cute, or when he said he is not interesting. Do you think it too? How do you think it would be if Gardienne was first in love with Nevra, and later fall madly in love for him? (Sorry, English isn't my first language...)

*sneaks into Tumblr* .> ||

…I really shouldn’t be herethis week. But a lucky break at work today gave me a couple of hours to finishthis piece.

Anyway, dear Anon., Valkyonis a cutie precisely because he’soblivious to his own charms. That, and he always carries an 80% chance ofshooting himself in the foot whenever someone asks him out for a drink.

Example. *throws themanuscript to the ground and bolts*  

To Serve and Protect 

It had been a cold Yule and the coming yeardidn’t look like an improvement.

Already, the streets were frozen from twoback-to-back bouts of chill rain that chose exactly the wrong month to fall onEl, their brief career ending in a slick double layer of ice over cobblestoneand brick, marbling the tessellated roads like candy glaze. Sweet enough toresult in seventeen accidents so far from the citizenry: two-legged,four-legged, and on wheels. Next year would be seeing a lot of people withodd-numbered legs.

Valkyon would know. His people had to haul awayall the injured and the worse off this week, including themselves. In fact, hewas taking care of Accident Number Seventeen right now.

“Does your ankle still hurt?” theObsidian Guard commander asked the woman he was carrying, now wrapped double inhis arms.

“Not really. I can’t feel muchanymore,” his corporal replied. From inside the folds of his cloak, sheexperimentally wagged her ankle, wrapped in a soggy, makeshift splint mademostly out of Valkyon’s hat, her scarf, firewood, and several handfuls of freshice that he broke from the road outside the tavern. She didn’t so much asflinch.

“Good. Because it won’t be easy gettingover that last wall.”

The Guardian twisted and peeked over hershoulder at the construct in question looming out of the gloom: a pale,man-high stone wall, about as battered by the freezing rain as the street thattook her ankle. With no doorway to speak of, from where they were coming from.Her face sagged. “…Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sneak back through thegardens.”

“You were concerned though about runninginto Nevra at the foyer,” Valkyon reminded her.

He meant no offense—he rarely did whenrefreshing someone’s memory— but her face promptly turned a shade darker,visible even in the deep shadows of HQ’s honeyfruit orchard, where the blackbranches split apart the cold stars overhead like webs of cracks in the sky.

Biting his tongue, Valkyon’s eyes flickered awayfrom her expression, and fell on one spot on the wall ahead. Soon he added,more carefully, “Though I didn’t say it would be impossible toget past that wall. Just not easy. Can I put you down for a moment?”

Four quick knots later, they had a working fullbody sling from his cloak: big enough to carry a grown woman with a bad ankleon his back. Frankly, his friend didn’t look thrilled when he explained thatshe would be sitting knees-up in the sling, like a baby satchel sized up abouttwelve times, but she made no protest once he swung her onto his back andtightened the cloak’s knots around his shoulders. She had packed on some muscleover the last two years, but with her back pressing snug against his, her heelsswinging gently in the air somewhere above his kidneys, he barely felt theweight.

With a practiced eye, Valkyon found the sectionof the wall shot through with tendrils of dead ivy nearly as thick as hiswrist. One bout of overdue weeding finally exposed the fractured stonework. Hewent on to ruin it further by kicking at the largest crack he could find withthe sharp steel toe of his winter boot, about two feet above the ground.

“I don’t know what you’re doingthere,” came the voice from his back, in between the clanks of steelversus stone. “But it sounds expensive.”

In answer, the slate block gave way in twopieces on the ground, and a newborn step gaped in the open air. Perfectly dry.

“No more than it’ll take to repair the restof the wall,” Valkyon remarked with a wry smile at his footwork.“Which they were supposed to do this summer. Besides, I’m helping yousneak in, aren’t I?”

Whatever the Guardian had to say was lost whenhe put one boot onto the makeshift step, reached up, found the top of the stonewall with his hands, and pulled them both up with barely a grunt. Instead,there was a soft squeak from his back as they suddenly gained an extra sevenfeet in altitude from the black ground. Then again when he brought his legsover the wall and leapt clear into the last of the gardens, thestomach-lurching distance rushing back to greet them in reverse. Triumph camewith a massive, wet-sounding crunch that rattled them both to the teeth.

Valkyon, for the most part, was just glad thathe missed the wooden stakes that once supported the luminescent squash, and thefrozen Crowmero still stuck there, instead landing ankle- and wrist-deep in thefrozen mud just a hair next to them.

“Are you all right?”, he whispered,shaking the mud off his hands and wiping the splatter of slush off his cheek.

“… …Yes,” came the little voice frombehind his head, eventually. “Nice work. But let’s not do that again. I’mnot of fan of jumping down heights I can’t see. Especially not after a tavernrun.”

“Fair enough,” Valkyon smiled in thedark. He shrugged one arm out of the makeshift sling, and with a few deft turnsbrought the Guardian back against his chest. “Is this better?” heasked, locking his arms around her again.

For some reason, she looked up at him, colored,and made a strange coughing sound in her throat.

He frowned. “We better get you out of thecold. You had plenty to drink earlier.”

“You’re one to talk: I downed two pintsless than you,” she snorted as Valkyon crossed the length of the darkvegetable garden, sticking to the nigh-invisible dirt path that wound throughthe dormant squash beds to the backdoor of the kitchen. The snapping andcrunching of half-frozen ground informed him that he was on the right course,more or less.

“That was enough to try a rain dance on thesidewalk, wasn’t it?” he smiled back at his smuggled cargo.

The cargo in question answered with a scowl, aflush, and a quick turn of her head to the direction of the kitchens. “Itwasn’t a rain dance,” she muttered into her shoulder. “Not until thekids started asking, at least. They were a good audience though.”

“You are an excellentdancer,” he agreed mildly. When she didn’t say anything else, Valkyon letthe matter drop and treated himself to a full re-enactment in his mind’s eye.Humans were a funny race. The ceremony must be special all right, if itstraditional dance involved bouncing a sword off the tips of the boots andswinging around a lamp-post. The Guardian had finally slipped when she tried tokick an icicle. The kids all agreed that it was pretty spectacular.

How did that verse go again? Something aboutsinging in the—

“Is Karuto still awake?”

Valkyon snapped out of his reverie at theworried note to her voice and squinted at the light shining through the kitchenwindow ahead. Then he frowned as well. “He must have left the fire in thegrate. But either way, that’s our only way into the fort from here.” Quickas a thought, his tawny eyes glanced down at the Guardian and saw herexpression pinch under the warm amber glow from the window. “It’ll befine,” he added as reassuringly as he could, stepping onto the porch.“I don’t hear anything from inside.”

Still, he cautiously eased open the kitchen’sbackdoor with the toe of his boot. And was rewarded with the sight of the oldsatyr dressed in only a padded bathrobe, reading a book with his stout hoovespropped up on the corner of the counter. Parted, and pointing in theirdirection.

Fortunately, Valkyon learnt long ago that therewas nothing embarrassing about the physical body. Unfortunately, the Guardianseemed to have been taught differently. She glanced once into the fire-litkitchen, winced immediately, and shielded her eyes with her hand.

Karuto glanced up over the book he was reading,and his craggy expression fell from profound shock to embarrassment to the sourrighteousness of an old man interrupted in his private time in the space of onepoint five seconds.

“What are you two idiots doing in my kitchen?!”he bellowed from the counter, quickly swinging his hooves back to the floor andtightening his bathrobe around his hips. In one fluid movement, he snapped thebook shut and tucked it under his arm.

“Just getting out of the cold,”Valkyon replied with as straight a face as he could muster. He could outstare alive dragon if he wanted, but here he knew that he had reached the limit of hiscreative fibs.

Thankfully, the Guardian spoke up for them.“I twisted my ankle on the street walking back, and I just didn’t want towake anyone else at this hour. Sorry for walking in like this.”

The satyr puffed rudely through his nostrils,but his eyebrows had rearranged themselves into a tamer glower. “What doyou think this place is? The backdoor for hook-ups?”

His corporal flushed to the approximate color ofbeetroot, but Karuto didn’t wait for an answer; he gestured one-handed to thefront door of the kitchen, his book still tucked under one hammy arm.“Well I don’t care what you two do in your off-time. Just don’t bring itinto my kitchen without knocking!” Then he glared evilly at Valkyon’sboots, crusted to the tops with winter mud, steel spikes already sinking intothe floorboards. “And take your filthy rock-splitters with you!”

“All right, then.” Valkyon saidsimply, crossing the pantry as lightly as an armored man of six-foot-two couldwith a lady-friend in his arms. He waited until he was halfway out the doorbefore shooting back over his shoulder, “That’s a good book, by the way.Ykhar told me that it’s really steamy.”

The door shut before the first volley ofexpletives could follow them into the hall.

“What an ass…” the Guardian scowledinto her chest, arms folded tightly enough to bunch her shoulders up.

“It looked like he was really enjoying thatbook though,” her captain remarked, still smiling faintly to himself.

He meant that as another joke, but the Guardiankept her moody silence as they crossed the deserted foyer and down the corridorleading to the officer’s barracks, the floor lit clearly by the cold moonlightslipping through the high windows and the coruscating glass skylight at theapex of the ceiling.

The fort slept on as they made their way downthe barracks, his footsteps barely muffled by the threadbare crimson carpet.They stopped before a plain door near the end of the hall, still undecoratedafter two years. The Guardian fished out her keys from her coat and leaned outof Valkyon’s arms to unlock the door.

“Keep an eye out. Please, Valk.”

He blinked at the note of desperation in hervoice. Something was definitely wrong. But he duly peered left and right,seeing no curious faces popping out of the doors to stare their way.“Nothing. We’re clear.”

The Guardian decided not to answer and turnedthe catch, then the handle. At the answering click, Valkyon pivoted sidewaysand smoothly stepped inside when the door swung open, the blackness beyond litby the lambent light from a handful of bronze oil lamps. He shut the door againwith a neat kick from the back of his boot, hoping that when morning arrived,she wouldn’t notice the likely dent at the base.

Nestled in his arms, the Guardian sighed, allthe tension of the past hour leaving her body in one long, liquid breath thatleft a knot in his stomach.

He needed to say something to make her feelbetter, on a night like this.

“Even though it didn’t end like we planned,I really did enjoy that drink,” he confessed quietly as he stooped downand laid her gently onto the bed. “It’s nice to be able to see the townwith a friend.”

She kept her face turned away from him, and herusual smile far inside. “Karuto’s little joke didn’t bother you?”

“I reckon it’s less to do with us and moreabout the chapter he reached when we dropped in.”

Finally, a little twitch escaped from the cornerof her lips. The Guardian sat up straighter on the bed, propping herself upwith her hands, gingerly curling her legs to the side like a siren. When hereyes lingered resolutely at the level of his chin, Valkyon sat down on the bednext to her, elbows resting on knees, so that she no longer had to look at himstraight in the eye. Her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, though her handcontinued to crumple the wine-colored satin sheets. He just waited.

It was often like this with them: the reading ofminute movements; a little gesture, timed just right, to calm the other andgive space to breathe; a tacit, patient silence in place of invitation orquestion. They never needed to speak to let each other know that they cared.

“What he said bothers me, because I know Ishouldn’t be spending time with you like this.”

Though sometimes, all the body languageexpertise in the world couldn’t predict what would fall from a friend’s mouth.Valkyon’s snowy eyebrows arched high. “Why should this be a problem? We’veknown each other for two years now. It’s not a stretch to act like goodfriends.”

“Too good,” she cut himoff shortly, still staring down at the bed. Suddenly, in the silence, eventhough her expression hadn’t moved, she looked ready to cry.

He quickly laid his hand over hers, enclosingher fingers in the warm span of his own. “There is nothing that I haveever regretted doing for you. Not tonight. Not any time since. Don’t ever thinkyourself unworthy. As I see it, nothing can be further from the truth.”

Her head shot up and her eyes finally caughthis. “Well what if I told you that I loved you?”

Silence never rang louder in his ears.

After some moments, Valkyon tried to swallow,but it seemed that what moisture remained in his throat was transmuted intoglue in the space of ten words. The body knew some cruel alchemy.

What was there to be said, when a woman yourfriend said he was in love with turned around and flung those same words atyou?

She was right about one thing. He reallyshouldn’t be here.

The bed groaned as Valkyon shot to his feet.“You could use some sleep,” he said mechanically, locking hisexpression into the epitome of a stone wall. Anything more was… not going tohelp this situation. “You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll bring somewillow bark tea from Ewelein and a new splint to–”

Her face crumpled like a violet at the firstbite of winter. But her voice when it came, was furious. “You really thinkI said all that because I'm drunk?!” She started laughing,soundlessly. “Good god, you think I'm…! Have you ever looked atyourself in a mirror, Valkyon? For more than two seconds? Do you ever look atthe other tables in the mess when you walk by?”

His ears were burning like live coals now.“That’s irrelevant,” he snapped back, shutting his mind to moreimages along that vein. “The point is that you’re asking for something Ican’t-” But his tongue failed him right before it shaped those last,crucial words.

His mistake was that he chose to look right ather at that very moment. And saw just how wide her eyes had opened. Enough tosee the new shine to them, obvious and fierce even under the smoky light of theoil lamps.

Valkyon knew, beyond the shadow of the doubt,what he needed to do tonight as a friend. But when his mind was flying asstraight as an arrow to its destination, his heart lagged behind, anchored tothis pregnant silence between him and the woman who earned more than just thename of comrade in the last year.

He shouldn’t have looked at her at all at thatmoment.

With an effort, Valkyon shut his eyes andunclenched his jaw, then the muscles of his neck, upper back, and shoulders,knot-by-knot, counting down the seconds in his mind until he felt the rictus ofpanic lift from his body. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, low, andweighed with stone, as though the mere sound of his murmur could wake the floorto what was happening here. He was half-afraid that it would.

“Nevra’s a good man. And with you, Ibelieve he’s showing himself to be an admirable one. Don’t give up on him. Whatyou both share is… rare enough that it deserves to be protected. Take it fromme.”

“Have you tried datinghim?” she quipped tiredly, with none of the same reserve rooting him towhere he was on the floor. Her face remained mercifully dry as she curled herinjured leg tighter against herself, fingers fiddling with the slush-stainedfold of her trousers. “I’ve been telling myself that for the last threemonths, but… there are many kinds of good men out there. Not just the one. Andif they’re still not a good fit after a year, then… that’s something no oneneeds to be afraid to admit.”

He was getting the uncanny feeling that they hadarrived at uncharted territory. And it deserved to remain that way, from wherehe stood. With one foot already on the wrong side of the fence. “Thismight be something he needs to hear from you,” Valkyon attempted.

“And he never lets go ofan argument easily,” the Guardian cut in, throwing up one hand, butwithout much conviction. She looked too drained. “He’ll try to work aroundit. Plant a Beriflore trap by asking me what I mean by another kind of ‘goodman’. What if I tell him that I don’t want someone who’ll wave me aside or dishout orders when trouble hits, but will just stand nearby and let me take careof myself for a change, until I do ask him for help? What if I tell him I’mtired of snappy wit and mind-games? That I prefer someone who’ll give hishonest opinions and feelings as they are, with no other motive but to just layout the facts and confirm that yes, he heard me? Not every conversation needsto be a duel, or some kind of… courtship dance! And think about what Nev willsay if I tell him I want someone who can appreciate the little gestures—likeholding hands—without joking about it, or trying to top it until it snowballsinto something bigger. That I respect a man who doesn’t put himself at the axisof the world—much less my world—even as a joke. Someone who,no matter how skilled he is, can step aside and let others take their shots,then congratulate them when they do succeed, no matter how small.”

Just moments ago, his ears felt like they hadbeen pulled fresh from a fire. Now, they were probably cinder.

She turned those red-rimmed eyes to him again.“He’ll say that he’s hurt that I can’t accept him as he is. That I’ve beenreading too many romances. That I’m reaching too far. When I can see, plain asday, that I’m not.”

His corporal was right when she guessed that henever tried inspecting himself in the mirror; that each day he would walkacross the mess without trying to make extra eye contact with the femalerecruits. Because there was the ever-present question of: why bother?

Over the last several years, Valkyon recognizedthat there were two general reactions whenever he opened his mouth for astranger: they would flinch, as though they were one wrong word away from gettingan axe to the neck, or they would stare like he was an exotic new import forthe menagerie. Sometimes, to shake things up, they would laugh at a gesturehe’d made, which later queries would show was completely inappropriate for thesituation.

The problem was never the people he chose totalk to. It was himself. Unknown, borderline-dangerous, inscrutable, unsmiling,unsocial, blunt, out-of-place; these were the words he overheard others usewhen talking about him, and he still couldn’t deny them. He was no charmer.Some days, he returned the sentiment and barely understood the people he spoketo.

But what sealed his decision to keep his headdown every time he crossed the mess was that, after all these years, even aftertaking the helm of the Obsidian Guard and earning the—at least pro forma– trustof this city, he never fitted in once the bell rang to relieve him from hispost. When others recounted the day’s highlights and pitfalls, he had virtuallynone to add from his corner of the table. When they swapped stories from theirhometowns, gossiped about mutual friends, traded in-jokes, bickered overpolitics, argued over the finer nuances of art and shared hobbies, he couldonly keep his silence.

He had started too young in the field of war,and spent too long in it to learn to be anything else. What could he say abouthimself to reel in someone’s interest? Or keep it?

So if the call was sent out for an attractiveman, Valkyon would recommend one or two of his colleagues. He made his peacelong ago with the fact that he wasn’t in the running for 'El’s most eligiblebachelor’. And if there was a woman who could appreciate his company, he wouldnever dare ask for more than her friendship. Because what else could he offerin return?

Apparently, more than he knew. Based on what hewas hearing now from his corporal.

Under those eyes, Valkyon felt his jaw lock onceagain, the pulse hammering in his throat as his stomach contracted and sent awave of heat smoldering across his skin up to his hairline. The seams of hisheart stretched taut. Now, he was the one who couldn’t meet her gaze. The soundof her breathing filled the dark.

What was strange about love was how contagiousit was. Just moments ago, he saw a dear friend with a leaden heart he needed tounburden. Now, in the space of ten critical words, in the span of one argumentthat shook down the doors holding back a season’s worth of hurt and longing, hesaw someone else in her place.

If it wasn’t for that tiny, telltale scar on theside of her neck, he would have joined her there on the bed and sated hiscuriosities. About the taste of her mouth, the fit of her curves against him,the warmth of her breath against his neck, the feel of her hard-won laughterreverberating through his chest as she lay with him, hair, fingers, limbs,hopes intertwined.

But there were some battles that he couldn’tafford to join.

“…I am so sorry,” he heard his voicebreak the murk. “But you know that I can’t stay any longer. If there’sanyone who needs to hear this, it’s him. And you should be able to do it. Goodnight. And look after yourself.”

With that, he turned away from the woman on thebed and walked out the door. Even when he heard that hitch of breath, thewhisper of sheets over sheets, the hurried creaking of the mattress, he didn’tdare to turn around.

In all his years alone, Valkyon held onto onetruth: no matter what others chose to see in him, he knew he was made to be aprotector. It didn’t matter then if he returned each night to an empty bed, ifhe was the only one who knew what his laughter sounded like. The happiness ofthose he looked after became his happiness.

Tonight, of all nights, he needed to convincehimself of that.

FIN

>_> || _> *sneaks back in to scribble a note*

This blog needs to start anew mission: the “Save Valkyon!” project.

To join the cause, just typein the keywords ‘Valkyon’ and ‘fluff’ in the ask box.

This is Barbed-Phoenix,signing off until Friday. So long, my lovelies.  

*runs again*