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es-kay-zee · 2 years

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afterparty | lee minho

pairing: minho x fem! reader

genre: smut

warnings: dom! minho, sub! reader, alcohol consumption (only a tiny bit), reader calls minho "sir", pet names, degradation, praise, hair pulling, spit kink, oral sex (giving), face fucking, spanking, pillow humping, brief male masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @bxngchxn @qtieskz @hwajin @spilledtee @chans-starlight

synopsis: attending a work party with your newly promoted boyfriend should've been a simple task. but all night, he's barely able to take his eyes off of you. perhaps it's time to have a party of your own.

a/n: HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO THIS BLOG!!! THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO'S BEEN HERE SINCE THE BEGINNING AND TO EVERYONE WHO'S JOINED ALONG THE WAY!!!

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lee minho. brand new ceo of ‘attorneys at work’. he’s worked hard to make a name for himself, and now, despite still being so young, it’s paid off. and tonight, is the company party to celebrate his promotion.

“ready to go, babe?” minho calls from the bedroom.

you walk out of the ensuite bathroom, trying, and failing, to do up the clasp on your necklace. “yeah, can you just do this up for me?” you look at him, quickly admiring just how good he looks in his suit, and you can tell he’s checking you out too. his gaze rakes over your figure, eyes fixated on the way your red dress hugs your curves in all the right ways, the hem ending at mid-thigh, showing off your legs. with the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he didn’t hear a word you said. “earth to minho.”

“huh?” his eyes snap to yours, finally paying attention to what you’re saying. you chuckle quietly, walking closer to him.

“can you do this up, i can’t get it.”

“yeah, sure.”

you turn your back to him, and he takes the clasp from your hands. he’s surprisingly quick to get it done up. he places his hands on your waist, leaning closer to press a kiss against your shoulder. he kisses your skin again. and again. and again, hooking one of his fingers under the strap on your other shoulder. rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, moving to put your heels on. he stares after you, remaining still in his spot even after you step away.

“we have a party to get to.”

you finish doing up your shoes, standing up tall. grabbing your bag, you walk towards the door, patting him playfully on the chest as you walk past.

“can’t we just skip it?”

it’s entertaining how hopeful he is.

“nope.”

you’re positive that if minho had to spend much longer in that car with you, he would’ve just turned around, taken you back home and fucked you until the sun came up. thankfully, though, the drive to the venue was short and you both made it there in one piece.

despite attending your fair share of his company parties, it still baffles you just how lavish they tend to be. and this time is especially extravagant. minho’s arm is around your waist as you both walk through the open two-door entrance. the room is magnificent; tables dotted around the room, a ginormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling, twinkling brightly in the light. servers walk around the room, platters of drinks and various treats in their hands while countless guests mingle.

immediately upon entering, a quiet befalls the room, everyone taking a short moment to applaud the man of the hour. he offers them a polite nod in return and then the party continues. you both walk towards the nearest table, occupied by only a few of his co-workers.

“congratulations, mr lee,” the man in front of you says, holding his hand out to shake minho’s.

“thank you.” your boyfriend shakes his hand, grinning widely. he leans into you, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “i’ll be right back, i’ll just get us some drinks.”

he heads away from the table, and you watch his retreating back for a moment before turning back to the people around you.

“you should be proud of him,” the man – who you now remember is named felix – says. you remember minho mentioning him being up for the same promotion, but thankfully, from the limited amount of interactions you’ve had with felix, he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to hold a grudge.

“i am. he’s worked really hard to get where he is, and i couldn’t be more proud of him for what he’s achieved.”

you and felix carry on a pleasant little conversation, and before long, minho is returning to the table, two glasses of champagne in his hands. he passes one to you with a smile before clinking his glass against yours gently and taking a sip.

felix excuses himself, walking away after a soft smile. the moment he’s gone, minho turns all his attention to you.

“i suppose we should mingle,” you say, taking a sip from your glass. champagne was never your favourite taste, but this was a fancy event, and therefore you’ll tolerate drinking the fancy drink.

“probably, but we could also go to the bathroom and have some fun?” his eyes rake over the low neckline of your dress, staring rather blatantly at your cleavage.

“my eyes are up here,” you say, not at all minding the way you feel under his stare.

“i’m aware.” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you wait for him to stop staring. eventually, he does, blinking a few times as he refocuses his attention. “so, bathroom?”

you shake your head exasperatedly. “no, minho. i’m not having a quickie in the bathroom of a fancy party.”

“but there’s no better occasion.” his smirk is not enough to sway you, but it is enough to have desire beginning to pool in your stomach.

“mingle,” you say – or command. and minho finally gives up, walking with you to another occupied table.

it’s about forty minutes of chatting later before minho turns to you again.

“what if we left? right now?”

“now, that does sound tempting. but unfortunately, mr lee,” you tease, emphasising his name. “this party is for you. and because of that, we need to stay at least a bit longer.”

you suppose it’s rather good that you didn’t leave just then, because it’s only a few minutes later that you both hear someone announce it’s time for speeches, to which minho looks slightly alarmed and whispers in your hear that, like a fool, he’d forgotten to think of a speech beforehand. luckily for him, though, he gets a few extra minutes to think of something to say because the previous ceo, has gotten up to speak first.

his speech drawls on for what feels to be a bit too long, and if anyone were to ask you to recall a single thing he said, you wouldn’t be able to. but before long, they’re beckoning minho over to the microphone to give his speech, and you wonder if he’s figured out what he’s going to say.

he takes the microphone from the previous ceo’s outstretched hand, bowing his head slightly as he does so.

“um, i didn’t really prepare a speech for this, so please bear with me as i make this up.” he grins, his audience chuckling quietly along with him.

“when i first found out i was up for the position of ceo, i was ecstatic. i hadn’t expected this to happen so soon into my career. but here we are, and i couldn’t be more grateful to everyone who’s supported me along the way.

“firstly, to my amazing girlfriend, y/n. you’ve been my biggest supporter from day 1, and i can’t thank you enough for putting up with all my late nights in the office. i can’t promise that they’ll stop, but i can promise to reduce the number of late nights. thank you for being there for me, y/n.”

you smile at him as he continues on, thanking various other co-workers and people who have supported him. you love seeing him like this, in his element. the way he’s casually commanding the attention of everyone in the room. the way he speaks so clearly, so confidently, despite making it all up as he goes along. you can tell, just from this moment, that he’s going to do perfectly as the ceo.

he ends his speech by vowing to do right by the company, promising everyone that he won’t run it into the ground. as he walks back towards where you’re standing, you take a moment to admire just how good he looks in his suit. his dress pants just tight enough to show off his muscular thighs, his suit jacket buttoned-up and making him look far too fine for his own good.

he links his arm around your waist, his hand against your side, and he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. despite the innocence of the kiss, you can still tell that he’s more than eager to leave the party. and truthfully, so are you.

“five more minutes,” you whisper in his ear before taking another sip of champagne. he grins at you, nodding his head in agreement.

the drive back home is even tenser than the one to the party. minho’s hand doesn’t leave your inner thigh the entire time, periodically squeezing the flesh and rubbing his pinkie finger against the lacy fabric of your underwear. every touch, every movement of his hand has you holding your breath and biting your tongue to stop yourself from begging him to pull over right on the side of the road. you just know he would never let you live it down if you couldn’t even wait the ten-minute drive it takes to reach your home.

finally pulling into the driveway, you’re both in a rush to get inside, parking the car and getting out in record speed. your hand tremble ever so slightly in your hurry to unlock the front door. minho stands directly behind you, ushering you inside the moment the key turns in the lock.

you’re barely in the door before he’s pressing his body against yours, kissing you hungrily. his hands grip your hips roughly, not an ounce of softness to be found, and you just know that you’re in for a treat tonight. part of you wonders just what will happen if you decide to press some of his buttons, but perhaps tonight is not the night, for you’re far too worked up from the car ride to risk him denying you a release. he delivers a brief smack to your ass before pulling away from the kiss.

his eyes are dark when they connect with yours, and he looks positively starving. there’s little doubt in your mind that he’s spent the majority of the night waiting just for this moment, thinking about all the different ways you can have fun.

grabbing his hand in yours, you pull him towards the bedroom, not wanting to waste any more time. as soon as you’re both within the confines of the bedroom, minho presses his chest to your back. his body is warm against yours, one of his hands resting on your waist, the other tracing along your lower stomach, fingers dancing down to press against your clothed clit.

he doesn’t stay that way for anywhere near long enough, already pulling his hands away and leaning in to whisper against the shell of your ear.

“on your knees, baby.”

instantly, you drop to the floor, your skin prickling slightly in humiliation over how quick you are to obey him. but you can’t bring yourself to care too much when he smirks down at you. with two fingers underneath your chin, he gently tilts your head up so that you’re properly looking at him before using that same hand to gently stroke your cheek. the gesture is sweet, and you find yourself leaning into his touch.

he prods at your lips softly with his thumb, and you don’t hesitate to bring his digit into your mouth, sucking wantonly. minho groans lowly at your action, watching the way your lips are closed around his thumb. your mouth is warm, and already he’s twitching in his pants to fuck your throat.

he pulls away from you, giving himself just enough space to undo his belt. his movements are slow, deliberate, but you can his eagerness in the way he moves. the moment his dress pants are around his ankles, he’s moving back towards you. his cock rests in his palm, already fully erect, and you’re sure he’s glad to finally be free from the restrain of his pants.

he presses his tip to your lips, and obediently you open wide, allowing him to press his way into your mouth. he doesn’t move his hips straight away, giving you a moment to prepare yourself. and after you tap twice against his thigh, signalling that you’re ready, he begins moving.

his thrusts are shallow at first, still wanting to allow you a little bit more time to relax your throat. but gradually, he sets into a steady rhythm. you focus on your breathing, allowing minho to use your mouth as he pleases. your hands rest on his thighs, gripping tight enough for your nails to leave behind little crescent indents in this skin. he grips your hair tightly, tugging at the roots just hard enough for you to moan around him.

there’s little warning before he pulls out of your mouth, and the rush of air into your lungs is almost too much, causing you to cough a few times. he looks down at you, eyes filled with such lust that you can barely focus on anything else. he chuckles, obviously entertained by your fucked out expression.

“open.”

you do so without pause, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. minho stands above you, and you watch as a trail of spit leaves his mouth and lands on your tongue. the action is downright filthy, something neither of you indulge very often, meaning that when you finally do, it’s all the more heavenly.

you swallow, mind focusing on the way his spit slides down your throat. opening your mouth again, you hope he’ll repeat the action once more. but he doesn’t. instead, he just stares down at you, eyes connected with yours.

“you’re so cute and pathetic, my dumb little pet.” he pats your right cheek, his touch just barely firm enough to send a small sting across your skin.

“please fuck my mouth again, sir,” you mutter, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“anything for my baby,” he says, obliging your request.

you don’t know what it is about minho, but in any of your previous relationships and hookups, you’d never enjoyed sucking dick. but with minho, it’s like you can never get enough, always greedy for more, and he’s more than happy to indulge your desires.

“fuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.” his hips don’t slow down, continuing to fuck your throat. “but i’m not surprised considering you’re such a whore.”

you moan around his cock, the degradation and praise mixing deliciously and settling pleasantly under your skin. he may only be in your mouth, but you can feel him everywhere. it’s one of the things he’s good at in these scenes, making you feel everything, getting you drunk on his cock in ways that no one else has ever achieved with you.

messy. that’s the best way to describe the scene right now. his hand still gripping your hair, his cock buried between your spit-soaked lips, your saliva dripping down your chin onto the carpet beneath you. your gags are loud, drowning out the sound of minho’s quiet moans.

the empty ache in your pussy vies for your attention, but you pay it no mind, too enthralled with the weight of minho’s cock on your tongue and the way he feels in the back of your throat.

it’s not very often that minho’s self-control waivers enough for him to cum early but suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised – considering his many lingering stares throughout the night – when you can taste the salty bitterness on your tongue.

“let me see,” he commands, and you stick your tongue out, showing off the pool of cum that he left behind. “now swallow.”

you do with no hesitation, not taking nearly enough time to savour the taste before opening your mouth once more and showing him that you did indeed swallow.

“good girl.”

minho moves to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving you still kneeling on the floor. you don’t move, awaiting his instruction. as if in thought, he looks around, but very quickly you can see something click in his mind. he reaches up the bed, grabbing something that you can’t see from your position on the floor.

“hump it,” he says tossing a pillow onto the ground in front of you. you look up at him incredulously, blinking in disbelief.

did you hear him right? did he say what you think he did?

“and put on a good show for me.”

you suppose he did.

grabbing the pillow, you position it between your legs. you’d ignored the throbbing need for so long now, that the moment you make contact with the fabric of the pillowcase, your body is trembling. you haven’t even moved yet, haven’t even begun grinding down on the pillow but minho can already see the shaking in your legs.

slowly, after a deep breath, you drag your hips forward. you could almost cry. it feels good, but it’s nowhere near enough to get you to an orgasm. frustrated, you look up at minho, preparing your best glare, but it disappears from your face when you see him.

the rest of his clothes have been removed, leaving him fully naked. he’s leaning back, one arm propping himself up while he jerks himself off lazily. he’s watching you, using the sight of you as his own personal porn video. it’s obvious he’s only trying to get himself back to full hardness after cumming early, but the view of him has your mouth watering and your pussy clenching.

you think back to what he said. put on a good show for me. an idea pops into your head and you sit up straighter, grabbing the hem of your dress. you lift it up slowly, provocatively, watching as minho’s eyes home in on your newly exposed skin. you discard the dress, goosebumps forming under his intense stare.

you can hear his quiet groan, and you decide to go a step further. reaching behind your back, you unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side just as you did with your dress. his stare turns to your breasts as you grasp them in your hands, running your thumbs around your nipples.

hips still moving, you emphasise your moans, knowing just how much he loves the sounds you make. your moans almost echo, amplified by the otherwise silence of the bedroom and you can see minho’s cock twitch in his hand in response.

“you look so fucking good, y/n,” he says, still pumping himself. “c’mere, baby.”

your underwear sticks to your slick folds uncomfortably as you stand, but it doesn’t last too long because the moment you’re standing between minho’s legs, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls the lacy fabric down your legs.

with a firm grip on your hips, he pulls you closer to him until you’re straddling his waist, his cock resting between your folds. on most other occasions, you’d tease him, remaining still just to watch him squirm. but tonight, you’re far too worked up, desperate to feel some sort of relief from the needy ache in your cunt.

and so, without much delay, you drag your hips forward, grinding along his length just as you were doing to the pillow previously. you moan at the feeling; at the way he glides between your slick fold so easily. it’s almost embarrassing just how wet you are for him, but you can barely find it within yourself to truly care, too distracted by the way he’s so close to filling you up. your hands grip his shoulders for stability, body trembling with pleasure.

“kiss me.”

you do, pressing your lips against his. what begins as a moment of softness, a gentle kiss, quickly turns into an expression of carnal desire. it’s a clash of lips, teeth and tongues. his lips are against yours, tongue exploring your mouth with fervour.

you both pull away, panting for air, and as minho stares at your face, you have no doubt that you already look completely fucked out.

with no warning, he manhandles you, manoeuvring you so that you're on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed. the act catches you off guard, but you love the way his hands grip your hips harshly, fingers digging in to the point where you’re sure they’re going to leave bruises.

the air is cold against your dripping cunt, but thankfully you don’t have to put up with it for too long, because minho is lining himself up and slowly pressing his way into your walls. it’s euphoric, the way he stretches you out, almost as if his cock was designed just for your body. his next thrusts into you have you moaning, arms almost giving out underneath you. somehow, you manage to keep your body up, moving your hips back to meet his hips.

he grabs your arms, pinning your wrists together behind your back. your face is pressed further into the mattress with every one of minho’s harsh thrusts. but all you can think about is the overwhelming pleasure.

his hand smacks harshly against your ass, and you moan out at the sting that reverberates around your body. the pain mixes with the pleasure, creating a beautiful concoction that has you reeling. his hand connects with your skin again, and again, and once more before returning to its grip on your hip.

“i wonder what people would say if they knew you were such a slut for me,” he pants, and in your mind, you can picture how he looks. you can picture the flush of his skin, the way his mouth hangs slightly open, and the way he looks down at your bodies connecting.

you can’t even respond to his words. the angle he has you at has him reaching that sweet spot inside you, pressing against it with every thrust. you can feel your orgasm looming, the knot tightening. you’re sure minho can feel you clenching around him. he lets go of your wrists, leaning down over you so that his chest is pressed against your back. he snakes one hand underneath you, his finger finding your clit and rubbing circles against it to get you closer to your release.

“fuck, minho. ’m gonna cum.” you say breathily, a moan audible in your voice.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.”

it feels as if you’re walking a tightrope, balancing haphazardly in the air. and with one particularly well-placed rub against your clit, you’re tipping off the rope, body feeling like it’s floating as you orgasm. through the haze of your high, you can faintly hear minho muttering quiet praises, telling him how well you’re doing for him.

coming back down from your high, you register the fact that minho is still thrusting into you, chasing his own release. the pleasure turns into prickles of overstimulation, but luckily from the stutter of his hips, you can tell he’s close.

you clench around him, trying to provide just a little bit more for him to reach his end. and it works. his hips still, pressed flush against your ass as he cums, coating your walls.

the room falls into silence, both of you taking a moment to bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. but the moment of bliss must come to an end.

minho pulls out of you, and you can feel his cum dripping from your pussy.

"c'mon, shower time," he says, helping you to stand on your wobbly legs.

the shower is short but sweet. full of many chaste kisses and a few terrible jokes as you both lather and rinse the soap from your skin.

once out of the shower, both of you change into comfortable pyjamas. you camber into bed, head resting against the only pillow still left on the bed - which just so happened to be minho's one. he goes to follow you, stopping in his tracks when he sees that there's no pillow for him to use.

"that's my pillow," he says, humour in his eyes.

"well that's too bad, you made me hump mine." you grin at him, pointing at the other pillow still discarded on the floor.

with a playful huff, he grabs the other pillow and leaves the room, saying he'll be back in a moment.

you pull the blankets around you while you wait for him, flicking through the selection of movies, searching for something to watch. he returns after only a few minutes, pillow in his hands, clad in a fresh pillowcase.

he tosses it onto the bed next to your head before climbing under the covers next to you. he pulls you into his chest just as you decide on a movie, the opening scene lighting up the screen and room.

his arm is around you, holding you tightly. you snuggle up close. it's these moments that you truly adore. you love the roughness of the scenes, but there's something special about the softness afterwards. where minho holds you as if you're the most delicate being, and you remind him how much you love him. it's sweet and soft, and you wouldn't change it for anything.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #skz lee know smut #stray kids lee know smut #lee know smut #lino smut #lee minho smut

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itswildwinters · 4 years

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Seeing as it’s the holidays for me, I’ve had time to read (and re-read) quite a lot of fics, and I felt like sharing some of them with you. It’s my first time doing a fic recs post, so I hope it’s useful and not too much of a mess, especially since it’s quite long!

If you do end up reading any of these stunning fanfics, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!! ✩

✩ baby blue by @soldouthaz (39k)

summary: Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

I loved the dynamic between Cowboy Harry and Celebrity Louis. What I also really enjoyed about this fanfic is that the depiction of farm life was accurate. The way the story is written really gets you into action, so that you can picture everything quite well through the Louis-centric third point of view.

✩ The Space Between by @lads-laddylads (39k)

summary: Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

A/B/O fanfic. I loved how Alpha Harry acted upon seeing Louis for the first time. You can really feel the tension and attraction through the screen, which is one of my all time favourite things. The way their relationship builds up is a delight, and Louis is a darling and so courageous in the end with how he deals with Harry, even when Harry is being an idiot. The connection they have at the end... just wow!

✩ fae series: Boiling Blood Will Circulate and Warming The Air Of The World by @crazyupsetter (42k and 3k)

summary of Boiling Blood Will Circulate: The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

I am a sucker for fantasy/supernatural fanfics, and this one is absolutely incredible. The suspense in there is well-built, and the dynamic between Louis and Harry leaves you hungry for more. There’s a lot of blood in this series, so if you’re not into that you should be careful, but for me the author really puts into perspective how complicated and different from mankind faeries are.

✩ With a whimper by @kitundercover (132k)

summary: Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

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The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

If you are into dystopian works, and doesn’t mind violence, blood and gore, this fic will make your day! I loved the world-building, the way it’s written, how Louis’ character is portrayed and how strong he is. I just couldn’t stop reading once I began. The secrets of the plot, the fear of the characters, and the curiosity that sparks within you as you read contribute into making this fic a unique one that’s so worth the read.

✩ Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter (40k)

summary: The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Another magnificent creatures/fantasy fanfic. The writing is absolutely exquisite, and I love how hard to get Louis is. The violence between Louis and Harry might bother some people, but to me it really spiced up their relationship and made Louis and Harry, who are creatures of gloom, particularly interesting and even real, somehow.

✩ Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

summary: They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

Where do I start? I usually don’t like fake-relationship AUs since most of the time Louis and Harry are famous, which make it less fun to me. But in this fic, they’re students and Harry is a frat boy while Louis is a nerd, but it’s not cliché or anything. It’s actually so well-written and the relationship between Louis and Harry takes time to progress which I absolutely love, seeing as I am a sucker for slow burn. Harry is so sweet as a frat boy, and Louis is an angel. Really loved reading this.

✩ at your fingertips by @risthebrave (27k)

summary: He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

Or, Louis really should have seen it coming.

Besides being well-written, the whole plot is quite original. I absolutely loved Louis in there, especially since all of his insecurities made me relate to him. He’s so sweet, and I’m glad Harry was there to get him to open-up and see how amazing he is. I had so many moments of secondhand embarrassment haha, and they made the fic all the more amazing. Honestly, what really struck me in this fic is how the author managed to make Harry such an amazing person, and how intrepid Louis is while he learns to overcome his insecurities.

✩ Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense (83k)

summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

It was such a joy to read this fic. Even though Harry pissed me off on more than one occasion, I took great satisfaction in how Louis ignored him or replied with one of his witty comebacks. The plot twist was just awesome and Harry’s stubbornness ended up being very much welcome.

✩ push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly (31k)

summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

Oh my god, this was truly wonderful. The size difference made me go crazy! The smut was just wow too. What really made this fic so incredible is how protective of Harry Louis is, and how Louis seems to just... understand Harry despite his issues. Jealous Harry also! I loved it. Moreover, Louis’ character is literally perfect in this.

✩ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

summary: Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

I’ve read and re-read this. I love Louis and Harry’s dynamic, and how they solve their troubles in the end. Harry is such a sweet soul, and Louis deserves the world!

✩ Canyon Moon by @eeveelou (40k)

summary: For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

What really drew me in is that I’ve never before seen a larry fanfic on the Lion King, and honestly? It was so beautiful. The way the author made the plot of the cartoon go along with the A/B/O world was truly surprising, and absolutely interesting to read. Also, when Louis is introduced to the modern world? It’s such a sweet part of the fic.

✩ a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent (27k)

summary: The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

Trailer park Harry? HELL YEAH! The concept has been going on in the fandom for so long that when I saw someone finally wrote it, I was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t disappointed! The writing is wonderful and the way Louis and Harry grow closer is just so sweet. Loved it!

✩ The Healing Song series: The Healing Song and The Wedding by 2204 (111k and 3k)

summary of The Healing Song: Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Or where Louis is a single father of two, suffering from PTSD, and Harry is there providing soulmatey and loving support while he heals the wounds of past abuse.

God, this fic I swear! This made me cry, laugh, scream... this is a roller-coaster of emotions. It’s quite a hard fic to read, because it deals with past abuse and trauma. And it’s even harder knowing this story is based on real life events that the author went though. But the way it’s written, the way Harry helps Louis through his struggles and issues, it’s so beautiful and inspiring.

✩ Sunrise and Pixie Dust by @moonyblouie (14k)

summary: Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

I loved this, the smut is so hot!! But the end... I really hope there will be a sequel! But other than that, the way Louis is written? Wonderful!

✩ Weightless by @smittenwithlouis (25k)

summary: He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

This was... just amazing, honestly. I loved loved loved every time Louis interacted with dragons, I could picture it and it’s just so so sweet. The way Louis is concerned about Harry’s safety, and Harry’s will to make Louis’ life better, to give him the freedom he deserves... it’s just beautiful.

✩ The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror (25k)

summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

I absolutely loved this! The plot, the writing, the suspense, the secrets... everything was on spot and left me yearning for more. The atmosphere really makes the reader completely engrossed into what’s going on, and the end doesn’t disappoint. Dark fics have always been something that I enjoy reading, and this one definitely didn’t disappoint. Just wow!

✩ Latibule by @quelquesetoiles

summary: Louis had worked in the infamous resort placed in the median point of all worlds for longer than he could remember. He went through everyday with a soul-crushing emptiness filling his mind, going through the same routine over and over again. Despite all the happenings around him, his soul never wavered, his emotions stayed superficial, and nothing took his breath away anymore.

Nothing, except the intoxicating smell of lavender and the contemplating green eyes that came along for the ride every now and again. His heart always seemed to wake up full force whenever those pretty lips formed around even prettier, yet empty promises, and he felt the magic sizzle in his bones again only when contact was made between the divine body and his own deceivingly normal one. He hated it for the fact he really didn’t.

Or : A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

I have read this at least three times, that’s how good this fic is. I am a sucker for mythology, like truly, and Louis and Harry’s dynamic in there had me screaming! Jealous Harry is the best thing, and the semi plot twist at the end made my heart jump. But besides the universe we readers are diving into, it’s also the writing that’s left me pleasantly drunk. The words flow together perfectly, at after each paragraph you just long for more. Also the pet names!!! Just beautiful.

✩✩✩

If there’s any mistakes, please let me know!

#fic recs

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beauvoyr · 5 years

Text

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 20

decaying | 20 Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, asphyxiation, no beta we die like men, pre-Omen trailer route, pre-demon Noctis Chapter Rating: T+ Crossposted on: ao3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership. Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

YOU WEAR SUNLIGHT IN THE MOST RADIANT way. It dusts you in a gossamer glow; sunlight dripping off your body, glistening, luscious enough for anyone to lick the sunny sweetness from your skin. A guilty part of him liked you against a backdrop of black with stars clustering your hair and sleep-heavy eyes lidding low, but he has a newfound appreciation for the way the sun sheathes your skin in subtle extravagance, colouring you in ways artificial lighting couldn’t.

Pocketing his hands, Noctis observes how you underwent the same transformation he’s seen time and time again.

You dash up the Crystal Promenade, crossing crowded roads and marvelling at the magnificent stained glass streets sprawled under your sandals. The breeze picks up, sheer lace bouncing off your thighs, and cooing doves scatter into flight. You dart through pockets of space between the crowd, examine silvery timepieces displayed in Chopard, perking up at the street performers orchestrating a waltz with a cello, a violin, and an Electone. Prompto’s habit must’ve rubbed off on you, for you snapped a picture of some jolly bystanders waltzing along to the sentimental tune, and then a few more of the merry musicians tapping their feet in tandem.

“It’s Je Te Veux,” you tell him once he reaches your side, bright eyes all eager.

He’s never heard of that one before, but he can count on you and your endless database of classical music ingrained in that knotty head of yours. He makes a toneless sort of hum, realises it couldn’t be heard over the vibrato, and tries again. “What’s that?”

“Satie composed it.” You palm your phone to your chest, eyes trained on the graceful glide of the dancers having a good time with one another. The brilliance of your smile seems to fade for a second and Noctis wonders what’s up—that is until you seem intent on avoiding his eyes. “It means I want you.”

Oh. Oh.

There are no cymbals in the waltz, but Noctis is sure his heart is beating to the sound of a toy monkey clanging brass cymbals together. Jarringly loud in his ears, all clang clang clang like some annoying alarm in that morning Marlboro cartoon show. The sunny warmth is starting to get to him, reaching his ears, and he fights the awkward urge to have a stiff, long walk through Insomnia just to get away from the teasing lilt of the violin.

All Noctis does is to rub his nape in faux indifference. He too avoids your eyes.

“Hmm. I see.”

THE SHOP HE’S LOOKING FOR is housed in the upscale part of the city, all cobblestones fanned in russet reds, blossoming shrubs edging the walkways, iron scrollwork fencing the pavements. Prompto’s always skittish on the rare occasions when Ignis drags them here, needing to complete a grocery errand or two. Either one of the buttons on Noctis’ jacket had vanished and only DKNY carried specific silver buttons with monogrammed engravings, or he needed to replace one of his scandalous-looking shirt garters—the ones that fit around the curve of his thigh like some contraption for the kinky. Noctis isn’t judging, but he has his own suspicions about Ignis because who doesn’t?

Whatever, he’d rather not think about it now. He’d very much like to concentrate on how you’ve gone ahead with locating what he needed, pointing at a sun-bleached signboard hanging overhead.

“Is this the correct store?” You crane your neck to decipher the neon-lit swirls scrawled on the board juxtaposing deep stonewalls. “Vivienne Westwood?”

He comes to a stop before the broad, polished glass popping out on the sidewalk. “Yep, that’s the one.” Reflected, you and him: A vision in white and shrouded in black, your head tipped aside, him toeing the pavement. A wireframe mannequin models an assemblage of scarf, skirt, and matching heels, not that he knows anything about fashion. It’s just that he enjoyed watching your animated reflection scrutinising tortoiseshell sunnies perched on its head, hand on your chin. A corner of his lips slants upwards at the sight. “Most of us have our stuffs personally tailored, so, yeah. Either from Vivienne Westwood or Roen.”

You tiptoe a little to get a closer look at another pair of paisley sunglasses hanging by a string. “Kinda like personal tailors? Since you guys have fashion labels working for the royal family?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs. “Why?”

“‘cause I noticed your boots have those pretty red soles,” you say matter-of-factly, pointing downwards to what seems to be his boots. Noctis gets that awkward feeling again, like some inside joke just went over his head. What does that have to do with anything when he’s out here with you? You’re not going to make him take off his shoes again, are you? Just to examine his toes, like some bizarre déjà vu of his first meeting with you? Thankfully, you seem to pick up on his confusion since you've gone ahead tilting your head with a smile. "Christian Louboutin, right?"

Yeah, he has no experience to go through this conversation. That’s up Ignis’ alley, not his. But he might have heard the name bounced back and forth during personal fitting sessions, might have something to do with a Loubouwhatever measuring his feet with tape. Safe to say, Noctis is just going to play along. “Uh—yeah. Personalized everything. Head to toe.” He pauses at your knowing nod, growing suspicious. As much as he’s flattered—and a tad bit pleased—that you always keep your eyes on him enough to notice the finer points to his clothes, red soles are incredibly specific knowledge only privy to those with a keen interest in fashion. Finding no harm in prying, he nudges you in the side. “…didn’t think you’re the type to like fashion.”

You sidle up to him, hands quick to return his jab with one of your own. “Not me, no. Byron’s a huge fashion nerd who keeps his Pinterest board full of fashion brands, that’s all.” Noctis huffs at your predictable action, swatting you aside. He’s way too used to your antics by now—not that he knows if it’s a good thing or not. Thwarted, you backpedalled, keeping your hands to yourself. “He’s always buzzing about new fashion trends or whatever’s hot in the market, and he has this huge stash of fashion magazines in his room, making scrapbooks out of the bits he liked. It’s also kinda creepy since he idolises Claire Farron enough to have her posters on his walls. After a while, you just pick up about stuffs like that when he’s around 24/7.”

That’s some unnecessary insight on the guy who continuously pisses him off at every waking moment of his life, but Noctis isn’t about to say that to your face, not when said guy is your childhood butler who took whippings in your stead. If Gladio likened him to an older, pissier version of Ignis, the truth might not be far off. Grunting, Noctis nudges the door open for you. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”

Apparently, the store manager witnessed his interaction with you, greeting them with a bemused smile when the waft of cool air hit him. Her silver nametag reads Magisa. “Welcome, Your Highness,” she says with her pencil thin eyebrows still parked high on her forehead. “May I help you and your companion for today?”

Dealing with sales reps hounding his every step and tailing him worse than Glaives is enough to seize him up. A quick shake of his head has the wrinkled woman peering him over her rimmed glasses, and Noctis lets his eyes wander the store to avoid her piercing stare. “Nah, we’re good. I’m just going to look around.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she placates, even if her half-bow is stunted with the fact that she’s still sneaking stares at your general direction. “If you and your lady friend require assistance, please do not hesitate to approach any of us.”

With how she places great emphasis on the word, Noctis has the sense to grimace. Should he be worried if this will blow up when the tabloids lap it all up? Yeah, hopefully not. It's his first time entering the store without his usual duo flanking his sides, and sensational scoops are one way to get the readership spiking faster than the Citadel's PR Department's migraine.

"Uh. Thanks. Can you just…?" he makes some vague hand gesture, hoping it’s a loose interpretation of what he needs, eyes skirting around when her stare is harder than stone. "We just want to shop without—uh, things happening."

She seems to understand him that much with no questions asked, quick on her feet to flip the sign to Closed and drops the automated blinds over the storefront with a click of a button. The sudden hush accompanying his personal shopping experience has you teetering closer to him, wary eyes searching his face for any signs of reassurance. Your fingers worry the hems of his jacket, chewing on your bottom lip out of habit again. Noctis squeezes your shoulder to ease your nerves before Magisa turns.

“As much as I love celebrity news, I don’t want to see some clickbait article like You Wouldn’t Believe What Prince Noctis Did Last Weekend on Insomnia Daily’s website,” she announces, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards on one side. She looks like she’s seen her fair share of celeb mishaps in her own store and would love nothing more than to die of natural causes than a heart attack. “By all means, Your Highness, do be careful. The media circus is barbaric enough to tear your reputation into shreds if you drop your guard.”

And not even the Glaives can guard him against it. "…yeah, copy that.”

Magisa is sensible enough to keep a respectful distance from him when he strolls through the rolling racks, suede jackets, knitted sweaters, complementing accessories, an orgasm of colours reaching out to him. It’s easy to forget why he’s here when he’s here with you, taking in the slanted photo frames hanging off the walls, glorious lights dawning on you and him, stops at an eye-catching bomber jacket studded in stars across its back—until he’s distracted by your fingers tugging his cuff.

“What are we looking for, Prince? Anything specific in mind for Ignis? Or is there anything he’s been eyeing?”

That’s a good question. Walking into another aisle offers rows of men’s accessories hanging from sleek metal plates. Noctis eyes a leather belt with some punk rock aesthetic on it; Prompto’d like that. “No idea actually. Was hoping we’d just find something here for him.”

“Maybe I can browse the other side and see what I can come up with?” you offer, slinking backwards with a genuine expression of being helpful to the cause. Noctis turns on his heels, catching the flit of your fingers trailing in the air as goodbye. Your back turns to him when you wander through gypsum partitions, leaving an echo of your voice. “I’ll come back soon.”

That is not how he envisioned this to be, but uh. “Sure, I guess…” Noctis answers to an empty space, minding how awkward it feels when you’re not by his side. He has half the urge to chase you just because—and the other half is judging him through Magisa's pointed silence, having witnessed every waking second.

Deciding it's best to concentrate on the task in hand, he orientates his focus to a suave combo of a dress shirt, striped belt, and gradient aviators arbitrarily arranged on a wall-mounted shelf. The clashing colours don't scream Ignis Posh Scientia, so it's a solid No for Noctis. A cashmere scarf in tartan isn't Ignis Stylish Scientia either, and Noctis backs away from the section altogether. After rifling through three snazzy co-ords, four fitted pants whilst knowing nothing of Ignis’ size, two loafers and simultaneously thwarted by Ignis’ mysterious size yet again, Noctis is almost ready to call it a day.

Magisa, thankfully, steps up to her task after sensing his deathly desperation and escorts him to a selection of accessories for the subdued, wrinkled hands lifting one of the many displays for him to choose. Having her recommendations ironed out some of the hitches in his grand plan, deciding the subtle emboss of a skull on a pair of suspenders is better than the garish VW belt buckle, and with satisfaction, Noctis follows her to the cashier—

—or not, when a sharp glint has him making a short detour to a tiered jewellery display.

Hanging off the dainty hooks are little bits of silver with varying pendants, necklaces and chokers sparkling under a well-placed spotlight. Before he takes a step back to think why he’s here and what he’s doing and Magisa’s incredible concern with whatever he’s up to, Noctis threads his fingers through a delicate star necklace.

Diamante dotting all five points up to its heart, sleek silver chain neither too long nor short like his soon-to-be five months with you. Just right, maybe just right sitting at the base of your neck nestled between your collarbones. That’s not too bad of a thought, so before he overthinks things and dabbles into the mechanics guiding his rash action, he hands it over to a waiting Magisa, who accepts it with pursed lips.

“Shall I pack it separately?” she asks none too subtly, returning to the cash register to ring up his purchases. “Would you prefer a nondescript bag or a ribbon to go with it?”

Noctis cocks a brow, withdrawing his wallet and putting his card on the proffered tray. “Is this about the suspenders or?” She gives him a look, the one that makes him feel like he's in trouble after Ignis looted his unhealthy Nissin collection, and he instantly knows what she's referring to. "Uh. Separately packaged. Just a box will do." Maybe a ribbon? "Nothing too flashy for the ribbon. Simple stuff."

“Of course, Highness, she doesn’t seem like the gaudy sort,” she offers her opinion—not that he asked her for it, but it’s a little reassuring that Magisa seems satisfied with his choice. Deft hands slotted his card, nude fingernails key in numbers on the screen, making quick work of boxing up the necklace for him to hide.

And hiding your necklace is just a simple affair of attuning it with his armoury, stowing it deep where nobody else knows its presence but him.

The fracture of blue scattering over the countertop disappears in seconds, and it has Magisa pinching her glasses to lower it by a fraction.

“Well,” she comments, impressed, “that’s handy.”

Noctis smirks.

THAT PAPERBAG IN YOUR ARMS shouldn’t be getting under his skin, but it is. You emerge almost guiltlessly from the storefront with your purchase, a sizeable heft for its nondescript beige, smiling his way. Just what exactly is in it, that's the million Credit question right there. It could be something for your own closet since you've never gone shopping on your own before, but the irrational and conspiratorial Noctis whispers it's something for Byron, definitely for Byron, because when are you notthinking about fashionable little Byron and his four-digit leather gloves anyway? Your morning conversation said all that needs to be said.

The sun’s irritating his skin and feeding the irritation in his heart, but you don’t seem to notice any of it.

“So what’re we doing now, Prince?” you say, prancing by his side in that one-two skip you do whenever you’re excited, but you’re playing off your excitement just so he won’t say anything about it. “Is there anything else you wanna do?”

Crossing the Ladian Avenue together, heavily blossoming magnolia trees shaded the pavement, creamy innocence perfuming the air. Strips of grass overlay granite slabs, pink petals dusting the surface. Children play imaginary hopscotch on evenings when their parents are off from work, couples marvel over the bold jewels growing on these magnolias, and for people like Noctis, someone not exactly a parent or your boyfriend, he pockets his hands and tries to shrug off his misplaced displeasure. Tries, because he’s still not good at it, but at least he’s willing to try.

“You hungry?”

Cracked sunlight falls over a part of your face, highlighting the sheer luminance of your eye. “Yeah? I mean, I’m totally cool if you wanna go home now since we’ve got what you need, but…” you stop underneath a magnolia, leaning against the scrawny trunks clustered together, “if it’s not too much of a hassle for you, can we go to the bookstore together?”

“The bookstore?” he repeats—totally not distracted by how the sunlight fragments colours in your iris, totally not wanting to press his fingers to your cheek to feel how warm you are. “Sure, if you have something to do there. Not that far of a detour from here.” Pointing to some few blocks in the distance to show how close it is, his hand falls to his hip just so he’d avoid touching you out of your comfort zone. “You wanna head there now?”

You give a little stretch with your arms high above your head, making a sound of pure content. One that Noctis has never heard before. “Nah, later. Lunch sounds way more tempting. Where do you wanna take me this time?”

He can’t say he’s thought that far ahead, but he’s proud of himself for being able to turn the question right at you. “What do you wanna eat this time?”

“The ramen we had was really tasty,” you suggest, though you quickly retract your statement with a finger tapping your chin, “but I kinda wanna eat something different. Something like that, but not something like that?”

There you go again, all roundabout answers with no end in sight. Five months in and you’re still you. Shreds of magnolias drift in the breeze as he snorts, dusting off pretty pinks falling on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means, Prince,” you say, quick hands cupping a fluttering petal, delighted like you’ve never seen one before. Maybe Byron’s never pruned magnolias for your vases, that’s possible enough. “Kinda like one of those feel-good foods? Homely kinds of stuff, nothing fancy, just delicious meals straight from the heart.”

The wind picks up, sweeping through the boulevard, a flurry of flowers raining on you and him. Nonchalantly picking out a petal streaked in rich pinks fading in whites from your hair, Noctis drops it into your outstretched hands. You crane your neck to reward his gift with a smile, and it’s all he needs. “Ever had oden before?”

“Nope, never had them.” You shake your head as Noctis plucks off more pinks from your hair, his jacket, your shoulders, presents in the palms of the queen in white. “What’s oden like? Loads of rich broth? Warm, fuzzy foodie meals? Instaglam-worthy shots?”

“Your inner Prom is coming out,” he points out, and you laugh.

Just like this, it’s nice standing around, talking with you all casual like nothing else matters in this world. Pressing your back to the tree, cornering you like this—oh. Magisa’s warning throbs in his head.

Yeah, shit, he kind of forgot about that, didn’t he?

Noctis consciously takes a step back, catching questions in your eyes.

The Glaives tailing him 24/7 would peck all this up like Chocobo feed for the rest of the Glaives back home to gobble over, and if he’s hoping this won’t be #1 trending gossip in Insomnia, he better start praying to whatever Astrals’ out there watching over him. They say Ramuh’s the kindest of the bunch, right? So maybe Ramuh would listen and spare him all the media sharks who could’ve spied on him.

Out in the open space, anyone could be watching him—you. He doesn't have the cover of the night to help him out when it's bright and breezy like this, nothing like the privacy of a lake and the stars, nothing like Prompto’s presence warranting a friendly outing. Going out with him and Ignis is one thing while going out with you is on another scale altogether. He doesn’t enjoy freedom the way a commoner does, all because he’s the prince. And princes don’t get to walk around with you the same way Byron does.

There it is again.

He hates it. Hates the familiar edges of that moody, problematic prince coming up. All because he doesn’t think things through and his temperament is getting the best of him and he just can’t say it because he doesn’t know how to make it sound not so awkward since he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore but he can’t go past a boyfriend because what kind of shitty boyfriend is he going to be when he can’t even date you normally. And then there’s Byron too, feeding the unhealthy glutton for jealousy in him. So he’ll probably end up ruining this day in the end, won’t he?

Pretending the disappointment clouding your eyes is nothing more than confusion, he quirks a finger for you to follow. “C’mon, let’s go. I’m starving.”

The abrupt change in his demeanour isn't lost on you. Still, you seem to stumble out of whatever daydream cluttering your head, petals once clasped tight in your palms now scattering all over the ground. “…right, lead the way.”

He’s good at pretending, isn’t he? He’s been pretending he’s got his life together all these years, so he’s sure he can pretend to be your friend just a little while longer.

A MOUTHFUL OF PIPING HOT oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. You’ve never seen someone conducting business from a wooden cart curtained in red, but the novelty of the experience has you eager to sink onto the wooden stool for the pick-and-mix session to begin. The ancient owner, yet another friend of the prince, is all toothy grins when Noctis ducks into his stall, batting away all attempts at paying at the end of the meal.

“You’re definitely the People Prince,” you say, en route to the bookstore across a boulevard lined in street lamps. Paper bag bouncing by your side, you take a peek at his face. “I’m kinda surprised how many people actually know you—not like know know, but they know you like you’re friends from way before.”

Noctis shrugs like it means nothing to him, but you’ve long learnt his belligerent blue eyes are more honest than he is. “Used to hang out loads with Prom when I was in high school. Arcades, ramen stalls, oden carts, cinemas, karaoke, you name it, we did ‘em all.” He swoops sharp right into another street, plodding uphill past grey-bricked boutiques. “When you’re a regular, you’re instantly a level above most customers they get on other days.”

You tail him from behind, though momentarily, a woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu makes you coo for a second. Noctis flashes you a look for your unintelligible cooing, not expecting that form of a reply, and you fiddle for an answer. “Um—well, you’re the prince and you get along so well with them, so you’re everyone’s favourite.”

“Totally not,” he rebukes with less bite and more of a scowl. Curt, leaving the conversation in the dust, just like that.

Had you hit a sore spot somehow? He’s been testier ever since you got out of Vivienne Westwood a little later than he did. Is it because it's the usual cliché of guys hating girls when they go off on a shopping spree? And then they have to wait for what seems like aeons before their significant other comes back to reality? Free oden failed in cheering him up, even if the ecstatic old man loaded up his portion with more freebies, so hangry from both hunger and anger is out of the question since you’re full and he’s full and he’s still taking you to the bookstore like what you wanted.

So what was your fault?

You don't know.

Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

Catching up brings you to an uncommon bookstore, broad posters taping the front of the store in the latest literature fixes. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, you assume it's a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. The whole atmosphere matches a parked car next to its entrance, white racing stripes across chintzy pink convertible, silver Vixen on its antique hood. It even has a Moogle bauble on its antenna, making you smile at how cute it is.

Unfortunately, Noctis doesn’t share your sentiment and doesn’t share your thoughts. He just stares at you staring at the car, and you felt bad for pulling him all the way here. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here after all? And he’s just too polite to say anything about it?

Somehow, that sends your premature joy plummeting to the ground.

“C’mon, let’s go in.”

“—right.”

The brisk exchange falls flat with you following Noctis inside, chilly air-conditioning fleecing your sun-warmed skin. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on weathered racks, but it’s hard to concentrate on the people and the place when Noctis and only Noctis is in your head. You pissed him off, didn’t you? In some way you can’t explain since you don’t know how you screwed up. You knew this day would come. Just like how you fight with Byron over the smallest of things, this could cement the start of a dispute between you and Noctis over who knows what and Gods know why.

He’s walking ahead.

He isn’t waiting for you.

Wandering through stationeries shelved along the walls, fingers drifting over jutting pencils, you are lost. Shellac finishes to a wooden barrel fail to reignite your interest in purchasing and engraving a fountain pen for Ignis’ birthday. The bookstore is suddenly too cold, too lonely for you alone, standing in front of a glass display. You are a face among the many masks hustling about, giggling and chatting and walking along. You can’t share Noctis’ world when he’s not here with you.

A soft graze on your elbow has you looking up to your left, sinking into a trance when familiar blackness return.

Oh. Noctis is here all along, blue eyes unreadable. He’s doing something with his hand. Oh. He’s holding you. He turns his back, fingers laced through yours, leading you away from the crowd. Past uncaring apron-wearing helpers, past scampering children, past the broadest wall leading to an emergency exit. Heavy fire doors are bolted shut behind him. They erase all sounds, hiding you and him from scandalized eyes.

His hand is warm in yours.

Fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, the stairwell smells of dust and cement. You can’t hear your heart beating when Noctis tips his head, messy bangs turning blue eyes black. He has your back to the wall like he had you at the tree—only, there is no distance separating you and him. He presses into your space with the intent to take everything, leaving nothing behind. You let him. His leg nudges between your knees up your thigh and he bends close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks. You can't breathe.

Dry lips descend on your ear with a warm whisper.

“Ah. A white puppy.”

You feel him smile.

“It’s too bad, really, that I need a black mongrel instead.”

It shuts down in black. Your eyes are wide open but you can’t see. Noctis is gone but you still feel his knee brushing against your inner thighs. Crawling the column of your neck is his hand, and it settles with a thumb on your jugular. He breathes low and harsh and you can’t mistake the shudder up your spine as anything else other than fear. You can’t see him, but you feel him holding you down the cracking drywall. You can’t move. You can’t scream.

He is saying something, but you hear him no more, not over the Crystal humming in your ear. It drowns him out like summer bees and static TV, but his breath laving your lobe is warm, rank, smelling of death and decay. Clawed fingernails dig half-moons in your wrist. You flinch under his strength. He doesn’t budge. You are cold when it is hot and sweat starts from your scalp sliding to your shoulder. Knees are buckling underneath you and you are certain you are falling but there is no telltale pain bruising your knees. You don’t know if you are standing or you are kneeling or you are here.

Blackness thickens because it’s never gone from the start, and the Crystal grows louder like it fights to be heard over Noctis. Electricity slithers where the crescents lie on your wrist, tattooing your skin in short jolts. Ouch you gasp but your lips do not move and your voice is unheard.

You’ve felt this before.

It’s magic.

But there is no blue in the blacks, only frayed red seeping through. Blotting out the dark, blurring into greys.

The buzz snips off sharp as scissors.

A mouthful of piping hot oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. A woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu has you distractedly cooing for a second. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, it’s a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on purposely weathered racks, and the shellac finishes to a wooden barrel catches your fancy for Ignis’ gift.

The cashier hands your change with a smile and you exit the store to find Noctis waiting outside. Why is he looking all glum and sullen with his arms crossed over his chest anyway? Didn't that oden old man load up his bowl with all the grilled fishcake and sticky tofu skins? That can’t do, he can’t do all the frowning when you’re all happy from the food.

“Sorry for the wait!” You cosy up to him, tucking your packaged pen by your side. Noctis visibly jumps and looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head. His face is priceless and you can't help but laugh at him. "Gosh, Prince, what's wrong? Did something happen?”

“Uh—no, nothing happened,” he’s quick to sputter with a shake of his head, though he can’t seem to wipe that silly look he gives you. “You… okay?”

You’re confused, but not as confused as Noctis. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And Noctis takes a hard, long look. Narrowed blue eyes, lips curled, arms uncrossing to drop by his sides. He surveys you how one surveys an advertisement, even if all you had for an offering is this white dress and two sets of gifts. After a while, seemingly coming to a decision, he guiltily rubs his nape. "No. Nothing. Forget it."

“What, all that and nothing?” you chide at the anticlimactic end, taking one step after another.

He doesn’t answer, walking past an empty parking lot, and you jab him in his side, inciting an undignified yelp at your pre-emptive attack. So maybe it’s not worth it when he turns around and you get a sense of belated uh-oh when he chases you up the street, but at least now you know Gladio’s training is paying off because hey, your sides aren’t hurting that much anymore.

YOU ARE WEIRD AND UNREPENTANT and everything in Noctis’ dictionary of a catastrophe. Here he is, trying his damned best in keeping a distance from you, and you all but kicked over the barricades and shredded the WARNING flyers he tacked on the signboards. What’s he supposed to do when you ran fast uphill—but he’s faster,duh, and it ends in him yanking you through backstreet detours to avoid a ruckus. You had the nerve to laugh at him with the biggest, most brilliant smile he’s ever seen—not that it’s forgiven anything you’ve done to him today, absolutely none at all.

He can’t believe he’s saying this, but he’s glad to see your chilly chamber of secrets, even if it means his toes have to freeze on marble again.

Incredibly in a good mood, you are humming. Clicking on your desktop, belting out Billboard’s Top 20 instead of dead people’s music, boiling hot water and making tea. Noctis drops on a chair and observes you with a palm propping his head. Observes, because he’s sure as hell never experienced something like this before, never seen the city life infecting you all the way to your room, never heard you singing softly under your breath to some crappy lyrics scrawled on restroom stalls.

Did the bookstore unlock some hidden part of your personality like some side quest in a prophecy? Visit the bookstore to gain a new skill: Humming! or something? Noctis makes a face at that. Five years with Prompto and his RPG obsession definitely rubbed off on him.

You balance two cups in a hand and a teapot in the other, clicking off the music. “Here you go, Prince.�� When he makes a move to help, you all but shushed him to sit, bringing porcelain to his face and pouring a stream of gold liquid right in it. “Sorry I don’t have anything good, Byron’s been too distracted with Ignis’ birthday party until he forgot my groceries this week.”

Noctis takes a sip of the bland concoction and considers what you said—not that he’s surprised irritation’s rapidly overtaking his initial revelation at your good mood because it’s Byron and when are you not in a good mood about Byron anyway? “Hmm.”

Either you heard him or you don’t as you sit right beside him instead of your usual spot behind your desk, nursing your own cupful. “He’s been baking nonstop,” you say with a sparkle in your eyes, but it vanished when you continue, “and when he screws up, I’m his garbage can apparently. He’s okay with cooking but he’s still crap at baking so I kinda think he’s trying to impress Ignis with this cake but ah—but don’t tell him I told you, he’ll totally kill me.”

His tone darkens with another deep sip. “Hmm.”

Radiating the sun’s enthusiasm, you aren’t unenthused with the one-sided conversation. He sets down his polished cup a little too sharply and you take it as a chance for refilling, not that he’s in any mood to drink more.

“So anyway, thanks for taking me out today,” you cheer, attempting to duck your head just so you’d meet his downturned eyes since he’s gone ahead with slouching in his seat. “Things are really different in the morning, huh? The kids, the streets, the shops, I didn’t think it’d be that different from all the times we went out at night. I was so, so wrong.”

He says nothing and stares right back at you.

He’s an ass for sulking about Byron now, isn’t he?

He is.

Not discouraged by his off-putting silence, you reach by your chair to pull the VW paper bag in your lap, hands flattening crinkles at the folds. Great, seeing that stuff shoves his mood off a cliff faster than a dive. You’re not going to make him sit through you parading your purchase for Byron, are you? He’d rather leave before that happens. No way in hell he’ll stick around to drag that knife down his heart like a goddamn masochist who likes this shit.

The moment he tries to get to his feet, tries, your hands shoot out to dump the bag on him. Whump it goes on his jeans, and Noctis stays because his legs suddenly forgot how to walk.

“That’s yours, Prince, as thanks for today—and also kind of like thanks for sticking with me all the time—wait, no, that’s not what I meant—as in thanks for letting me stick with you.” Your voice is thin at your fumbling, eyes nervously sweeping from him to the bag, bouncing your knees, and he swallows. “I mean it. So. Yeah. Um, thanks for all these four months together and I’ll work really, really hard to make sure the fifth month counts. Yeah. Yeah.”

So maybe his brain can’t quite catch up because his mouth betrays him with a stupid, “Uh.” And that’s not what he’s trying to say when you look positively petrified at the dead sound like he doesn’t care when he obviously cares, damn it. “Wait no—I just.” He swallows the tightness in his throat because why is it so hard to say something when just a word makes the difference between life and death because you, too, counted all the months together like him? His mouth still can’t process the important message and he ends up with another dumb, “Um. Thanks.”

What else? What else? Should he add that he’s sorry for being an ass today just because a certain green-eyed monster kept taunting him with Byron’s name? That blew out of proportions—and that embarrassed him to the point of no return. Here you are, gifting him the same paper bag that haunted him all the way from Vivienne Westwood, and it’s not for your butler of decades. It’s for him. A five-monthiversary gift. For him.

And nobody else but him.

Because you only had eyes for him from the start.

The silence is deafening. He considers you considering him, you’re all wide-eyed silence, he’s all eyes lidded low silent. Your hands smoothen white cotton over your thighs. Teeth are back on your bottom lip, gnawing, pulling. He’s going to mess this up again, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. He totally is. How’s he supposed to say something, anything, when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of surplus jealousy and growing shame?

The next best thing for him to do is the good old adage of action speaks louder than words. Taking the advice to heart, Noctis snatches the ribboned box from his armoury in a burst of blue, tossing it to your lap. Not the best way to gift you, but it evens out the score since you threw his first.

You haven’t moved an inch as the box bounces on your thighs. You probably stopped breathing too.

Noctis clears his throat and remembers that conversation is a two-way thing, as bad as he is at it. “That’s… yours.”

On cue, trembling fingers scramble to lift it to uncertain eyes and he’s rewarded with the sight of a dumbstruck strategist trying to make sense of the package. Turning it in every angle in sunlight diffused by recessed lighting, examining the gold emboss on cool grey, and he’s willing to bet if he’s not there, you would’ve even sniffed the whole box like it’s an edible prank. In the end, you make a hapless sound, balancing it on your jittery lap with a rigid smile.

“Um.” You say, just as dumb as he did. “That was unexpected.”

Noctis tilts his head the other way round. “What, no thanks?”

Instantly, you seize up in panic. He meant it in a funny sense, just a friendly tease, but apparently, it's lost in the mathematics in your head. “No, no, I really, really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much, Prince, I—” you stop to make a strangled sound, pressing your palm to your mouth to stifle the noise. “—thanks, seriously, thanks. ”

Noctis catches your eyes turning glassy and hell, you’re not going to cry, are you? It’s already bad enough he’s struggling to deal with his internal issues; he can’t deal with a crying strategist right now. “Wait—stop. Don’t cry. Dude, seriously, chill.”

It takes a whole seven seconds for you to sniff like you’re draining your eyes inwardly, dabbing the wet corners with the back of your hand. “Not crying, but close enough.”

“Yeah, right.” Six, he hates it when someone messes up his hair, but his own hand is messing up his hair and he can’t get mad at himself, can he? Whatever. Noctis gives up understanding this whole thing and winds up gesturing haplessly at your gift. “You can open it if you want.”

“Sure—" you sniff and Noctis’ wary eyes are searching for any signs of tears as you wave at his gift hopelessly. “—you too, open that if you want to.”

So.

Now that it’s gotten to this point, he can’t imagine what’s in the paper bag or summon the last memory of receiving a gift outside of birthdays. All he knows is that he extracts a folded jacket from its depths, feels his brows meeting at the middle, almost did a double take when he gets a good look at the pin-sized stars dotting the back, physically refrained himself from doing said double take because it’s the same jacket he eyed the moment he stepped in the shop, and floundered for something to say. If you noticed his red soles, he can’t say he’s surprised you noticed how he lingered a second too long at the rack. Noctis leans deeper in his seat and stops trying to pin the precise point in the timeline to answer when you snuck behind his back to buy this for him. He finds none.

An awed gasp from your end tells him your reaction.

Now it’s his turn to dart back and forth from your face to the necklace dripping between your fingers. Your flushed face. One with a garbled series of stuttered ah, um, uh and more ah, um, uh until you abruptly swallowed all nonsensical noises and looked at it with the softest expression he’s ever seen on your face. Wet eyelashes quivering. Lips trembling. Soundless.

The silence returns.

Then, a quiet, “Star.”

Noctis searches for his voice for a while. He finds it, but he can’t release it from wavering. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you say.

He gets that much. Star. Just like the ones on his jacket. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you repeat, and a weaker, “Noctis.”

Noctis buries his hands in his jacket. He doesn’t realise when he’d done it. His fingers are burrowing deeper into fine fabric and hummingbirds are caged in his ribs. His name. On your lips. His name. Everything else matters little now. “Yeah?”

Slowly, almost unearthly, you return from your starry reverie with the lethargy of a woman drowning in the sea. Languid, lifting the necklace to your eyes—only, you are not looking at it, you are looking past the pendant, you are looking at him. “Just like the stars we saw that night, remember?”

Oh. Oh. The hummingbirds are loud. And fast. Noctis fishes something from his vocabulary along the lines of hey just so you know, it’s totally fine if you wanna call me by my name but some words end up omitted after an unexpected filtering and all he’s left with is a lame, “That’s my name.”

Your eyes are gentle when you say, “I know.”

The hummingbirds struggle maddeningly loud against his ribcage and Noctis thinks of come here, Noct, and come here and let me love you, and he knows what exactly he wants. “You know.” His voice has gone rougher in the edges. “You can call me by my name.”

The necklace ripples in the air. There is no breeze. Only your hand trembles. You don’t cry. You don’t smile. You don’t look away. “I can’t call you that, I’m sorry…” Your tongue twists each word with care, yet the undertones betray your want—your inherent need for his name. “I respect you as the prince, and it’s a reminder to me that you are my prince. It’s something I shouldn’t ever forget, as someone who wants to serve you.”

The reasoning behind your logic is solid but Noctis doesn’t want logic now.

Logic has no place between two people of a chance meeting on the 56th floor.

“I don’t want to be the prince to you. I want to be.” He pauses, looks mildly uncomfortable, and shakes his head. He wants it. Even if it’s pretending game for two. “Wanna be someone normal to you.” We aren’t normal, he says, we can never be normal with how things are, but I’ll keep pretending it’s normal if you’ll let me. “Not your prince, not your future duty. Just… normal.”

Someone normal enough to take walks with you on flowering promenades.

Someone normal enough to spend hours with you playing video games.

Someone normal enough to sleep together with you.

“So,” you murmur quietly, "is it okay," tipping your head aside, "if I," looping silver around your neck, "call you," clasp fixed securely in place, the star at home between your collarbones, "Noctis?"

He doesn’t trust his voice. Back to action it is, with a slow nod of his own.

You are the very image of his imagination, star sitting at the base of your neck, the centrepiece of your shoulders. You are too real. More than what his paltry dreams offered in his sheets, you are in your chair in a room too cold with his necklace on your neck and he stops hearing the hummingbirds and starts feeling them under his skin. They’ve escaped, fluttering in his nerves, almost guiding his fingers with enough force to touch the silver on your skin.

“Noctis,” you say, fingering his chain.

He nods again.

“Noctis,” you say, a finger stopping on the star.

He softly agrees with your echo, “Yeah.”

“Noctis,” you say, eyes falling shut, head downcast. “Thank you.”

He knows his name belongs on your lips when he, too, closes his eyes. There are stars on the backs of his eyelids and he thinks he’ll dream of them tonight.

IT IS ONLY MUCH LATER ON when you are in the company of your mirror that you allow yourself a moment to examine your reflection. You are twenty and your hands are still bloodied with people whose names you don’t know. You are father’s bundle of sins and your mother is dead. Your eyes are bruised black and your sickly pallor hasn’t improved five months removed from the House of Andronicus. You suspect the illness lies not within the house, but within you yourself. You are a decaying garden and it shows in your eyes, on your lips, on your tongue.

But one thing has changed.

Mother’s hands are gone from your neck.

And in its stead is the prince’s—no, he’s no longer the prince to you.

Noctis.

That is his name.

In its stead is Noctis’ necklace, a weight different from mother’s. It’s cold like her hands, but it’s not hers. It’s Noctis’. The edge of the star goes under your fingernail and you know it is a closure you’ve long sought. Her burial is long overdue.

“Goodbye, mama. Rest in peace.”

[tbc.]

NOTES:

in case anyone hasn’t seen it yet, Erion Makuo drew EXTREMELY FANTASTIC AND IMMENSELY BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK of Omen Noctis here so please go and check it out and send the artist HUGE LOVES! thank you so much for the gorgeous artwork!!! ;u; Bless Erion, bless the artwork, bless everything about them!!!

yells bc it took me ten thousand years to edit this chapter oh my god im so glad it’s done. cheers to plot devices trying to move the fic along! to those of you who are still reading, thank you so much for waiting roughly 4 months for this update! i’m really touched by all of the positive and encouraging moral support i’ve received through comments, kudos, and tumblr messages, especially through the tough times i’m facing and despite my inactivity on tumblr too. i’m still working in the same place, still floating along, still suffering, but coming back to work on this project and others, fuelled by everyone’s support, really gave a huge boost to my emotional health. thank you so much, everyone, you guys are the best, the biggest life-changers, the awesomest people i could ever ask for in times like this.

so what’s next in decaying? everything is going to hell, that’s for sure. more fluff, equally balanced with more questionable content. if you’re uncomfortable with darker themes and morally dubious actions done by the characters, as usual, i’ll include appropriate warnings at the beginning of each chapter and even a little tldr at the bottom as a summary should you want to skip it.

i’ll try to have the next update as soon as i can since my progress is slightly hampered by my bilateral hand conditions, so please look forward to the next chapter as soon as i can! do take care, my lovely friends and readers; stay healthy and hydrated, keep hustling, the times are tough and things are getting tougher, but remember you can do it!

PREVIEW: you’re drowning in air but the world isn’t swimming past you anymore, reality isn’t flitting and warping around in dimensions before your eyes, and you finally feel you’re conscious enough to understand that night has fallen yet again over insomnia, over your room. but why’s byron waiting in the dark without any light and why’s he bending over to caress your cheek and he’s whispering go back to sleep too loudly and all you can tell him is wait byron i’m scared please stay voicelessly when your limbs don’t move and you can’t move and it’s dark, it’s too dark, but why can you see gold eyes and the line of his smile shifting into a smirk and—

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #Noctis Lucis Caelum #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #lazy people #fanfic #thank you for reading!

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dippedanddripped · 4 years

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Fear of God's Jerry Lorenzo (left) and Zegna Creative Director Alessandro Sartori LONDON, United Kingdom — Jerry Lorenzo’s memories of Zegna dial back decades, to his father becoming manager of the Chicago White Sox baseball team and celebrating his appointment with a visit to Michigan Avenue, the city’s Magnificent Mile, home to major luxury brands. First stop, the Italian suiting giant Ermenegildo Zegna.

“The name represented elegance, sophistication,” Lorenzo remembers, “so many aspirational things that I’ve held on to in my subconscious ever since.”

He cycled through a series of entrepreneurial incarnations before settling into fashion with Fear of God, the upmarket streetwear brand that has become a cult favourite (he prefers to think of it as “American luxury”), but those memories of his dad shopping for suits have come back into vivid play with his latest project: a collaboration with Zegna and its Artistic Director Alessandro Sartori on a new collection for men, comprised of fashion and accessories at luxury price points, set to launch during Paris fashion week and hit retail in September.

“A good opportunity to explore new territory with a new customer,” said Chief Executive Gildo Zegna, “to combine the quality of the past with a modern attitude.”

The hybrid has flourished as a menswear staple since Kim Jones fused the sporty and the sartorial in the early years of the 21st century. Even so, the principles of this latest manifestation acknowledge its fundamental unlikeliness. Fear of God is rooted in Californian subcultures: a freeform stew of sport, skate, punk, hip-hop, hints of Goth. Meanwhile, Zegna has been the apogee of tailored Italian elegance for over a century. Melrose Avenue versus Via Monte Napoleone. And Lorenzo and Sartori couldn’t look more physically different.

“Aesthetically, our worlds are so far apart,” Lorenzo agrees, “but we’re inextricably tied.” Why am I irresistibly reminded of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in “Twins”? He hooted with laughter. “I love that movie. If you know anything about me, all I do is watch '80s and '90s movies. So many of my references come from that time period. It’s exactly that: when your destiny is tied to someone, you have to be prepared for the initial relationship to be a tough one.”

Aesthetically, our worlds are so far apart, but we’re inextricably tied.

Fact is, though, it wasn’t tough. Lorenzo and Sartori were primed for each other when they first met for coffee a year ago. “I already liked his styling, the way he dropped collections when he felt like it, the approach of his stores,” said Sartori. And Lorenzo soon found out they shared not only core values but also, he said, a common mission for menswear. “We’d debate back and forth about a shoulder width or what have you, but we never ever wavered because we believed what the collection needed to say in the end."

What that means exactly will be revealed on March 2, but the designers drop some oblique hints.

“I strongly believe there’s a gap between what’s happening culturally in streetwear and tailoring,” said Lorenzo. “It’s extreme to go from hoodie and sweats to a perfectly tailored suit tomorrow. There’s a place in between that speaks to both languages: easiness, relaxation, tailoring without compromise.”

Sartori described a “very physical” work process, “cutting and re-building silhouettes on real men, with a different approach to sizing, because Jerry likes to work on large sizes. So, the 48 is more than a 48, reflecting a freer body rather than a specific size of shoulder or chest.”

“There’s oversize and there’s a way to refine that,” said Lorenzo. “Alessandro has been extremely helpful, taking the idea and perfecting it.”

Sartori insists that working on the silhouettes was the most interesting part for him. “That was where we saw how different we were and how our approach was evolving into a third approach. One plus one equals three. I noticed a bit more sexiness and freedom.” Jerry laughed when he heard this. “Three years ago, I was talking to some consultants about what’s next for Fear of God. I said, ‘I wanna get into tailoring. I don’t know what it is, but I have this conviction that I want to make a sexy Zegna.’”

So, that was three years ago, and Lorenzo was already noticing the kind of shifts that other streetwear gurus have since picked up on, most notably Virgil Abloh’s recent declaration that streetwear is “gonna die,” drowned in a sea of T-shirts, hoodies and sneakers.

Jerry has his own take on that. “Streetwear designers have been given recognition as the creative directors and artisans they are. The title is changing but not necessarily the product.” Still, he calls himself his own best R&D department, and his instincts are telling him that a more mature look is driving the market.

Meanwhile, the customer Sartori has been courting in his collections for Zegna seems to be skewing younger, if you take the menswear spectacles he stages in Milan as his manifestos.

“There, I’m trying to evolve a certain grammar, write a new chapter for the book,” he explained. “What I’m doing with Jerry is a parallel language. I’m trying to write a new page for a generation I don’t work with today, who’ve never approached this message before. But there will also be people who haven’t found certain products from Jerry and now they’ll find suits, certain blazers, crafted leathers, beautiful coats, accessories… I think there are new product categories for both of our customers."

I’m trying to write a new page for a generation I don’t work with today, who’ve never approached this message before.

Music to a CEO’s ears. “The first thing that comes to my mind is that it will help us in the States where Jerry is super-well-known,” said Gildo Zegna. “We’ve not reached our potential with the new Zegna of Alessandro and this is a way that could help us reach out quicker. A new customer for Alessandro, a new customer for Jerry… that gives us new chances around the world.”

He acknowledges that the profound differences between the two make this a bold move, but he also notes their compatibility: the heritage, the purity, the authenticity.

Part of Lorenzo’s own purist point of view is that he bridles at the merest suggestion of the commercial exposure this collab could garner for him.

“It’s not an issue or desire for me. I’ve never relied on or hoped for that or looked to celebrity or anything other than my point of view to be the platform from which we reach the world. When you start thinking of the commercial or PR side, you begin to get lost and forget why you’re doing it.”

For him, Zegna is all about an opportunity to elevate what he already does to the very highest level.

Jerry is a spiritual guy. “You think he’s a party person, but when you call Jerry, he’s walking in the mountains with his daughter,” said Sartori.

“The foundation of what I do is faith,” explained Lorenzo. “I listen to a lot of sermons. Bishop TD Jakes says the greatest gift you can give someone is exposure. I think I’ve been exposed to a new way of doing what I do. And hopefully I’ve done all I can to expose Zegna to a new way of thinking.”

There was one early reaction to the collection that I was particularly keen to understand. Jerry Manuel introduced his son to Zegna. How does he feel about Jerry Junior’s latest move?

“I think I’ve got some solutions to have him look more like a 60-year-old man,” said Lorenzo. “I really think this collection not only shows a young man how to mature, but also gives an older market the freedom to approach their wardrobe in a different way. But, to be honest, my mom is more excited than my dad. All he wears is Fear of God. My mom said, ‘Finally my husband is not going to look like a kid!’”

#streetwear #fear of god #jerry lorenzo #fashion blog #menswear blog #streetwear blog #tim blanks #alessandro sartori

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ladynuwanda · 5 years

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The End of the World as We Know It - Part 1 (Michael LangdonXFemale Reader AU)

A/N: This is my first attempt at an AU, so I’m still a little unsure. But I liked it because it’s very different from everything I’ve ever done, and I wanted to get out of my comfort zone. Part 1 is mostly an introduction to this universe, but I hope you can enjoy it!

Warnings: None, I guess. Although there are mentions to some mental health issues that might be triggering for some of us. But that’s exactly why I didn’t ant to go too deep on the subject. It’s there, but I wanted to keep it light.

Word Count: 1,7K

“Do you know why you are here?”

I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help rolling my eyes a little at the question. This wasn’t my first time in a therapist’s office, although it was my first one-on-one session with Doctor Venable. I looked out the window, embarrassed by my own reaction. I knew it was cold outside, but you couldn’t tell it from inside Doctor Venable’s office. It wasn’t exactly cute and cosy, but it was nice enough, with elegant classic furniture. Very tidy, very neat, like Doctor Venable herself. Shades of purple seemed to be a theme in her office, as well as her life. You didn’t have to think much to figure out whose idea it was to make the wristband that carried our name-tags purple.

“I’m sorry for starting out with such an obvious question...”, she smiled with a small chuckle and lowered her eyes, “but I need to know just how far your understanding of the situation goes, if I want to help you.” Those beautiful brown eyes were burning into mine again, behind stylish prescription glasses. She had a gentle way of making you feel comfortable in her presence. The kind of therapist I’d want to be when I had my Psychology major. If I ever did.

“Yes...”, my voice was raspy for lack of use, so I cleared my throat, “I know why I’m here. You’re not gonna ask me to tell you about my mother, are you?”, I gave an awkward half-laugh and regretted my own silly joke almost immediately. My mother was probably the last thing I wanted to talk about now. I knew she was probably heartbroken by what I did, but I just couldn’t deal with it yet. “It’s only our first meeting, I’d rather get to know you better before being introduced to your family...”, she gave me a kind smile. She understood. She knew I wasn’t ready to talk about it. She wasn’t the kind of therapist that would give me a nod of fake understanding and ask me “and how does that make you feel?”, and I was grateful to her for being better than that.

The session was over before I even knew it, and it wasn’t half as bad as I had expected. I was heading back to the “common room” of Hawthorne Hospital, were I was expected to socialise with the other patients. The building had been a boarding school for boys, before being a hospital, so the corridors were wide, lined with tall glass windows. As far as a mental institutions go, I think it could be a lot worse, it wasn’t at all an unpleasant place. As usual, I sat next to Andre. It’s not that he was particularly friendly, in fact he hadn’t had a single interaction with anyone since he got to the hospital. Which made him my new best friend, of course. It’s not like anyone would go into a mental hospital with the intention of making friends, anyway.

But Coco and Gallant were friends. He was suffering from anorexia, and had a real breakdown when his grandmother found out that he was gay and kicked him out of the house. Coco was bulimic, tale as old as time, she started counting calories and grew obsessed with it, you add a pinch of body dysmorphia to it, and here she is. They obviously clicked right away. And they were always around Evie, an elderly patient with some sort of dementia. The poor lady could talk, in colourful details, about the Golden Age of Hollywood for hours, but couldn’t remember what flavour of jell-o she’d had for desert at lunch.

Those three had made a nice little family for themselves in the hospital, and I was happy for them. But I just couldn’t bring myself to follow their lead. I’d rather stay with my non-responsive friend, the only other patient who was around my age. His story was truly heartbreaking. He was the victim of a hate crime, his boyfriend was beaten to death right in front of his eyes, and he was probably gonna be next, if the police hadn’t arrived. After that he’d just closed in on himself, never speaking another word to anyone.

“You know you are supposed to use this time in the common room to make friends, exchange your experiences with your fellow patients...”, Nurse Mallory was standing beside our table, both hands on her hips in a mock scolding stance.

“I was just spending some quality time here with my friend Andre.”, I gave her my most angelic smile and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Really? From where I was standing it was almost like you were using the poor man as a human shield...”

“It’s actually the other way around, I was the one shielding him... from her.” I shot a glance at Dinah Stevens across the room and Nurse Mallory followed my gaze.

Dinah Stevens was a minor celebrity, kind of a tv personality. She had a talk show on a local channel, or something. Apparently she had dropped her basket when her show was not renewed for another season. It was a full-on meltdown that included aggression against her crew members and a little bit of stalking at the channel’s new attraction, some former teacher named Cordelia. If Dinah Stevens was a regular citizen, she would probably be facing charges and doing some time in jail. Since she was rich, and somewhat famous, she had ended up here instead. Someone on her PR team had come up with the idea of her helping someone from inside the hospital, in order to improve her reputation. And she had adopted poor Andre as her “project”.

“Aren’t you little miss selfless... I guess you deserve a little treat, then.”, she winked and got something really small from the front pocket of her grey uniform and placed the tiny piece of chocolate in my hand.

“Mallory you’re an angel!”, I shoved the chocolate in my mouth and just let it melt on my tongue so it would last longer. Only then I remembered to look at my Andre, wondering if he’d want a bite, but as usual he didn’t even seem to notice I was there, “But, seriously, who else do you want me to make friends with? The Youngsters?”

That’s what we called Tim and Emily, the last two patients in Wing 3 of Hawthorne Hospital, the youngest of us. Tim was one of those perfect straight-A kids, but as he realised he was failing his SATs he had lost himself to substance abuse. Apparently Emily was here for that too, but in her case it was to run away from a messed up childhood. They were obviously in love, and they were absolutely adorable! Specially the way they seemed to think that no one else knew... Everyone pretended it was a secret. Their puppy-love was a beautiful thing to watch. It gave us all hope.

“So instead, you chose to stay here not talking to Andre...”

“And enjoying the magnificent soundtrack of the common room!”

“Tell me about it! Doctor Pfister and Doctor Nutter seem to think it’s relaxing...”

“Yeah but, come on, playing lyrics like ‘calling occupants of interplanetary craft’ in a mental hospital? You gotta admit that’s poor taste!”

“I do, but they own the place... they’re the bosses! Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to tell you...”

Really, bless Mallory for her snuck chocolates and good-hearted gossip! She was the only thing that made me feel slightly normal in this place. She took my mind from my own shame and guilt, and made me believe I could leave this place and live a normal life again. I was looking at her eyes through her thick glasses, waiting for her to serve the new tea.

“There’s a new patient in Wing 3, Doctor Mead’s bringing him in to the common room for the first time today...”, Doctor Mead was responsible for our group activities. She was the one trying to get us all to socialise and share our experiences, always with a new group-dynamics exercise, or just some plain physical exercise. She was very outdoorsy, Doctor Mead. I hated it about her. Although I did like the woman herself and her cheerful disposition.

“And what’s the deal with him?”

“Same as you, apparently...”

“Oh.”

So another failed suicide attempt. I was already feeling some sort of sympathy towards my new companion, before even meeting him. How could I not? He had wanted his life to end so bad, that he had attempted to do it with his own hands. Unsuccessfully. That’s something I could relate with a little too much. As we talked, the Carpenters song ended and the first notes to Patience&Prudence’s Tonight You Belong to Me began to play. I gave Mallory a side glance “Seriously! If you’re not crazy by the time you get in here, you’re definitely going to be by the time you leave...”, she laughed as the doors to the common room opened and we both looked to see who it was.

It was a tall young man, followed by Doctor Mead, walking in sure black Converse-clad steps, wearing a plain black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans. His long blond hair was tied in a loose knot behind his head, and there were dark circles around his sharp blue eyes. Still he looked around at everyone in the room, like an eagle choosing his pray in mid-flight, both his hands behind his back. All my sympathy for him was gone the moment I saw him, simply because he didn’t seem to need any of that: He was so intimidating, I believe he would have actually been offended by it, he would tell me to shove my sympathy where the sun doesn’t shine. He seemed to be very much in charge of himself, and of everyone else, for that matter. The icy glint of his eyes fell on me and I gasped, probably rather loudly. I saw the shadow of a smug smile on his full lips before he turned his beautiful face away.

He spotted Tim and Emily in one corner and decided to join the, now terrified looking, young couple. When I came back to myself, I saw that even my friend Andre was staring, slightly open-mouthed, at the newcomer. I looked, round-eyed myself I bet, at Mallory and the sweet nurse gave me the closest thing to a pretentious smile she could muster “That’s Michael Langdon, your new buddy...”

My honey I know

With the dawn, that you will be gone

But tonight you belong to me

Just to little old me

Taglist: There are so many friends I wanna tag here, but I think I’d want to have their permission first... so if you feel like being tagged, just let me know!

#Michael Langdon #American Horror Story #AHS Apocalypse #AHS fandom #Apocalypse AU #Michael LangdonXFemale Reader #Michael Langdon fanfiction #tw: mental illness #Cody Fern #The End of the World as We Know It

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avadoramimounicollection · 5 years

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The "Avadora Mimouni Collection" #NYFW2020 Luxury Purses "Models of Philanthropy" was a magnificent success. Beautiful Rita Cosby graced the #catwalk with "Old Hollywood Glamour" and closed the show with a roar of applause! Rita is an Emmy-Winning TV Host, Radio Star, and Best Selling Author. Rita has interviewed more than twenty world leaders, including the first American journalist to interview Pope Francis, she has received three Emmy Awards, six Gracie Awards, the Matrix Award, the Ellis Island Medal of Honor and the Lech Walesa Freedom Award. A philanthropist in several charities her passion & care to giving back is endless. Thank you Lorraine Silvetz for making the arrangements. Brava! @Avadoramimounicollection @lorrainesilvetz Ivonne Camacho PR/CEO Creative Director @absolutmoderne Photographer: Jeff Smith @reflectionsnyc #ritacosby #modelsofphilanthropy #timelessbeauty #philantropist #avadoramimouni #avadoramimounicollection #AbsolutModerne #ivonnecamacho #theindustryfashionshow . . . . . . . . . . . #emmyawardwinning #tvhost #radiostar #bestselling #author #gracieaward #americanjournalist #celebrity #redcarpet #VIPEvent #BrandingVipEvents #coffeeteatees #churchofgirlfriends #wearesohomuse #whohasmorefunthanus #luxmags #purses #etsy #embellished https://www.instagram.com/p/B2eOLHfAGM5/?igshid=1mgesqjuamdxf

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tmcastandcrew · 6 years

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Simon Baker reveals his coast connection ahead Breathe premiere on the Gold Coast

Ann Wason Moore, Gold Coast Bulletin April 13, 2018 10:00am X

Thank you @SBaker_Ney !!

STARS, they’re just like us. Simon Baker, the guy they call Smiley, the Mentalist, calls my house on a Saturday morning from his mobile, no PR, no minders … but also no time.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “Something’s just come up. If you’re not busy in a couple of hours, can I call you then for our interview?”

Of course, I concur. I have been stood up by far lesser than Mr Baker. When we talk again, he admits the reason he had to run was actually because he had to surf … with his son.

“I could see that look in his eye, the conditions were good and he wanted to get out.

“The alternative was he’d pick up a device and start playing games,” says the 48-year-old father of three. “I had to intervene and get him away from technology.”

Stars’ kids … they’re just like mine.

A lot more down the line > keep reading>>

We’re used to seeing Simon on screen — from E Street in the early 90s to his first American film, the acclaimed LA Confidential, to starring roles in The Guardian and The Mentalist — all trademark golden curls and crinkly eyes.

But as much as he’s every bit the leading man, there’s something so familiar about him. Deep inside there’s still that Aussie boy next door.

In fact, there’s every chance that if you grew up on the Gold Coast, he was the boy next door.

Born and bred in Northern New South Wales, he attended Ballina High and still owns a property in nearby Nashua.

In fact, he and wife actor Rebecca Rigg donated to the Rise Above the Flood appeal just last year to help their neighbours hit by the natural disaster.

But in between Ballina and Hollywood, Simon did a solid stint in Surfers Paradise.

“When I left home I did a year in Sydney, but then I came up to the Goldie,” he says.

“A bunch of mates and I moved in to this old fibro shack on Garfield Terrace. It was just after the bend in the road. It had a huge pine tree in the back and then just beach.

“It was the last house left in that stretch. We were evicted because they sold the land to build another high-rise. I’ll have to drive past it one day. They were some fun times. We all worked in hospitality and just surfed. I worked at the Hyatt Sanctuary Cove at that big beach pool.”

Yep, for those of us of a certain age, Simon Baker was our pool boy. In fact, he may well take that trip down memory lane this weekend. He’s on the Coast not just to attend the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games, but to launch a project that’s not just dear to his heart but his surfer’s soul.

Breath is Baker’s feature film directorial debut, adapted from the 2008 novel by celebrated Australian author Tim Winton, and will have its Queensland premiere at the Gold Coast Film Festival this Thursday.

The classic coming of age tale follows Pikelet and Loonie, two teenage boys growing up in a small coastal town in Western Australia in the 1970s.

Their love of surfing and adventure sees their paths cross with older, local surfer Bill “Sando” Sanderson, played by Baker, who describes the character as “a mentor, but pathetic in his own way”.

Having grown up surfing in Ballina, and with teenage sons of his own, Harry, 16, and Claude, 19, plus 24-year-old daughter Stella, Baker says he felt instantly connected to the characters and themes in Winton’s novel before adapting the storyline for screen.

“To me it’s all about identity. It’s about the boys, Pikelet and Loonie, trying to figure out who they are in this coming-of-age time of their lives,” he says.

“It’s about Sando and his sort of stunted identity. As much as he’s this mentor to them, he’s not a Yoda character. He’s more pathetic than wise. He’s stuck in the past and never learned to take responsibility. But it’s also about the identity of Australia.

“Our identity is tied to the sea, to the coastline, but our identity is also constantly shifting. We drift with the tide between our UK heritage, our ties with America and our indigenous history.”

Baker says the film helped shift his own definition of identity, from actor to director and filmmaker. Sando may be a father-figure of sorts to the boys, but the film was Baker’s own lovechild.

“We got the book option about eight years ago and the past three or four years have been really intense,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter who you are, getting a film made is a long, hard process. It’s a labour of love.

“I’d like to direct again though. I feel at home directing. I feel like I can contribute more when I’m in that role. It’s not easy but it’s immensely satisfying.”

The fact that the subject matter dealt with one of Baker’s other great loves, surfing, is obvious when watching the film. The poetry of motion writes a love letter to a time and place that, while changed, is not entirely gone. The boys who grew up in the ’70s and ’80s, like Pikelet, Loonie and Baker himself, are the fathers of today, guiding their own children through ever-choppy conditions.

“That era of the 70s is still so familiar to us — I loved putting up the pictures from Copperart in the houses. Who didn’t have that in their home?” he says.

“I think I was a boy who was somewhere between those two adolescent characters, the sort of dreamy individual that is Pikelet and the wild, lost boy that is Loonie. But ultimately, I’m more Pikelet. Otherwise I never would have got this movie made.

“But the thing we all have in common is this love for surfing. I can’t really say what it is to me. It’s all different sorts of things and it changes every time I go to the water. These days it’s a great way to commune with nature and to catch up with old friends.

“It’s a break and a relief to be somewhere that no one can contact you, your phone doesn’t ring. Physically, it’s still exhilarating and meditative.”

For Baker, it’s an exercise that is still uniquely Australian. With his children having grown up both here and in the US, he says the surfing community in their Sydney suburb is an extended family of sorts.

“When we walked through the park on the way back from surfing today, I said to my son, ‘Do you see all the different groups hanging out? Do you see the different generations passing through?’ He thought it was so cool to see those little groms coming of age and hanging out with friends at the next level. It’s a rite of passage in some ways.

“Bec and I have always had such close ties to our country, to Australia, no matter where we have been living, and the kids feel that.

“There is something to say for being here and having a different perspective — or just having perspective — on what’s happening in the world.”

Baker’s not the only international star who still calls Australia home, with northern NSW neighbour Chris Hemsworth regularly spotted on our own shores — including at the Commonwealth Games.

“Is he there?” Baker asks. “I really don’t keep up.

“I’m not just saying that, I’m tragic in knowing who’s where and doing what. I am interested in the Games though. I’m really looking forward to seeing the closing ceremony. In fact, the kids are all quiet right now. I might just turn on the TV and watch a bit of the action. Maybe have a little nap.”

Dads … they’re all the same.

THE SHOW GOES ON

The Games may almost be over, but it’s time for the show to begin.

The Gold Coast Film Festival comes hot on the heels of our greatest sporting spectacle — and it’s not about to play a minor role.

The city’s flagship film event will screen 40 feature films including one world premiere, seven Australian premieres and seven Queensland premieres, plus a host of short films, events, filmmaker Q&As, and an incredible Virtual Reality film experience.

The 16th annual GCFF will run for 13 days from Tuesday to April 29.

A highlight of the program is the Queensland premiere of Simon Baker’s Breath this Thursday. Baker and fellow actors Samson Coulter (Pikelet) and Ben Spence (Loonie) will be attending the screening at Pacific Fair, followed by a Q&A.

“I’m thrilled to have our Queensland premiere at the Gold Coast Film Festival. The Gold Coast has long been a mecca for those that share a deep fascination and respect for the ocean, and the magnificent impact it can have in shaping who you are,” Baker says.

Gold Coast Film Festival director Lucy Fisher says the festival has also secured the Australian premiere of black comedy Brothers’ Nest to screen at the closing night on April 29, with brothers Shane Jacobson and Clayton Jacobson (Kenny), attending the event and Q&A.

“At its core, the Gold Coast Film Festival celebrates film and filmmaking,” Lucy says.

“The Film Festival will be the Gold Coast’s first major event following the Commonwealth Games and will continue to enrich the city through the dozens of special film events being held at 11 venues across the Gold Coast.”

#simon baker #simon2018 #breath film

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xtruss · 3 years

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Missing Russian-American Climber Alex Goldfarb Found Dead in Pakistan

Mountaineer was climbing near K2 in northern Pakistan

Authorities are now working to bring body down mountain

Alex Goldfarb went missing near K2 in Pakistan. Photograph: Alamy

A Russian-American climber who went missing last week while trying to scale a mountain amid harsh winter weather in northern Pakistan has been found dead, the region’s tourist police and the Alpine Club of Pakistan said on Tuesday.

The tourist police in the town of Gilgit made the announcement on Twitter, saying Alex Goldfarb went missing on Friday while he was trying to summit the Pastore Peak, not far from K2, the most prominent peak on the Pakistani side of the Himalayan range, and the world’s second tallest after Mount Everest.

Nepalese team makes first successful winter ascent of K2

Contact with Goldfarb was lost and a helicopter rescue and search team was sent out. The Pakistan army on Monday found the body, after a day-long search, according to Karrar Haidri, the secretary of the Alpine Club of Pakistan.

Muhammad Ali Sadpara, a Pakistani mountaineer who was part of the rescue team, also tweeted the news. Efforts are now underway to bring Goldfarb’s body down with the help of Pakistani and foreign mountaineers.

The body of Russian-American mountaineer Alex Goldfarb, who went missing on the Pastore Peak 6209-M, was found by a team of Pakistan Army Aviation. May God give him eternal rest and the family the strength to bear the great pain. Rest in Peace Alex!! — Karrar Haidri Secretary ACP

Goldfarb and Hungarian climber Zoltan Szlanko had initially planned to scale Pastore together but Szlanko later decided to turn back. Haidri expressed condolences to Goldfarb’s family, saying “I will never forget his kindness.”

Goldfarb was a doctor and lecturer at Harvard University. He had volunteered to treat Covid-19 patients during the pandemic according to his son, Levi.

“He thought [mountain climbing] was beautiful,” Levi Goldfarb said. “He thought it was liberating, because up in the mountains it didn’t really matter who you were at sea level – a doctor, a lawyer, or even a thief, all of those labels were stripped away and you were playing by a different set of rules. He made great friends in the mountains, he saved lives and saved himself, and he travelled the world doing it.”

On Saturday, a team of Nepalese climbers made history by making the first winter ascent of K2. Hundreds of local and foreign climbers travel to northern Pakistan every year and accidents are common because of avalanches and sudden changes in weather.

Nepalese Team Makes First Successful Winter Ascent of K2

Team of Sherpas reaches top of Pakistan peak – becoming first to summit world’s second highest mountain in winter

— Peter Beaumont | Guardian USA | January 16, 2021 | The Observer Mountaineering

The team of Sherpas pictured before they reached the top of K2 in Pakistan on Saturday. Photograph: Handout from Nimsdai PR

A team of Sherpas has accomplished one of the most coveted achievements in mountaineering: the first winter ascent of K2, the world’s second tallest mountain, and the only one of the world’s 14 peaks over 8,000 metres high never to have been climbed during the winter season.

Ten Sherpas, prominent among them Nirmal Purja, a former Gurkha and UK special forces member who had previously climbed all 14 8,000-metre-plus peaks in just over six months, summited K2 in Pakistan on Saturday. They left their high camp at 1am for their summit attempt via the Abruzzi Spur in temperatures as cold as -40C but with low wind and in brilliant sunshine.

'It's not about ego', says speed climber who tamed world's 14 highest peaks

K2 was first climbed 66 years ago by Achille Compagnoni and Lino Lacedelli; there had been six previous attempts in winter on the mountain, none of them successful.

In the world of high altitude climbing, so long dominated by western climbers and expeditions who have relied on Sherpas to assist them, the ascent – and by such a large team – marks an extraordinary achievement for Nepali mountaineering.

The team finally reached the summit at 5pm local time, waiting until they were all assembled before singing the Nepali national anthem and descending.

K2 was the last 8,000m peak awaiting a winter ascent after Nanga Parbat was climbed in 2016. Winter ascents of the world’s very highest mountains are at best extremely rare, and the technical and weather challenges on K2 have beaten determined attempts by some of the world’s strongest Himalayan climbers.

In a statement from the summit Purja said: “What a journey. I’m humbled to say that as a team, we have summited the magnificent K2 in extreme winter conditions.

“We set out to make the impossible possible and we are honoured to be sharing this moment, not only with the Nepalese climbing community but with communities all across the world.

“Mother nature always has bigger things to say and standing on the summit, witness to the sheer force of her extremities, we are proud to have been a part of history for humankind and to show that collaboration, teamwork and a positive mental attitude can push limits to what we feel might be possible.”

A winter ascent of the 8,611-metre K2 had been considered by many to be an impossible task due to the inclement weather conditions. Attempts on K2 are normally made in July or August, during the warmest periods – and only 280 people have reached its summit in comparison with 3,681 who have made it to the top of Everest. Climbers have been interested in climbing K2 in winter since the mid-1980s, not long after the first winter ascent of Everest.

Before the successful ascent on Saturday, Mingma Gyalje Sherpa, one of the summit team, underlined the importance to the Sherpa community of making the first winter ascent. “For all the other 8,000ers summited in winter, no Sherpa was with them, so this is an opportunity for Sherpa to demonstrate their strength,” he said.

“Besides alpinists, all the climbers take help from Sherpa to fulfil their dreams of 8,000-metre peaks. I have helped several foreign climbers to get to the summit of different 8,000ers. I was a little surprised to see no Sherpa on winter first ascent. So this climb is for all the Sherpa community who are so known because of our friends and clients from different foreign countries.”

The team took advantage of a brief weather window on the mountain, which is infamous for the heavy winds that hit it, especially during the winter months, to climb to a high camp at 7,350 metres from where they launched their summit attempt.

The ascent was quickly hailed as a historic achievement. “It’s done,” tweeted the Karakoram Club, an online community celebrating the area in the Himalayas where K2 is located. “The history books have been rewritten.”

Mountaineer Steve Razzetti tweeted: “Mountaineering history is being made as I post this. The Sherpa climbing team are above the Bottleneck and heading for the summit in perfect winter conditions.”

Alan Arnette, who has long chronicled Himlalayan ascents, put the climb into a historical perspective in the US climbing magazine Rock and Ice.

“That this latest holy grail of mountaineering should fall to a Sherpa and Nepali team is a clarion sign that the scales of high-altitude mountaineering are shifting.

“Ever since Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal made the first ascent of Annapurna in 1950, becoming the first humans to stand astride the summit of an 8,000-meter peak, climbing the world’s 14 highest mountains has been an imperialist and colonialist enterprise.

“The Sherpa have been the backbone of that enterprise – portering supplies, tending camp, fixing ropes – but reaped none of the glory or benefits.”

As news of the successful summit emerged it was also reported that a Spanish climber had died on the mountain.

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

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Day 2: The Haymitch Who Stole Christmas

And on this second day of Hayffismas, I give you some good old crack with steam and feelings on top! [FF] or [AO3]

Nobody Can Steal Christmas From Effie Trinket

“Haymitch.” Effie sing-sang cheerfully, impatiently tapping the top of her heeled shoe against the floor. “We are past fashionably late! Do hurry!”

She inspected her reflection in the mirror that faced the elevator, studying her golden and white dress critically. She looked like a magnificent bird. The skirt part was long and flowed down to the floor and the top part was like a sleeveless jacket made entirely of white feather adorned with golden paint. It was lovely. Exquisite.

And it would be the talk of the evening if they showed up before the red carpet was over.

She usually loved Christmas and its numerous parties but this year, she was stressed out.

Annie Cresta’s Victory Tour was a phenomenal nightmare. Not that it was official, of course, everything was all hush-hush and need-to-know only, but Seneca was so exhausted with the whole thing he had told her all about it the other night at dinner. The poor girl was so disturbed still they were forced to keep her appearances short and even Finnick Odair in all his glory couldn’t compensate the elusiveness of the new victor all by himself.

The solution to that problem had been to bring back as many victors as possible to the city for the duration of the Tour and the holidays as a decoy. And it was working. The Capitol was not looking at the expense to throw luscious parties every day, keeping the Games’ dream alive. Effie loved Christmas and she was having a lot of fun at all those themed parties.

But she was also tasked with babysitting a very grumpy Haymitch – who, as she had been told numerous times, hated Christmas, hated the city and didn’t understand why he needed to be there at all given that nobody wanted to see the drunk victor from Twelve anyway – and that was a constant source of stress. He seemed to be acting out even more than usual, getting drunk with Chaff at all times of day under the pretext of sampling mulled wine and being very vocal about his lack of love for the holidays.

Which had led to more than one fight and she had lost count of how many lectures and rants.

Earlier that afternoon, she had firmly and very seriously told him that she didn’t intend to let him ruin her fun that night. It was Christmas Eve and she wouldn’t let him spoil it for her. She had insisted he was to show up ready to celebrate and that she didn’t care where he would find it but that he better had summoned some Christmas spirit.

He had scoffed and told her to go to hell, of course, but she thought the part about her swearing to not let him touch her for a very, very long time if he didn’t had caught his attention.

Now if only he could be on time…

Finally, she heard a door slam down the corridor that led to the bedrooms and she rolled her eyes before checking that her right fake eyelashes were holding. It seemed heavier than the other one and the tiny golden stars on it kept flickering in her sight every time she blinked. Her reflection looked alright to her though so she supposed she would simply have to bear the discomfort.

“You look like a goose.” Haymitch grumbled as a greeting.

She pursed her lips and turned toward him to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was a ruffian with no sense of fashion but the words died on her lips.

She stared.

Honestly, what else was she supposed to do?

He was wearing antlers. Plushy brown reindeer antlers.

And an awful Christmas sweater over his pressed shirt and tie.

Her first reaction was to be pleased he had taken her request to get into the spirit to heart. Her second was to try to find the diplomatic words to tell him to get rid of the whole thing because they were going to a party with cameras, not to someone’s Christmas brunch – and, then again, she wasn’t sure it would have been appropriate to wear that sort of things at a casual brunch anyway, they weren’t fashionable. Her third reaction was to look more closely at the sweater.

She forgot all about the antlers when she realized that what she had mistaken for an ugly – and yet seasonal – Christmas sweater was a fraud.

“Please. Do tell me this Santa Claus is not urinating the words ‘Merry Christmas’ on your chest.” she requested in a terse tone.

The Santa was fortunately turning his back on the world so nothing untoward could be seen. But the yellow spray was definitely supposed to be urine. She was certain. She supposed that made the white background snow.

How classy.

Not to mention typically male. Why they were always so proud of being able to urinate while standing up was beyond her…

“You said to gear up for Christmas.” he shrugged with nonchalance. “That’s me. All geared up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him – which had the unfortunate effect of making her almost blind on her right side because of those irritating fake eyelashes. “Where did you even find this?”

“Well, you also said I should learn to like Christmas shopping…” he mocked, pressing the elevator’s call button. As if she would ever allow him to leave like that. She swiftly moved between him and the elevator doors but that didn’t seem to disturb him at all. “Chaff and I found this little shop… You were right. Lots of fun. Wait until you see his sweater, sweetheart.”

“Chaff may do whatever he wants on his own escort’s terms.” she hissed. “You are not wearing this monstrosity to the party.” She pouted. “I will be nice and let you keep the antlers. It is appropriately whimsical, I suppose.”

“Whimsical.” he repeated in that mocking tone that meant he thought she was being condescending. “Can’t you say funny like everyone else? What do you’ve got to talk like a dictionary for?”

“To compensate your dreadful use of grammar.” she deadpanned. The elevator chimed behind her back and she hastily spread her arms when she heard the doors opening, barring his path. “Take the sweater off.”

“No way.” he refused. “I like it.”

“Of course, you do.” she gritted through her teeth. “Then, you can wear it tomorrow morning for Christmas breakfast. It will only be you and me and I will make the effort not to be offended. But tonight, you are taking it off.”

“Always so eager to take my clothes off.” he taunted, pushing past her and into the elevator.

She glared at him. “You are not going to this party like this, Haymitch.”

He defiantly pressed the ground floor’s button. “Looks like I am, Trinket.”

“I will murder you.” she threatened. The doors were closing and she sneaked between them before she could be left behind – she had no doubt he would leave her behind. “I swear. If you try to get into the car with this thing on your back I will…”

“Do your worst.” he smirked.

He wasn’t going to cave.

She had been Haymitch’s escort for eight years now. She knew him. This wasn’t just a simple case of pushing her buttons for the pleasure of annoying her but eventually giving in to her pleas. He wasn’t going to cave. This was probably a planned prank that involved Chaff and the two of them intended to show up with shameful tasteless sweaters come hell or high waters.

She wasn’t sure if she hoped Viola had actually managed to stop her own victor or not. She didn’t want those two idiots to get the satisfaction of pulling this out but she didn’t want to be the only escort unable to control her victor either.

It was harmless enough, she figured. People would laugh, Caesar would have them on air to talk about it, Haymitch would gloat and she would rant… Same old, same old.

But still… At the end of the day, she would be the butt of the joke because she was the one who was in charge of his PR.

“Why do you hate me so?” she pouted, tugging on the hem of the sweater.

“So many reasons.” he snorted. “You want a complete list?”

She deepened her pout, looking up at him from under her fake eyelashes in her best kicked puppy impersonation. She fingered the soft wool, inching it up slowly so she could run her free palm over the shirt he had underneath…

It was a nice shirt. The one that went with the tuxedo he had been supposed to be wearing.

There would be no jacket and that would be a fashion faux-pas but at least he would be presentable. Now if only she could convince him to take it off for a second… They might be too late for the red carpet then but priorities.

“You ain’t gonna fuck me out of this sweater.” he warned, more amused than turned on. “But I don’t mind you trying, Princess.”

She huffed and stepped away from him, her pouting turning into a genuine sulk. “I hate you.”

“Right.” he drawled out, taunting.

She refused to bite.

“I am not speaking to you again while you are wearing this thing.” she declared.

“Shit. I’m never gonna take it off now.” he chuckled.

The car trip was short but it felt endless. Mainly because he kept trying to make her break her oath not to talk to him by plucking feathers from her lovely dress. At least until she kicked his leg with the blunt of her stiletto – that made him stop, if only because he needed both hands to rub his now bruised shin.

It was immediately clear to her they were amongst the last to arrive and she distanced herself from him as much as possible, posing for pictures and waving at fans but being very careful not to be caught on camera next to Haymitch. His sweater and his antlers were getting him a lot of attention but it was the sort she could do without.

She didn’t find it as hilarious as everyone else.

The hotel the party was at was gorgeous. There were ice sculptures everywhere, a giant Christmas tree and fake snowflakes slowly pouring down from the ceiling… It looked like a winter wonderland.

Haymitch seized two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handed her one. She took it but only because it was a necessary accessory at a party – not because she had forgiven him or was swayed by this rare show of manners.

It didn’t take her long to spot another pair of antlers in the crowd. She gasped when she caught sight of Chaff’s sweater though. She had thought he would be wearing a matching one to Haymitch’s not…

“Please, tell me those three reindeers are not doing what I think they are doing.” she begged.

“They’re not.” Haymitch replied. “Unless you think they’re having a threesome. ‘Cause… They’re clearly not dancing the rumba, sweetheart.”

“Oh my…” she let that sentence trail off, blinked and took a generous sip of champagne. “I need something stronger. Do not get wasted, Haymitch, I mean it. I am not carrying you back.”

She headed to the bar, allowing him to go join his friend and laugh about that prank they had pulled all their might. And laugh, they did. They were ridiculous. Like children.

“Your tasteless fashion sense has rubbed on Haymitch, I see.” Viola commented, sliding between her and the group of people next to her and signaling the bartender she wanted the same thing Effie had ordered. “Did he have to get my victor involved?”

“I rather think your victor is the real culprit here.” she scoffed. “He is always getting mine in trouble.”

Eleven’s escort eyed her up and down with disdain. “You look like a bird. What is even this dress?”

“The trend everyone will follow tomorrow.” she retorted with a charming smile. “What are you wearing? Last month’s outfit?”

Viola scoffed, grabbed the drink the bartender had poured her and disappeared in the crowd, no doubt to talk ill about her lovely dress. Effie smoothed her ruffled feathers – metaphorical and otherwise – and started mingling too.

Those cocktails were strong though and she felt tipsy before long. She tended not to drink when Haymitch was, so one of them would be sober in case some emergency damage control was needed, but it was Christmas and at Christmas she let loose. Still, when the room started swaying, she decided to quit for the night. She ended up perched on the armrest of the armchair her victor had commandeered, glaring at Chaff’s sweater in distaste.

“Face it, love…” Eleven’s victor joked, wriggling his eyebrows. “You wanna be the middle reindeer…”

She wrinkled her nose and Haymitch’s hand landed on her thigh, a not so subtle possessive declaration faced with that disgusting innuendo.

“Crass.” she grumbled, swaying dangerously. Those cocktails had been a little too much. Everywhere she looked, everyone seemed completely wasted.

“Careful.” Haymitch muttered, sneaking his arm behind her back because she had almost lost her balance. “Can’t you use a chair like a normal person? What happened to ladies don’t sit on furniture?” She confusedly admitted he had a point and she was too tipsy to trust her balance so she did the natural thing and slid down onto his lap. His arm immediately wrap around her waist in reflex. He scowled. “Great. Now we’re fifteen.”

Chaff, meanwhile, was laughing like it was the best joke.

Effie shifted until she was sitting sideway with a clear view of the urinating Santa. She poked it hard with her sharp nail, prompting a groan of pain out of Haymitch.

“I will not let you steal Christmas away from me, you grumpy bear.” she declared.

“Oh, you’re her bear, now, buddy.” Chaff chortled. “This keeps getting better and better. The boy’s gonna be sorry he missed it.”

Effie glared at Eleven’s victor. “Stop mocking me. Haymitch, tell him to stop mocking me. It is not nice. He is hurting my feelings, that makes me nauseous.”

“That’s probably all the booze you drank, Princess.” Haymitch teased.

She rolled her eyes. “I am less drunk than you are… I am always less drunk than you are. And do you know why? Because I am the responsible one.”

“Sure, you are.” he humored her.

“Hate to break it to you but you’re toasted, love.” Chaff chuckled, tilting his glass in her direction.

Effie decided to ignore him. She turned her attention to the antlers on Haymitch’s head instead. She brushed her fingers along their length, up and down again and again, humming in surprised pleasure at the plushy texture. “It is so soft… I could touch it all night.”

Chaff was laughing so hard he bent in two.

“Quit it.” Haymitch grumbled. “Seriously. She’s got a point, you know. You act like you’re five sometimes.” But a smile was tugging at his own lips and he took off his antlers to plant them on her head. “Here, sweetheart. You keep the soft stuff on your own head but don’t touch it like that, yeah? You’re gonna give someone a boner.”

“Thank you.” she beamed at the gift, thanking him for his generosity by pressing a long peck on his cheek. It landed close to the corner of his mouth, which was really a big no-no in a crowded room. She wasn’t drunk enough not to realize that. She immediately bit down on her bottom lip, glancing around guiltily.

“Okay.” Haymitch snorted. “Time to call it a night, yeah?”

She nodded sheepishly. “Perhaps I am a little bit drunk.”

“Yeah. Just a little bit.” he teased, reaching out to clap Chaff’s shoulder. “You want to ride back with us?”

“Do not offer him to ride with us.” Effie protested. “He will think you mean it like those reindeers of his. He has a dirty mind, you know.”

“Thought it was rude to talk about people in front of them or some shit?” he rebuked, eyes twinkling with mirth, giving his knee a little shake to jostle her.

She pouted. Both because he was right and she didn’t like being scolded about her manners and because her stomach didn’t feel that good.

“That’s fine, buddy.” Chaff refused, clearly not offended since he was still laughing. “I’m gonna try to find a bird to pluck.”

“Charming.” Effie commented under her breath.

“Come on. Up.” Haymitch demanded jerking his legs again. That was directed at her, she figured, and she stood up, surprised by the suddenly tilting world. Haymitch’s hand was at the small of her back before she could fall though, his other one gripping her forearm tight. She wasn’t sure how he had moved so fast. Or maybe it was her who was slow. He didn’t look so amused now. “You know I hate those role reversals, right? Let’s go, sweetheart.”

She let him stir her away toward the exit and usher her to the car. There were a few flashes but there weren’t as many people outside as usual. It was Christmas after all, people had other things to do than stalk celebrities.

She curled up against his side in the car, manhandling his arm until it was wrapped around her. He sighed with clear annoyance but let her cuddle him – to her absolute delight. Well, the delight lasted until the car started moving, then she buried her face in that awful – but surprisingly soft – sweater.

“I feel sick.” she complained.

“Try not to puke on me.” was his only request.

“You would deserve it.” she mumbled against his sweater. “You tried to spoil Christmas.”

She didn’t need to look to know he was rolling his eyes.

She was a little sleepy by the time the car arrived at the Center and she refused to move when he tried to get out of the car.

“Are there people outside?” she asked.

He glanced out the open door and then shrugged. “Just the Peacekeepers.”

“Good.” she declared. “Then you can carry me.”

He did a double take at that and then snorted. “Like hell. You’re walking.”

“No.” she sulked, moving away from him just enough to outstretch her arms. “I am tired and drunk and it is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault you got shit-faced?” he scoffed.

“You urinated on my Christmas.” she retorted, pointing at the guilty Santa on his chest. “It upset me and I drank to forget.”

“You get upset over the smallest stuff.” he dismissed, getting out of the car before she could make a grab for him. “Get out of here. It’s freezing outside.”

“Carry me.” she repeated.

He pursed his lips in annoyance. “I hate when you’re acting like a spoiled brat. You walk or I’m leaving you here.”

“You would never leave me here alone!” she gasped.

“Wanna bet?” he challenged.

“Fine.” she snapped, dramatically flopping down on the car bench seat, letting her legs dangle out the door. “Leave me here for any passing ruffian to do what they want to my poor drunk body.”

She was confident there were enough Peacekeepers around that she was perfectly safe. She might even convince one of them to carry her up to the penthouse. After all, she wasn’t without charms. Haymitch was simply impervious to them.

“Alright, then.” he shrugged. “Night, sweetheart.”

He turned and left. He actually strode away toward the Center’s doors. Effie lifted her head to watch him go and then dropped it back down, staring at the ceiling of the car and trying to force herself to move. But she was drunk and tired and her feet were hurting her.

And he wouldn’t leave her.

Would he?

Deep down she wasn’t sure and it upset her even more than the urinating Santa. Her lips started wobbling and she hastily blinked away the tears that suddenly burned her eyes, making the uncomfortable right fake eyelashes even more problematic. He would leave her to be possibly assaulted. He would. And on Christmas Eve too! He was horrible and she hated him. She did. And she didn’t have feelings. Not at all. Because that would be bad. And…

Someone brutally grabbed her legs and pulled her out of the car. She shrieked in fright because for all her talk about possible danger she had never thought…

“You’re fucking impossible.” Haymitch spat, tossing her over his shoulder like a caveman. “Fucking impossible.”

She shrieked even harder. “That is not a proper way to carry a lady!”

“You’re not a lady, you’re a drunk mess.” he riposted. “Quit that screaming or I swear I’m dropping you here and I won’t come back this time.”

But he had come back so she stopped shouting.

The position was making her face burn as blood rushed to her head though. And the pressure of his shoulder digging in her stomach… “I do not feel good.”

“You don’t say.” he grumbled. “Like I care.” But as soon as he had pressed the call button of the elevator, he put her back down on her own two feet. His grey eyes studied her, concern replaced by irritation when he realized she wasn’t about to be sick. “You’re a spoiled brat.”

It was the second time he had accused her of that tonight.

“You tried to ruin Christmas.” she hissed back.

“Fuck, you’re a broken record tonight, ain’t you?” he scowled. “What’s so important to you about Christmas anyway? I swear you’re like a kid.”

She pouted and tried to step into the elevator gracefully once the doors opened but all she managed to do was stumble on the long hem of her dress and fall. She didn’t break her neck but she hit her knees hard and she looked up with eyes full of tears when Haymitch burst out laughing.

“Shit, it’s almost worth not being completely wasted.” he commented.

She sat down and sniffed, both in pain and bruised pride, letting him push the right button as she bundled her dress to her waist to inspect the damage. She didn’t care if he could see the white lacy thong she had on underneath – or maybe she did a little and she was doing it on purpose, it was punishment because he certainly wasn’t going to touch it or take it off now.

“You’re not hurt, yeah?” he asked.

Far too late in her opinion.

She didn’t think she was hurt.

“I told you I did not want to walk.” she pointed out. “This is your fault.”

“Sure. Blame it on peeing Santa. Makes sense.” he deadpanned, crouching next to her to take a look at her legs. His palm was warm when he rubbed it against her knees and shins. “You want me to kiss it better, Princess?”

She tossed her dress back over her legs with a huff. “No.”

He chuckled but didn’t insist.

She busied herself taking off her shoes, wriggling her toes as soon as they were free to get rid of the ache in her soles. Her ankles were a little swollen but she didn’t think that was from the fall, more likely it was from being up on those tight stilettos all night.

The elevator eventually chimed when it reached the penthouse but she wasn’t sure she knew how to get up without falling again. Haymitch took pity on her and grabbed her under the armpits, lifting her up like a child. She thought he had only aimed to pull her to her feet but she took advantage and locked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a monkey.

He sighed but didn’t protest, carefully exiting the elevator, arms locked under her ass to support her. He was walking toward the bedrooms and she started struggling.

“No! We have to go to the living-room!” she protested.

“Why?” he frowned.

“Because it is Christmas and I want to see the tree.” she explained.

“The tree’s still gonna be there in the morning.” he argued. “You’re wasted and you need to go to bed before I strangle you for being such an irritating little shit.”

“I want to see the tree.” she ordered and she would have stomped her foot, had she been standing.

“You know… Try to pull a temper tantrum on me and I’m gonna dump you in a cold bath. We’re clear?” he threatened.

She pouted and unlocked her legs from around his waist, letting go of his neck once she was on her feet. “I will go by myself.”

He didn’t let go of her.

“You’re gonna fall and break your neck with this fucking dress.” he denied. “Stop being such a difficult bitch. I’m being nice here, yeah? I’m even gonna help you take that wig off if you just…”

He had a point about the dress and she stopped listening after that. Her clumsy fingers found the zipper hidden between feathers on her side and the fabric flooded down to her feet. She hadn’t realized how heavy it had been. She felt much lighter in only her thong.

Haymitch was suddenly very quiet.

Then again, he always tended to grow quiet once faced with her bare breasts.

“Ain’t gonna lie…” he said eventually. “Never though those antlers could look so hot.”

She patted her wig, having completely forgotten about the antlers perched over it. She shrugged and carefully stepped out of the fabric of the dress pooled around her feet before heading straight for the living-room. Or trying to, at least. Straight was a relative concept when the floor wouldn’t remain steady.

She was aware Haymitch was hovering behind her, ready to break a possible fall, but she was a woman on a mission and she wouldn’t get distracted.

The living-room had been entirely decorated for the holidays, of course, and the tree in the corner was impressive. As were the wrapped boxes underneath but she wasn’t after the gifts for now.

“Alright, you saw the tree.” Haymitch grumbled. “Now let’s get you to bed…”

“I want to watch the lights!” she argued. “I always watch the lights on Christmas Eve. It is tradition.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he frowned.

Without paying him any more mind, she pushed a few of the gifts aside to make room for herself and lied down with her head right under the tree, grinning in bliss when she saw the twinkling lights overhead.

Haymitch waited for a moment but when it became clear she wasn’t going to do anything else but stare at the fairy lights, he headed to the liquor cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. She heard the ice clicking against the glass.

“I do not understand why you hate Christmas so.” she remarked.

“’Cause it’s fake.” he sneered. “Just another excuse for you lot to party and give gifts.”

“Gifts are important.” she nodded, missing the point. “You will love mine.”

She had bought him a gold pocket watch engraved with his initials. He would grumble and rant and swear he hated it but it was the type of fashionable accessories he actually loved and she knew he would like it.

“Shouldn’t have bought me one.” he retorted. “Told you I didn’t do Christmas. Don’t go thinking I got you something.”

“You got me a darling pair of shoes actually.” she hummed, patting the red gift with the golden ribbon to her right.

“What?” he frowned.

“You cannot not do gifts when you are in the city, Haymitch.” she sighed in a long-suffering tone. “Of course, I had to purchase gifts for you. I sent Chaff bourbon on your behalf. I trust he will enjoy it. As for myself, I chose shoes.”

“With what money?” he growled.

“I have your checkbook.” she reminded him.

“Oh, so you just forged my signature and stole my money, that’s it?” he scowled. “Tell me, sweetheart… How are you gonna like getting your tongue cut for theft?”

She laughed because he would never report her. And also she had been doing him a favor. He would have felt stupid when he would have realized that Chaff had sent him a gift and he had nothing to give back. As for her herself… She liked to call it compensation for all those years of hard work. And it hadn’t been that expensive anyway. And this way she was sure to get something she liked – because let’s be honest if she had given him the watch and he hadn’t had anything to exchange for it, he would have made a fuss about her buying him off or something and it would have ended in a fight where he would have eventually gone to buy something at random to make it even.

“I love Christmas.” she sighed happily.

“You like free shoes.” he accused.

“That too.” she smiled, peeling the annoying eyelashes off her right eye and taking off the left ones too for good measure. She blinked a few times, glad to be able to see properly again. “I am cold.”

“That happens when you lie naked on the floor in the middle of winter.” Haymitch remarked, amused.

She heard the clicking of ice coming closer and she patted the spot next to her before he could sit on the couch. “Come watch the lights with me.”

“What’s so special about watching a bunch of lights twinkle anyway?” he scoffed.

“You are a regular Grinch.” she complained.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

But he did come closer.

Something dropped on her lap and she looked up to find his offensive Christmas sweater on a heap on her thighs. She wasn’t sure she was that cold but since he did sit down next to her, she made an effort and pulled it over her head.

“If you tell anyone I wore this I will deny it and destroy your reputation.” she warned, wrinkling her nose at the Santa that now paraded on her lower stomach.

“Don’t think I have much of a reputation left to ruin.” he mocked.

The sweater was warm from his having worn it and it was really soft so she just lied back down, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt so he would to. Their sides pressed together, the twinkling lights overhead, the smell of pine she always associated with Christmas tree… Effie was in heaven.

“I’m still not getting it.” Haymitch declared after a couple of minutes.

She sighed.

Her brain was slowed down by all the cocktails she had drunk earlier and now that she was warm and comfortable… It was difficult to keep track of her thoughts.

“Christmas is all about colors.” she tried to explain. “Colors everywhere. I love colors. It’s all bright and shiny… Happy… Pretty… Ice skating in secret… Hot chocolate even if I am not supposed to because I am a little princess and princesses are allowed hot chocolate even when they are on a diet…” Memories from long ago made her throat close up and she blinked, focusing on the lights. “I love colors…” she whispered. “They look so happy… Mother hates colors the rest of the year… Almost everyone does… They say they love them but it is all pretend… They wear colors out… Pretty bright colors… It is not their fault the world is so dull… They get washed out… They fade… And then everyone is angry with them for not being as bright and they toss them away, get new ones… But at Christmas, everything is color… Everything is happy… I love colors… So pretty…”

She reached out but before she could touch the fairy lights – and either make the tree crash over them or burn herself – he grabbed her hand. He had turned on his side at some point during her little slurred speech and he was watching her, studying her like he sometimes did, like he could see down to her soul, like the necessary masks she always put on didn’t fool him for one second…

“You’re so fucking bright, you’re blinding.” he offered quietly, squeezing her fingers. “You’re too bright to let them wash you out, sweetheart.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant but it sounded important somehow. She felt small and fragile like one of the glass ornaments on the tree.

“Do you promise?” she asked, a bit anxious even if she didn’t really understand.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheek and she let him turn her head toward him, she let him press a kiss against her lips. It was chaste and it wasn’t a promise because he never made promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“I promise I’m never gonna try to ruin Christmas for you again.” he muttered against her mouth instead. “How’s that?”

“Good.” she grinned. “I love Christmas.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I think I got that.”

“I love my antlers too.” she added, reaching out to touch her soft plushy antlers. “Thank you.”

“You’re so gonna regret tonight in the morning…” he teased, his hand trailing from her cheek to her throat. It coiled loosely around the side of her neck. “No blaming me for you putting the peeing Santa on, yeah?”

“I have to go to my parents’ Christmas brunch in the morning.” she groaned, rolling on her side to curl up closer to him, pushing a knee between his legs so she could take advantage of his body heat.

“Skip it.” he shrugged.

“Mother would kill me.” she complained.

“I’ll be your bodyguard.” he smirked, clearly finding her drunk self hilarious.

It was tempting, truth be told, because brunches at her parents on Christmas were always tedious – brunches at her parents were tedious as a rule.

“What would we do instead?” she hummed, snuggling closer when he rolled on his back so she could use him as a pillow. She was tired and she wanted to sleep now. She didn’t mind if it was on a bed or on the floor. Her body felt so heavy…

“Fuck each other brainless?” he deadpanned.

“That does sound more fun.” she granted thoughtfully.

“Right? I’ll even add some hot chocolate to sweeten the deal.” he teased.

“Do you know how to do it right? With whipped cream and cinnamon?” she hummed sleepily.

“I know how to boil milk. You can teach me the rest.” he declared.

“Oh, but I cannot have hot chocolate with whipped cream…” she lamented, remembering too late. “The calories…”

“I’m gonna fuck the calories out of you.” he promised. “Besides, you’re a princess, yeah? Princesses are allowed hot chocolate. Seems like it’s a rule or something.”

“I am your princess, that is true…” She nuzzled his shoulder a little, stifling a yawn. “I think I will sleep now.”

“What? You mean you’re falling asleep on me?” he asked in a faked shocked voice. “Fucking didn’t notice.”

“Language.” she mumbled. “What will you do while I sleep? You will not leave, will you? You cannot leave me. You are my pillow.”

“I’m gonna watch the colors.” he said, a bit wistfully.

“Oh good, then.” She felt something being pulled off her head and she gasped a sleepy drunk gasp. “Do not steal my antlers! I love my antlers! You said they were a gift, you cannot have them back now.”

“Ain’t stealing them. Just putting them aside so you don’t crush them. Safe keeping, yeah?” He was rolling his eyes at her. She was sure he was rolling his eyes at her. “I’m gonna take the wig off too, alright? You hate sleeping with that stuff on, remember?”

She did. And there was a couple of pins digging in her skull. And she loved the way he ran his fingers in her hair once it was free.

The petting lulled her to sleep.

It was the best Christmas Eve ever, as far as she was concerned. Nobody could steal Christmas from her. Not even a grumpy Haymitch or an urinating Santa.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #hayffismas week #my hayffismas week #games time #crack #teapot #cuddles #fighting hayffie #coconuts friends #tipsy effie #chaff #viola #haymitch with feelings #holiday themed

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