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i-am-the-ass-admiral · 3 years

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For A Laugh (Benny Miller x gn!reader)

Summary: It’s Benny’s first time at a gay bar and you ask him out the worst way possible; ~1.4k

Tags: humor, colloquial writing style, lust, teasing, flirting, implied bi!benny and reader, bad jokes (like terrible impeccable taste), alcohol consumption, excessive use of the word ‘baby’, soft benny, first date (sort of), au, meet-cute

Rating: Teen

Note: look i’ve never done this before, i just really really got stuck on this idea and i really liked benny. might not be your idea of him but god i think he’s a huge dork and a giant softie so here we are. wanted to throw a queer reader out there since you just don’t see them all that much and do something maybe a little off the wall? idk have fun, i think i’m hilarious XD

By some stroke of fate, you pick Benny up at a bar the first time you meet.

He’s not hard to spot in a crowd as tall as he is and you’re just buzzed enough that your eye keeps coming back to him as the night goes on. He slides from corner to corner with his shoulders slightly hunched and the proverbial tail between his legs, following two shorter men who obviously know what kind of bar they’ve walked in to. Benny though—you didn’t know his name at the time so you called him Baby in your head—darts around with a kind of deer-in-headlights expression. It’s cute.

And annoying.

At first, you roll your eyes at him. Great, another straight dude to hit on your friends and get mad when they say no.

Then you watch him a little longer.

You can’t help it, he’s pretty and looks more than a little lost and even from the end of the bar you can see how wide his tentative smile gets as he looks around. He likes what he sees; you’re just trying to figure out exactly what it is he’s liking. For a while Baby sits at a table with his friends. Holds a fruity cocktail between his knees almost as if he’s scared to be seen with it. Then after a couple drinks his smile gets wider and his voice gets loud. Boy’s boisterous—you can tell by the way he talks with his hands and throws his head back to laugh. He’s actually really fun to watch and it makes you smile. His buddies look almost out of place too until they get up to dance and—wow, talk about snake hips and floor sex, you haven’t seen anyone dance that good off the drag stage in ages. Baby stares at his empty drink for a bit, lost again, then heads to the bar. Not far from where you are, actually. Watching him walk with a couple drinks in him is a world of difference to how he first came in. There’s a swing in his broad shoulders, a confident cocky tilt to his head and you’re not sure if you want to punch him or if it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.

Despite your better judgment, you’re leaning to the latter.

You make a bet with yourself as he pulls up at the bar—he got the fun drink to please his friends, he’ll order something boring now—and you’re pleasantly surprised to lose your own bet. Baby orders a whole-ass mai tai and looks overjoyed at the gigantic slice of pineapple and cherries garnishing the top. He turns to the stage. Avidly watches a few performers and even starts cheering. That’s when others folks start to take notice. A couple men make a pass and, wouldn’t you know it, Baby plays nice. Smiles and nods politely even though you can tell he’s not really into it. Not totally but it makes you think…

Maybe Baby’s a little bendy and not as straight as you thought.

At that point in the night, your friends are on their fifth dance, you’re on your third drink, and it’s getting way too loud in here for you. You were going to step out for a bit anyway—or so you tell yourself—so why not have some company? Who knows, you might get lucky. And if not, you’ll have an even better excuse to get some air and at least you can say you did it for laughs. Not that this is a casino but you’re feeling feisty. Might as well roll the dice. Baby looks like the kinda Midwest-flavored bite of beefcake that will either have great taste and love your stupid pickups or get scared and leave. Hopefully he’s not the kind to throw a punch.

You sidle up to the bar next to him. No doubt your outfit gets his attention first. It’s not risqué exactly but it’s got flavor, specifically your queer kind of flavor, and it draws the eye the way you wear it. You smile as you look him up and down, enjoying the red flush on his cheeks that trickles down under the collar of his fitted shirt. Wow, Baby is built. You ask the bartender for a couple drinks while part of your buzzing brain throws up red flags. Maybe you should try to land your mouth before it totally takes off but unfortunately for ground control your tongue is flying solo tonight. You get your drink. Pluck off the fruit, take a bite and shout over the music,

“Can I get your name or should I just get you a drink?”

As expected, Baby looks confused as hell but he pastes on a polite, if guarded, smile. “I wouldn’t mind a drink.”

Without missing a beat, you give him the second glass in your hand. There’s something about the way that guarded smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes that makes you want to do something stupid. You want to see him smile and laugh and even though you don’t have the slightest inkling about him, you want to know why such a handsome face would ever look so afraid.

So of course you ask, “How ‘bout a bet then? I make you laugh, you tell me your name?”

He makes a considering face and takes a long sip. “Bet.”

“What do you call the sexuality where you’re attracted to people by no one is attracted to you?”

“What?”

Very off key and with all the drama you can muster, you sing, “Allll Biiiii Myseeeelf.”

Baby snorts a laugh in his drink, which you didn’t expect, and a little warmth grows in your stomach. His faux smile is turning to a real grin. Albeit still a confused one but delighted all the same and he shoots back, “So that’s you, huh? By yourself?”

You wince theatrically and shake your head.

“Ouch, Baby’s got teeth! You got me.”

“Nah, what you get’s a name.” He holds out his hand and you groan internally at the length and breadth of it as you shake. “Benny.”

Just like that Baby becomes Benny and you’re absolutely smitten. You give him your name. Maybe your fingers linger. You want to get him another drink. You want to tell him another joke. Hell, you want to take him home and stuff him full of food in the morning. He giggles a bit and it’s endearing enough you decide to press your luck.

“How ‘bout this one? What’s the best N’Sync song?”

It’s not a fair question, dude might not have ever even heard a boy band in his life, so it takes you by surprise when he immediately pops back with a drawling version of, “It’s tearin’ up my heart when I’m with you?”

“Ooo, a little romantic! I see you!” you tease, pinching his thick bicep for just an instant. Because really, any longer than that and you’d melt.

Benny doesn’t pull away like you were waiting for him to do. Instead he ducks his head, more than booze burning his cheeks, and—ah, hell.

“That one is killer,” you admit, “but I was thinking of the one where they sing ‘Bye Bye Bye’ while we blow outta here for dinner?”

It’s a stupid line—one of the worst you’ve ever come up with—and it comes out more like a question than a joke. You throw back the rest of your drink to hide the look on Benny’s face but to your delight, he says,

“Wait, really?”

“Well yeah.” You lean against the bar next to him, trying and failing to be nonchalant and you shrug. “I’m hungry and even though you’re a Grade A snack I don’t think you’d appreciate me taking a bite. So how ‘bout dinner?”

Benny finishes his drink all at once. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands. You sigh to yourself—this is the part where he walks off and you go get dinner alone, you suppose. But then he grins, like really grins, and offers you his arm to hold and suddenly your knees are jello shots.

“I could go for a bite.”

So you go for dinner. Text your friends, of course. But mosey down the street for 12AM tacos and end up laughing with Benny, shoulder to shoulder on the curb until your friends call for a ride.

And even though you didn’t get to take him home and feed him in the morning, your phone still dings through your snooze with a message under Benny’s name that reads:

What did the barista say to his crush?

I like you a latte. :)

Coffee later?

The warmth in your stomach from the night before blooms again and you laugh into your pillow before you text back:

Love to!

#benny miller x reader #benny miller x gn!reader #benny miller x you #triple frontier #well here we are again

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wildwithadventure · 4 years

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@crew-from-capulet

The night had been going so well until Emily's contact fell out. The young woman was in New York City on business. And she would be bound there for two weeks, until her work was completed. So far the experience, had been full of back to back meetings. It's not like she hadn't been to the Big Apple before, but Emily had hoped for a little leisure time to explore the ever changing metropolis. However, her schedule so far had been jam packed. The auburn had barely been released in time for the end of happy hour. She had briefly considered going back to her hotel room to freshen up, but thought better of it. She'd just be tempted to lie down on the comfortable queen bed, and end falling asleep. The last thing she needed to do was fall asleep around six pm-- she'd end up waking up at 2 am and wouldn't be able to go back to sleep.

Instead, she refreshed her makeup in the bathroom of the building, her last meeting had been held in. At least she carried a small makeup kit, and a small roll-on of perfume for such occasions. She inspected her outfit in the mirror, after she adjusted her hair and makeup. She had dressed in a white button down dress shirt, and black dress pants. Both were tailored to her custom measurements. The look was a classic, and she paired it with a pair of black Louboutin's and silver diamond jewelry. Emily had decided to drag her semi-tired self into a bar that she had found on Yelp. It was high end enough that her designer attire, and handbag wouldn't draw attention.

She had managed to nab herself a spot on the bar, and had decided to order herself a glass of top shelf whiskey. Opting to treat herself, before possibly having something both fruity and inexpensive. Maybe a couple of daiquiris? To her surprise, after she had polished off her whiskey, another was delivered to her by the bartender, who gestured to another patron that was approaching her. She had flashed the man that had purchased her beverage, a megawatt smile. He had introduced himself, as Kyle-- and they had gotten to talking as Emily invited him to drink with her.

The conversation was pleasant and flowed easily, as they had a couple more drinks. She was definitely flirting, until an almost comically placed disaster struck. One of her eyelashes had decided to fall into her eye. Needless to say, the experience was very unpleasant. Emily had considered excusing herself and rushing into the bathroom to remove it. But she didn't want her companion to think that she was ditching him. Instead, after checking with Kyle that it was okay, Emily fished her compact out her purse and used the mirror to locate the offending item. Just as she managed to remove the lash, it happened. Her brown colored contact fell out and directly onto the floor of the bar. She slapped a hand immediately over her eye, hoping that Kyle or anyone else nearby hadn't seen her exposed red iris.

She swore under breath at her predicament. There was no way, she was putting that lens back into her eye after it had fallen onto the floor. And she realized with dread that it wasn't even an option, she neither had her contact solution or pair of spare lenses. She had changed purses, this morning and had forgotten to add them, as a quick look through her handbag confirmed. She hastily dug a one hundred dollar bill out of her wallet, and slapped it down on the bar with her free hand. She had also retrieved her sunglasses and quickly put them on. "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for the drink. That should cover another drink for you." With her her apology uttered, and a forced smile delivered, Emily quickly gathered her things and left the bar as quickly as she could.

#writing history: kyle/kleitos

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royal-writer · 5 years

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But I love you

A bunch of ideas I stitched together into the fabric of one story. There ya go.

It was a different world. Larger, colder; it left her feeling small. Prey to the predators. Insignificant. Everyone standing around here was dripping with dignity and class; with enough esteem and reputation to line museums with stature. There was not enough of her to fill even the corner of the room. She was not enough.

In these halls, blood was power. Although Essätha’s held a different kind of power; simmering with the old dark magic of Shadowfell, it was not the same thing. The elite in these chambers were bred from blood of the wealthiest, the wisest, the most powerful and influential individuals in history. They were people who were born and raised to carry their voice, to weld a sword, to stand tall and firm. Their authority was without doubt. Most of them knew and accepted their place in history, and in the world.

This was no place for her kind. Not for her. Her posture was not quite right, her tongue not trained for these conversation. She came from nothing. She was nothing.

In the heavy blanket of her smothering unease, others tried to start the fire beneath her broken confidence, with little success.

“They’re just people like us,” Abernathy reminded her. “Their status doesn’t make them better.”

“Come have a glass of wine,” Adela offered. “It’ll help ease your worries.”

“I can stay with you,” Sul had offered.

“Don’t hold yourself back because of how you look,” Penimra scoffed, waving a gloved hand as he sighed, “No one here will openly mock you. They’re raised to hold their gossip to private parlors with friends, so you’re safe from public ridicule.”

Essie turned them away, one by one. The more they hovered, the more she could feel the wandering curious eyes draw towards a crowd. The very last place she wanted was to be in the center of anyone’s attention.

As her eyes trailed upon Ravamora fawning over someone’s gemstone-embed attire with a star-struck Pri’cha, the Yuan-Ti woman nibbled anxiously on her lip. She was the only one who looked out place here. Everyone else transitioned smoothly into the crowd, but not her. No matter how much makeup and expensive jewels and fine clothes you put her in, you couldn’t cover up the dirty, frightened, inadequate woman inside.

Relief would be the wrong word to use, when she caught sight of the dark eyes covering her. It was a dark shroud, and for only half a second, she’d all but forgotten the crowd. The charming, regal smile that went along with it made her produce a half-hearted reply. Her lips stretched into a shaky, thin returned smile as he approached, two flute glasses filled with bubbly liquid inside.

She dipped her head respectfully as he approached, murmuring, “M’lord.”

Amon’s grin grew almost giddy. “I thought you could use a refreshment.”

Offering a less than convincing ghostly smile, she accepted the beverage. Adela had been easy to turn down the few times she’d insisted on bringing over something. Although Essie could tell herself she was only accepting the nobleman’s out of respect for his stature and not wanting to draw him humiliation, her heart knew it was certainly more to do with disappointing him. It would be a shame to put a damper on such a soft, heavenly smile.

“It’s a fruity blended medley,” he explained. “Pomegranates, blackberries, apples, and pears. I thought you might prefer this, over the brandy they’re serving. Unless you’d rather-”

She placed a hand lightly upon Amon’s forearm to pause his strangely nervous rambling. He came to an abrupt halt, his gaze passing from where she touched him to her face with an impassive expression, as though he was hiding something.

“The mead is fine M’lord Amon, thank you,” Essätha whispered; adding on teasingly, “You know what I like.”

To her surprise, his face glowed pinkish as he relaxed his posture. He seemed to mull for a hesitant few seconds on what to say next, before finally exhaling brightly, “If you’re willing, Essie, there’s some people I’d like to introduce you too.”

Her grasp tightened upon the intoxicating sweet drink while she took a sip to buy time.

“Okay.”

Beaming from ear to ear, the nobleman offered out his arm to her. Not light could compare to how radiant he appeared; how picturesque and softly haloed his face was. Each strand of hair seemed to be highlighted from behind, and the angles of his face tilted enough to show the hills and valleys that peaked and rose around his cheeks that met the twinkle of his eyes.

Her hopes however, were dashed. She’d prayed he would bring this guest to her, but it seemed she would have to traverse the field of mines.

Delicately, Essätha rested her hand against Amon’s arm to allow him to lead her through the throng. She cursed her anxious grip, which tightened as the heat of bodies pressed close and smell of alcohol on lingering breathy laughter surrounded her. The intelligent part of her knew better, but a small part of her brain couldn’t help but feel they were laughing at her.

She turned her eyes up to the Illiad, and noticed the lingering way his gaze fell upon her, and then to the crowd in intervals to make sure they weren’t going to run into anyone.

Her heart stalled. How was it he always seemed to know what she needed, even when she didn’t voice it? Even when she didn’t know she needed it.

The reassurance of his eyes continued a looping path, back and forth a few times, until they were approaching two ladies and a gentleman chatting only a few degrees from the center of the room. The chandelier hanging overhead made this area particularly bright and unwelcoming. Essie had to resist squirming or latching further on to Amon like a leech for support and guidance.

“Lady Yaereena, Lady Sasha, Master Khrono,” Amon warmly interjected, offering a grand bow of his head. “My apologies for the interruption. This is the woman I wanted you all to meet.”

The trio turned their attention upon them.

“Oh, i’s no problem Master Ay’mon,” one of the women purred in a foreign accent. Her eyes flickered to Essie; a deep brown that countered her pale complexion. To contrast just how fair her skintone actually was, she wore a startling shade of raspberry red, with a lip stain to match, and allowed her dark hair to fall down her back.

She offered out a hand politely. “I am madam Sasha. Oi must be the misses Essätha Meduza the Bearmas’ah keeps going on about, no?”

Dizzily trying to hold her breath, Essie cast a sideways glance towards Amon. He’d been talking about her?

“That I am,” she awkwardly responded, taking the lady’s hand.

��Pleasure to meet ya, young lady,” the man piped up, extending his hand next. He had eyes so light blue they were nearly silver. His age was clearly beginning to catch up to him; as both the shadow of his thin beard and hair were beginning to have the same edges of silver and there was crepe areas and rough textures to his pale skin. He wore a sharp, pressed outfit of black and red attire, and had tiny points on his protruding ears.

Taking his hand, and then finally, the last Lady’s, Essie tried not to stare too hard at the woman. Lady Yaereena was enchanting; hair blonde and golden as the sun and dark hazel green eyes. Splashed across her face was a birthmark; varying in hues of a deep reddish-orange to brown. She had tired shadows beneath her eyes. She was physically more built than the other two, with very obvious elvish ears standing erect, and wore deep burgundy gown with a hint of brown to stand out against her olive skin.

“Lady Yaereena is quite shy, you’ll have to excuse her,” Khrono chuckled as the bashful woman’s cheeks flamed red.

Essätha offered a supportive smile, the best she could despite her own timidness. “It’s nice to meet you all,” she offered, automatically drawn to the timorous one. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you. Yours is n-nice too.”

Yaereena grew more flush from her stuttering. Essätha pitied the poor woman; edges of her own fear sanded down by her compulsive desire to bring an eased atmosphere to the area to calm her. Dipping her head respectfully, she murmured, “Thank you; the emerald color would look splendid on you too.”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Yaereena shyly replied. “I do have a j-jade at home I’m rather fond of…” She tried to self-consciously turn her face away, although no amount of concealment was going to add enough shadows to hide her birthmark.

“Oh! She is just dah’lin Ay’mon, oi were not lying! I could just devour her like a cupcake!”

Amon chuckled softly. “Careful who you mention sweets around.”

Swallowing nervously, Essie took an initiative to sip her mead.

“So, where are you from lass?” Khrono trailed on conversationally. “Not from Etheron, I’d surmised that much.”

“Vramahd, actually.”

The man let out a low, impressed whistle. “Quite the travel all the way across the continent here o’ yonder. Lots o’ wild out there still, I hear.”

“I… I suppose.”

“Oi like Etheron, no?”

She smiled faintly. “It’s been good to me.”

Sash raised her eyebrows slightly, glancing between her and Amon. “Yes, it seems it has.”

Ignoring the strange glance, Essie let out a nervous cough. “Do you three help rule a territory of Etheron?”

“Moi? Heavens no!”

Khrono simply laughed, shaking his head. “No, miss, ‘fraid I ain’t. Lady Yaereena here though, she’s late in line to uphold the mantle in her family, should anything happen to any of ‘em.”

The elf shivered nervously at the half-elf man’s words. “I am not fit to be a ruler. I’m f-far more content with my life, how it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with either,” Essätha offered gently. “Not everyone has to be a leader. Just because you were born to the possible responsibility, doesn’t mean it owns you. You just have to lead your own life the best way possible. You carve your own path, my Lady. If you should ever change your mind, there is always open positions and ways you could grow your experience from.”

The blonde woman blinked with astonishment, looking at her full on. Her mouth opened a few times, and a rush of red coloring flushed her features. She dipped her head, offering a humble, squeaky mumble of thanks.

Sasha grabbed at Khrono’s arm. “Fan me, Khrono, I may swoon!”

The elderly man snorted his laughter. “You and your theatrics ‘nd drama, Sasha. ‘though I must say,” he turned his gaze to Essie, “You got a very valid word there, miss. You got a promisin’ future ahead of ya with that sorta level head.”

“I- it’s nothing,” Essätha muttered, fanning off their gushing. “There’s nothing wrong with choosing your own path. Just because you’re a leader doesn’t make you a follower, either. You can still tutor and guide through other means. The world doesn’t just need Lords and Ladies; it needs the farmers that plow the fields, the doctors that heal, blacksmiths, fishermen, cooks, undertakers, barkeeps…” she trailed off, offering a hand to Yaereena as she fidgeted. “The point is to be the very best you possible. If you’re happy with where you are, I’m happy for you; and I support your choice.”

With a look of absolute awe on her angelic face, Yaereena fiercely gripped her hand in return.

“You are truly as unique and artful as Master Amon said,” she thickly remarked; her stuttering disappearing in her whispering tone. “Thank you for your kind words, miss Essätha.”

Blushing herself, Essie stood a fraction taller beneath the praise. “M’lord exaggerates.”

“Oh dah’lin I ever don’t so,” Sasha snorted. “Oi are a fine specimen. Upholding others is a beautiful and honorable task. Keep women strong. The men will beg for your attention.”

“I don’t think she’s doin’ it for the young lads, lassy.”

“Perhaps not young men,” Sasha agreed with knowing.

Offering a vaguely amused half-grin, Essie took a drink from her glass, wrapping a self-conscious arm around herself. It felt a little easier to breathe, at least, for the moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Letting out a heavy sigh, Essätha stared vacantly at all the extravagant décor and finely dressed individual as they blindly passed her by. A face among faces; lost in the sea of glances as she watched others depart the party. Her own companions were still spread among those chatting; not yet willing to let the dream die. Sasha and Yaereena had left a short while ago, and Khrono had since gotten tangled in other conversation, leaving her feeling stranded.

A warm hand touched her own; fingers splayed against her digits.

She turned her face up to Amon, smiling painfully. “Thank you for introducing me to your acquaintances.”

He nodded. “They’re good friends.”

“… You thought Lady Yaereena could benefit, meeting me.”

The nobleman arched a single brow. “Anyone could benefit from knowing you, Essie; that is simply the warmth you bring forth to others,” he gently offered, “I… I just wanted to…”

“Pull me from my shell?” she offered, studying his expression. “Yank me from the staircase?”

His eyes were troubled. He frowned slightly, searching her face.

Exhaling deeply once more, she turned her eyes over the emptying room. It looked as she felt.

“… You are very thoughtful to think of me,” she said quietly, pulling her hand away. “But I do not belong here.”

As soon as her flats scuffed the floor in a single step, Amon’s hand took hold of hers, careful but firm.

“That’s not true, Essätha,” he rasped, holding her hand close. “You belong right here.”

Her gaze skirted from his hand, up the length of his arm, to the open invitation of his side. Up further, the pleading of his eyes stared longingly back at her. His pupils were blown out, and his breathing was shallow. Each breath was ragged; rough, struggling against an unexplained force.

She could feel the tightness constructing her throat. The tension in the air that was magic and yet was not. No matter how much she wanted to turn away, her eyes were held. She was stuck in the pull and it was taking her in, deeper and deeper, answering her questions, whispering to her the universes very secrets in a strange language she knew yet did not. Amon’s body language an open invitation; the doors to refuge and sanctuary wide open.

What was he fighting for? Why did it matter so much to him that she stay? Why was her comfort so important to him? Her happiness?

What am I to you?

She sucked in a breath. The words echoing in her head there were not her own. It was his words, and it was as fresh as the day he spoke them to her.

She knew the answer, but could not explain it. She could not identify it. She held back from admitting it, from letting the feeling flow freely. But she could not seem to hold it all back. How she unconsciously leaned in towards him; how her heartbeat picked up, the way she smiled when she truly smiled around him. Or even how, like now, she found it impossible to remove her eyes from him because looking at Amon made her chest light, made the world feel safe, and everything else in comparison just seemed so lackluster and uninteresting.

He was, in every way, her heart. Her sanctuary. Her fondest thought. Her Lord Amon.

But she could not give him the things he was warranted, what he deserved, what he wanted.

Essie smiled, even though it hurt, and mouthed softly, “There are… better women who should have that position.”

A quivering breath, shaky and uneasy as a boat on choppy waters, escaped him. His voice rose in the most broken whisper; soft, longing, and hopeless.

“… But I love you.”

She swallowed. “You…”

He turned so red she wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe. A short, frightful nod, and he clutched to her hand with enough strength to make her fingers ache a little. He brought her hand closer, holding it against his chest. For comfort, for her to feel perhaps the sound of his heart trying to claw out of his ribcage desperately.

“There’s few things I’ve ever done right in my life,” Amon rasped; voice cracking in a rush. “Raising Marie. Joining the party. Keeping my word to you that I would stay.” He swallowed. “… Loving you, with all of my broken pieces.”

“Essie, I wanted you to meet them because I wanted them to meet you. You make a difference in others lives. I wanted them to see this beautiful, smart woman I can’t stop talking about and can’t get off my thoughts because I knew they couldn’t believe me and would never understand until they met you, just how wonderful you are. You are… extraordinary.”

She could hardly hear anything else past the exclamation. She didn’t need to hear anymore.

Maybe she wasn’t fit for this lifestyle. But she fit comfortably against Amon’s side.

“You’re not broken. You’ve been wounded, but you’re still one very solid, one very kind, one very reassuring and lovely man, m’lord Amon;” she retorted, smoothing her palm out against his chest. “… One man I admire, very deeply.”

Worry crept in. He began to falter; his joy deflating beneath defeat. “You make me feel alive and whole again,” the nobleman declared softly.

She scoffed, reaching to hold his cheek in her other hand. “If that’s true, why do you appear so blue right now, m’lord?”

He reached out to cup her cheek in his palm in response. She leaned into his touch, and the anxious smile grew more genuine as he stroked a line of warmth with the pad of his thumb along her cheek.

“I’m scared that I have made a very foolish decision in telling you, and that it will change how you are with me. That you will never be comfortable. That I will lose your trust.”

“You can not lose that which has always been yours,” Essie murmured, turning her head to kiss his palm. “My trust is as true as my heart, which loves you unconditionally.”

Amon gasped loudly. “You do?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I do.”

Grinning wildly, he stepped closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against her own.

“That’s a relief,” he murmured, “I… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend.”

She snickered faintly. “Sorry to say, you’re stuck with that title for life, M’lord.”

“It is one of my best titles,” he clarified. Releasing her other hand, he tentatively reached around her waist.

She stepped into his embrace without hesitation, allowing the warmth of his arms to steady her and wrap her in safety. A sigh parted her lips as she nuzzled against his shoulder. Amon rested his chin atop her head in turn, humming gratefully.

All the world was brighter, more colorful, and beautiful for it. Simply because he existed, because she was lucky to know him, and it made her world better for it. And as far as she was concerned, they held each other gently in this moment that she hoped could last a lifetime.

#royal writes #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #warning there be floof ahead

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holosoftheoldrepublic · 5 years

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OC Interview

The rules are simple: pick an OC, and then answer these interview questions in-character for them. Then tag five more people to keep it going!

I got tagged by @greencrusader13

Tagging: All of my followers, because I’m that sort of an asshole 8D

As usual, Yra, because she is the best. And the worst. But mostly the best. Timeline wise this takes place after the main storyline, but before KotFE.

1. What is your name?

Most of the Empire knows me as Darth Nox, but my real name is Yracundia Kallig.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

Yracundia is a word from my mother’s native tongue, meaning resentment. You can draw your own conclusions from that. Darth Kallig was my ancestor, and I took his surname instead.

3. Are you single or taken?

I am happily married, thank you.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

Aside from being a Sith, you mean? I have a strong connection with ghosts, and I have the ability to bind them to me and draw upon their power.

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

What? Are you hard of hearing? That isn’t my name... and if it were, it isn’t that easy to change our name — oh, it’s a literary reference? Meaning? ... I would hardly consider myself to be perfect.

6. What’s your eye color?

I’m assuming this is for the blind? It fluctuates on the lighting, but a yellow-green.

7. How about your hair color?

Black, something a blind person would be quite familiar with, I’m sure.

8. Have any family members?

My father might be alive, I have no idea. I never met him. My mother died when I was 14. I have a twin sister, but don’t ask me about that. Of my current family there is of course my husband, Andronikos, and my daughter, Andyra. My faithful servant Talos Drellik is her godfather, and my apprentice Ashara Zavros is her godmother. I suppose we could include my Dashade, Khem Val.

9. Oh? How about pets?

An Ebony-Wing Flutterplume. I named her Umbra.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now, tell me something you don’t like?

I could say the Republic and the Jedi — which, to be clear, I most definitely hate — but I suppose you’re looking for something more mundane? I heavily dislike radishes. And most root vegetables, if I’m being honest.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

It’s also my job, but I genuinely enjoy researching and hunting down Sith artifacts. I have an extensive collection of historical non-fiction about all sorts of places that I enjoy reading, as well.

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

[Laughs]

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

You do remember that I am Sith, yes?

14. What kind of animal are you?

Do you mean what sort of animal I identify with? I personally find myself to be most like a snake, but Andronikos says I’m more like a cat.

15. Name your worst habits?

Forgetting to eat is the biggest one, Andronikos and Talos always pester me about that. I suppose I’m too quick to anger, and judgemental, but it’s served me fairly well so far.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Perhaps once I would have looked up to the Sith Lords of old, but... no, not anymore.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

I consider myself more on the asexual spectrum, with Andronikos being a special exception.

18. Do you go to school?

The closest I ever came to schooling was being tossed into the Korriban Academy to either become an Apprentice or die. My mother taught my sister and I the basics of writing and mathematics, and the rest I had to figure out myself.

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Were you not paying attention when I mentioned my husband and daughter?

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Of course. I’m a member of the Dark Council, and a powerful Sith besides. I also head a cult on Nar Shaddaa.

21. What are you most afraid of?

... being alone.

22. What do you usually wear?

I have a large collection of outfits that I cycle through, but my favourite is the one you see me in now.

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

People find it strange, but I like hot peppers. Not in things, although I like that as well, but just... hot peppers. As they are. I eat them like you would eat grapes.

24. Am I annoying to you?

Some of these questions are redundant, and I don’t really see the point of a lot of them.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

[Sighs.] Let us continue, then.

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

I’m on the Dark Council, what do you think?

27. How many friends do you have?

The only person I would consider to be a friend is Talos Drellik.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

I don’t really like sweets.

29. Favorite drink?

I’m assuming you mean alcohol. I like a nice red wine, dry. I also like fruity, blue cocktails...

30. What’s your favorite place?

Mmm... any place that is steeped in the Dark Side of the Force. Such as Dromund Kaas, for instance. Any place that has that darkness, and history.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Again, did you forget about my husband..? If he weren’t in the picture... no, I don’t see myself with anyone.

32. That was a stupid question…

It was, yes.

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Neither.

34. What’s your type?

My type of what..? Oh, romantic partner? Eh... I don’t really have one.

35. Any fetishes?

Excuse me?!

36. Camping or outdoors?

Is that not the same thing? I like civilisation, thank-you.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #oc interview meme #sith inquisitor #yracundia #i love my angry baby #i'm assuming the dark council made her do this #otherwise she wouldn't have bothered #or cared

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quirofiliac · 5 years

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EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

01. ordinary.

02. paranoid.

03. confident.

04. passive.

05. virtuous.

GREETINGS:

01. a gentle greeting, mostly consisting of just a rather brisk “hello” and nothing less. “hi” and “hey” are too informal for him and make him feel abnormal.

02. he’s not quite avoiding eye contact, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to be there. he fumbles with his hands a lot as he forces small talk.

03. there’s a respectful bow of the head, and kira’s probably about to apologize for something-- even if it wasn’t his fault that he bumped into them.

04. it’s not even a true greeting. he’s acknowledging the person speaking to him directly, but he still tries to hurry off. says he’s busy and is already late as an excuse.

05. he rarely smiles, even when greeting someone. he usually only smiles for first time meetings and, to his own discomfort, extends a hand to shake on it.

COLORS:

01. purple.

02. green.

03. white.

04. pink.

05. black.

SCENTS:

01. cologne, usually of a scent that’s subtle, hard to place, yet pleasant nonetheless.

02. coffee, lasts a couple of minutes after he leaves his home; it’s deceivingly light.

03. shampoo, with a soft aroma of a fruity variety that resembles citrus the most.

04. smoke, of an explosive quality; the smell, to him, persists after he uses his stand.

05. lotion, various types as he tends to have a bottle on hand always out of habit.

CLOTHING:

01. prim and proper designer suits that do not call for much attention. he highly prefers dull purple, white, and, maybe, a brighter purple for these suits.

02. prefers to wear shirts of contrasting colors underneath his suits. if he’s wearing purple, he’ll contrast it with green shirts, etcetc. he’ll color code his pants alongside his suit.

03. his ties are the loudest of his outfits, usually. he prefers picking ties that show brief glimpses of his personality, ones with seamless patterns that are easy on the eyes.

04. occasionally he’ll wear gloves. their material is unusually thin, allowing for his hands to breathe but still remain undetected for fingerprints.

05. regarding other accessories, he’ll wear watches of an expensive quality. they’re well taken care of and receive regular repairs whenever needed.

OBJECTS:

01. a small bottle of perfume, for use on his girlfriends (or boyfriends.) when need-be.

02. bottle of hand lotion, something he’s started keeping on him since beginning work.

03. a violin, kept in pristine condition with fine, intricate gold carvings along its borders.

04. a jewelry box, full of rings and bracelets to accessorize his dears when he’s bored.

05. a plain handkerchief, just in case he has to clean up a little bit of blood a mess.

VICES / BAD HABITS:

01. acceptance of his murders. the want to kill is unexplained, but he doesn’t seem to care. he appeases this side of him by simply doing it with a cold heart.

02. adoration for hands. he has a borderline fetish for them and accepts this about himself, using it as the reason for his murders instead of seeking help.

03. obsession with a normal life. he strives for it and would do practically anything in order to retain it. the idea of not having one distresses him greatly.

04. lack of emotional empathy. kira is selfish and egocentric in his ways, hardly caring for what his actions and responses to his environment do to others.

05. insistence for independence. he does not like asking from others any form of assistance, seeing it as a risk of drawing attention onto himself.

BODY LANGUAGE:

01. a passive, if albeit submissive posture. shoulders are square with his arms folded politely in front of him, and he keeps his chin angled towards the ground.

02. a gaze that implies both inferiority and superiority, an odd contradiction. he looks upon others with a look that insists on being left alone yet, also, seems cold and distant.

03. adjusting his tie, usually during a rough spot in conversation or when he’s taking time to himself to think of a response. it’s a swift action, one that barely’d receive attention.

04. rarely raises his hand to his lips, with his mouth nearly opening itself before he stops himself. he notes that he only does this when he’s feeling trapped with no escape.

05. does not make eye contact with anyone unless he’s expected to. lets his eyes wander to observe others and their habits to use for his own, but they never linger.

AESTHETICS:

01. his partner’s hand brushing the side of his face, letting him take in all of the subtle and not-so-subtle features. it’s smooth, soft, and oh-so lovely but there’s a slight bite once he feels fingernails scrape against his skin, but... he loves it all the same. opening his lips, he feels fingers tap along them and he sighs. yes, he loves this very much.

02. the gentle warmth of the sun peeking in through the blinds as he wakes up, refreshed and well-kept. he rolls over to see a blank space next to him, instead being greeted by the distant noises of pen scribbling against paper. five more minutes couldn’t possibly hurt, he thinks as he closes his eyes and is lulled back to sleep by the white noise.

03. running his fingers along the palm and lines of a hand, rubbing small, comforting circles into it all the while. he’s tempted to rub his cheek against it, but he hasn’t asked for permission yet. instead, he settles for playing with the hand as he likes-- loosely bending the fingers, admiring the nail polish he’s picked, and lightly kissing the knuckles.

04. wandering through the make-up aisle of the store, letting his eyes run over the individual items and waiting to see if any of them catch his eye. his nose is flooded with the artificial smell of perfume, but he doesn’t mind it. he rather likes it, actually. a lipstick catches his eye-- a light green. he checks the price then picks it out, carefully and shyly.

05. a neatly folded page of a book is tucked in the back of his nightstand’s drawer. when unfolded, its creases are blatant but straight and hardly disrupts the image. the mona lisa stares placidly, her hands folded neatly at her front with her trademarked smile. should it be turned over, there’s only the plain handwriting of “my first” upon its back.

SONGS:

01. men today (jk flesh remix) - health.

02. run - iamthekidyouknowwhatimean.

03. deadcrush - alt-j.

04. complete domination - perturbator ft. carpenter brut.

05. big love - she wants revenge.

tagged by: @resolvebled thank u!! ♡ tagging: hmmmmm,, steal it.

#i made the aesthetics........ Slightly Gay at the encouragement of my ship partner sksksksks #and also bc i couldnt resist :' ^ )#＊ 💥 断片：headcanon.#＊ 💥 骨牌：dash game.

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elanorjane · 6 years

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California Soulmates Chapter 6

Summary: Pop princess Belle wants to write her own music. Single father Gold wants to put his failed music career behind him. When inspiration hits, there's only one problem...the songs they're writing are each other's. "Telepathic soulmates" RCIJ for @beastlycheese

AO3

She was still in her encore outfit. A shiny red dress with a plunging neckline open almost to her navel. Below that the long skirt opened at the front to reveal matching red sequin hotpants. During her encore large fans below the stage had blown the long train up in the air. Red gloves stretched up to her elbows. Her skin was shiny from the performance. Auburn hair fell in waves all around her. He halted, honestly taken aback by how beautiful she was.

“Hello,” she greeted brightly. Her face was open and understanding. She must think he was starstruck, which was better than the alternative, the truth being he was desperately struggling to not look at her boosted cleavage or her shapely legs.

Thankfully, she turned her attention to Bae standing in front of him. She didn’t even have to bend down to be on the same level with him, like she had to for some of her tinier fans.

“The show was great,” Bae told her in a daze. Gold took in his son’s glazed over eyes. If Bae stayed this distracted throughout the meeting this might be over ever quicker than he’d hoped.

“Thank you,” she told him, sounding genuine. Then she glanced up at Gold mischievously. “But what did your dad think?” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of her rose colored mouth, suspecting he’d been dragged here like all the other parents.

Bae’s eyes lit up at the opportunity she’d presented him with. “He doesn’t mind,” he lied, “because my dad writes music, too!” Gold cringed but couldn’t stop him before he blurted, “He even wrote some of your songs!”

Her eyebrows shot up in response. That was obviously the last thing she’d expected to come out of his mouth. She turned those devastating eyes back on him again and considered him, tilting her head to the side. “Did he?” Her lips pursed, suppressing a smile and daring him to talk his way out of that statement.

He hadn’t known she had an accent. The sweet lilt of her voice danced through his brain, short circuiting his synapses.

“No,” he asserted childishly, internally withering.

Bae stood between them. “Tell her, papa,” he urged in what he must have thought was a whisper but was definitely not.

His mouth opened and snapped shut, but Belle waited patiently for an explanation. “One of your songs,” he apologized. “It…sounds similar to a song I made up,” he explained.

“The one that leaked,” Bae provided.

“It’s just a coincidence,” Gold added hastily.

Her gaze shifted from curious to intrigued, as if he’d said something particularly interesting. Out of the corner of his eye Gold saw the security guard overseeing the proceedings charge forward to manhandle Bae and him away from her to keep the meet and greet line moving.

Belle saw him too and gave a little wave to stave him off.

She spoke, forcing his attention back on her when he wanted nothing more than to slink away with what little of his dignity he had left. When she talked, his mind became completely absorbed in her words. He was supposed to be short with this woman, push Bae in front of her for a photo, then get them out of there and on with their lives, which included moving to another continent to avoid this woman and people like her. She stole his song, he smarted, they were standing here talking about it. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stay mad at her. Now she wouldn’t let him out from under her spell.

“I wrote that song,” she told Gold. She didn’t sound mad, or threatened. More like she wanted to discuss it with him, which was absurd.

“Like I said,” he responded tersely. He looked away, trying to catch the guard’s eye and force him to move them along, “coincidence.”

The photographer, who had had enough waiting around, called out, “Photo in three, two…!” Gold strayed out of the frame, letting Bae have his moment, but at the last second, he felt small, delicate fingers wrap around his bicep and yank him into frame. He leaned in and smiled automatically. The flash went off.

Belle stood up straight from she’d leaned over Bae to lean her head close to his. The fruity smell of her hairspray lingered on his senses. “I’ve never written a song like that in my life,” she continued, unconcerned with the interruption or the impatient line behind them.

God, would she not let it go? “I’m not surprised,” he muttered.

She gasped, “Excuse me?”

That got the guard’s attention finally, and he sprung back into action, eager to punt Gold out of the arena. But she held out her arm again, “No, it’s okay, Steve.”

She’d sounded offended, but her eyes sparkled in response to Gold’s challenging tone.

No, Steve, I’m sorry, come back, please, he thought. Take me away from this woman.

She crossed her arms like she had all day and looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself. It was as if she knew she was torturing him, but kept on for the fun of it.

“It’s just it’s unlike anything else you sing,” he offered.

Her eyes sparked in defiance. “I have the lyrics in a notebook,” she told him haughtily. “In my own handwriting.”

That was it. He scoffed, squared his shoulders to her, crossed his own arms to mirror her, and leaned in close. “So do I,” his deep timbre rumbled in his chest.

She smiled as if he’d said the most marvelous thing. “Do you-” she cut off, as if remembering where there were. She glanced around self-consciously, suddenly aware of all the eyes on them. Her confidence that had reeled him in so effectively moments before fell away.

Gold somehow knew what she was going to say. He swore she was about to say “want to get out of here?” He’d almost finished the sentence for her. Honestly, he didn’t know why, but his answer would have been yes.

He felt an overwhelming sense of pity for this woman. Her eyes darted around like that of a trapped ferret. Standing next to her, he could feel the weight of the scrutiny and expectation on her.

Gold could only explain what happened next as some sort of mania overtaking him. His eyes flashed over her shoulder at the photo op backdrop. It only took him a second to get his bearings. Behind them, down the long hall, was an emergency exit, the same one that had led Milah and Killian out of his life all those years ago. He was hyper aware of the hundreds of people milling about around them. Not to mention the queue still formed behind him and Bae.

He put one hand on Bae’s shoulder and angled them away from Belle as if they were saying goodbye. He didn’t miss the inexplicable panic and sadness in her eyes. “Trust me?” he murmured to Belle, trying not to tip Steve off to his hairbrained idea.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

Bae’s eyes volleyed back and forth between them, sensing something was about to happen.

Still looking into Belle’s eyes, Gold wrapped one hand around Bae’s wrist.

“C’mon,” he grabbed Belle’s satin covered hand with his other and yanked her behind him as he made a break for it. She let out a yelp of surprise, but gamely followed. Gold skidded past Steve the Barbarian, who truly wished to kill him now, pulling Belle and Bae with him.

They slipped around the backdrop and down the concrete hall. He saw the red Exit sign he was searching for, but it was much further away than he remembered. He heard the static of a walkie talkie and the pounding of Steve’s heavy footfalls behind them.

“Go!” Belle implored and the desperation he heard in her voice pushed him past the throb of his ankle and the three of them sped up.

Nearing the exit, he dropped Bae’s hand to shoulder the door open, letting them out onto a fire escape. He barely registered the alarm that opening the door had set off. He let go of Belle when they neared the bottom. He threw his weight onto the bottom rung, dropping the ladder and allowing them to reach the ground. He got halfway down before leaping the rest of the way. His ankle screamed in pain but the rest of him felt more alive than he had in thirteen years. He reached up to help Belle down, his hands around her waist. Belle safely reached the bottom, her heel only getting caught once. Bae jumped off the ladder behind her, beaming at them.

Steve was still in hot pursuit and Gold doubted he was the only one. He crouched down, taking one end of the ladder.

“Help me, Bae.” Bae took the other and together they threw the ladder back up so it suspended in the air, throwing an extra roadblock in Steve’s way.

Belle was bouncing on her heels nervously, watching Steve’s approach.

“This way,” Gold sprinted down the alley away from the arena, headed back towards downtown, Bae and Belle following. They came to a halt a couple streets away from the Staples Center. That’s when his brain caught up with him. Gold froze on the sidewalk. Christ. He’d just kidnapped an international pop star. What the hell was he thinking?

Belle instinctively seemed to know. “Thanks,” she smiled at him, taking a big deep breath of fresh night air, like she hadn’t had access to it in weeks.

It was a Friday night in a very busy city and people were entering and spilling out of the bars, restaurants, and nightclubs all around them. Removed from the context of the concert, standing between Gold and Bae in their frayed jeans, Belle’s stage makeup appeared especially overdone. Her skin sparkled and the shine of her red dress caught the street lamp lights. Even in L.A. she was beginning to draw stares.

“I gotta get out of these clothes,” she said urgently.

“I got an idea.” Gold, distracted from the madness of what he’d done by a more pressing concern, judged the distance and the crowd beginning to form around them. “Can you hang in there for two more blocks?”

She inhaled, anxiety making her breath hitch. “Yeah,” she answered determinedly.

“Alright, let’s go.” The three of them started a quick walk across the crosswalk to put a busy road between them and the growing number of people.

“Is that her?” He heard someone from the crowd behind them. A flash of light from somebody’s phone lit up the sidewalk. The last thing he needed was someone calling the cops and showing them a picture of the man leading a famous singer down a dark alley. They heard a growing group of sneakers pounding the pavement behind them.

“Run,” he urged under his breath. The three of them broke into a trot. Surprisingly, even in her towering stage heels, she easily kept up. Bae, running between them, let out a laugh. Gold, thinking abducting a pop star wasn’t exactly funny, glanced over at Belle. But she was smiling even wider and let out a yelp of glee in response, leaping in the air over a crack in the pavement. She gathered up her dress around her, freeing her legs to run faster. Even Gold chuckled as they sprinted down the pavement. They ran and ran, not talking and not stopping to catch their breaths.

“Right,” Gold directed them, taking them down another alleyway. The group made a sharp turn, then taking a left when Gold urged them. Finally, when Gold had weaved them between enough buildings to have lost anyone following them, he stopped.

“Here,” Gold pointed at a green door with peeling paint. Bae renched it open and they tumbled in behind him. Gold stumbled into Belle and he automatically put an arm around her to steady her. They were all laughing and catching their breaths.

Bae leaned over, his hands on his knees. “That,” he panted, “was awesome.”

*I’m playing generously with L.A. and Staples Center geography to make this work. I didn’t have time to do extra homework.

*We’re gonna pretend The Staples Center open before 1999.

#fic: California Soulmates #rcij #rumbelle christmas in july

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