#gale gobs

[horridgoblin]

In Need of Comfort (Part 2 - Finale)

For part 1, click here. Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, SFW (lightly suggestive dialogue MDNI), Christmas AU set in Waterdeep, gender neutral Tav x Gale. Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, sensory overload, and sadness around the holidays due to loss of loved ones. Note: I've come to the conclusion that this fic no longer needs to be in three parts - so ignore the previous post saying that it would be posted that way. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

The way back home to Gale’s tower was a precarious one, with extreme snowfall sending a great chill down to your bones as the hire coach rocked along the cobblestone streets. Once you arrived and the door home swiftly opened and thudded shut, you let out a relieved sigh. Although the warmth was welcome, the snow on your winter coats were melting, plastering the now damp fabric to your limbs. 

“I think some dry clothes are in order, and soon,” said Gale, taking off his purple coat.

“Indeed. It’s a shame I’ll be getting out of this pretty outfit I wore for this occasion, but pyjamas sound heavenly right now.”

“You look delightful regardless of what you wear. Though that doesn’t mean I don’t share your disappointment, it looked exquisite on you, my love.” As you giggled, feeling bashful at his compliment, he went to hold your hands. “How about you go and get changed, and I’ll start swiftly on preparations.”

“Aw, but we could help each other get out of these clothes,” you winked.

“As divine as that would be, I wish to surprise you with something,” he blushed. “Besides, I have a spell to get myself dry; I will change into my night clothes later. You can be my audience for that.” he kissed your forehead. “Now, off you go, and it is imperative that you don’t sneak a look until I call for you!”

With that, you ventured up the wooden spiral staircase to your bedroom. Ever since moving in with Gale, his bedroom became the both of yours, with your belongings adding your own essence to the room. The large four poster bed with purple gossamer curtains had the bed sheets mussed up from prior use. An unbelievable number of books on dark wood shelves now containing your own books alongside Gale’s. Expertly crafted oak chests at the end of the bed, with yours being a recent addition, spoke of home. It was the very picture of your relationship. 

And yet, despite the contentment at the sight, the sadness lurking in the back of your mind began to creep to the forefront as you peeled off your damp outfit. You pulled the pyjamas out of your ornate chest and tugged them on. The feel of loose pyjamas against your skin felt incredible, heat finally reaching your cold bones and aching muscles. Once your wet clothes were put away in the wicker laundry basket to deal with later, you sat on the edge of the plush bed. The melancholy became greater, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. No. A distraction is needed, and fast. You took one of Gale’s books on illusion magic and read while you awaited his call. The scent of the leather binding and yellowing pages reminded you of him, easing you slightly. You couldn’t resist the smile forming on your face as you saw the notes scrawled onto pieces of paper that were wedged in between the pages, detailing his own findings. One such note said, ‘I could use this to enhance the scent of flowers for my beloved Tav.’ There were a lot of similar notes. It was a much-needed temporary reprieve, sorrow reduced to a lingering lump in your throat.

“You can come back down now, my dear!” Gale shouted up the stairs.

Closing and putting aside the book, you rushed down the spiral staircase. Your eyes widened at the sight before you. The living room fireplace was lit with a roaring fire, bathing the room in a gentle orange glow; the crackles of the fire brought a sense of calm. Pillows on the sofa were artfully arranged alongside an array of fluffy wool blankets in a variety of colours and patterns. A teapot and accompanying cups were on the coffee table, herbal tea emitting an earthy but sweet scent. Best of all, the room was filled with the dancing lights of fireflies, Gale clearly having used his illusion magic for the occasion. He gazed upon you, revelling in your reaction with a grin as you stood there, mouth agape.

“Gale, this is amazing!” You ran towards him, colliding in an embrace. He was such a light in the darkness, and for it you were eternally grateful.

“I only ever want the best for you, my heart,” he hugged you tighter, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

For a while, you embraced in silence, taking in your closeness. Nuzzling your face in his broad chest, you picked up his familiar scent of lavender and old books. Gale sighed at your actions, and you could feel his body release tension. Planting a kiss into your hair, he murmured, “I know today was hard for you, dearest.”

Pulling away slightly to look at him, you saw sincerity and adoration in his eyes. Did he know? “I hope I didn’t spoil the mood. You’ve been excited for weeks to show me The Market and all the festive displays.”

“It is certainly easier said than done, but hiding your despair to service me upsets me more than the ‘soiling of moods’,” he waved his hands in emphasis with a slight smile. “To clarify, I am not upset at you, simply at how you feel the need to do this to appease others. I cannot stand to have you suffer. Not ever.” You were caught in a stunned silence as he continued, his tone now serious, “Please, tell me when things get difficult? I am more than happy to accommodate you to enjoy these spectacular events with you.”

“I will, I’ll make sure of it.” You said, looking down at the dark wood floor.

“This does not only pertain to going places or celebrations with your dear old Gale, my heart. You can always unburden yourself with me, as I always say.”

He was right. You sighed. “Well, Gale,” you looked into his soft brown eyes, “I’m just so tired,” you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head. “I know you said I didn’t ruin these festivities, but it certainly feels that way. My soul feels like lead, and I’m not sure what to do. I am just so tired of this crippling fear and despair I feel every day.” You could feel the lump in your throat return as you spoke, “So much death, and for what? I have lost so much, and in the end, I am here, and those I love are not when I wish they were. The holidays really highlight that.”

“I have read that others feel the same this time of year, if it is of any comfort. You are not alone in this, my dearest. I won’t speak of my own experiences just now, but please know that I understand your grief.” Gale pulled you back into a hug, giving you a squeeze. “You were so brave in telling me this. Thank you.” 

As tears rolled down your cheeks, you looked up at him. He kissed you softly and wiped away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I really wish I told you this sooner, I don’t know why I hide myself away so much.”

“This can be the first step. Being open about your feelings is never easy,” he paused. “Now. I wanted to ask you this earlier, but would you still like to make the mince pies with me?”

You contemplated his words for a moment then said, “Can I put the filling in and decorate them?”

“You most certainly can! Now make yourself comfortable while I get to baking, I will let you know when they are ready for your touch of magic,” he smiled.

After getting yourself comfortable under the blankets and drinking the herbal tea, you and Gale enjoyed your evening together baking. There was quite the struggle in finding where the assortment of cookie cutters were to decorate the tops of the pies. In the end you resorted to hand crafting the designs. Some you humorously made into the likenesses of your friends.

“Astarion would not be amused if he saw this,” Gale giggled observing the pie, the design of questionable quality, even with your honest attempt. “Although can he complain? He cannot see his reflection, being a vampire.”

“I don’t think he could stay mad for long, these taste fantastic! You have truly outdone yourself this time, Gale.”

“What can I say, wizards have the repertoire of having a myriad of skills, and this one happens to enjoy baking.” He said with a grin, putting away the excess pies to gift your friends later.

Stomachs filled with delicious mince pies; the crackling of the fireplace lulled you both to sleep as you cuddled up together on the sofa, entangled in the many soft blankets and cushions.

#bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale fanfic #gale x tav #gale x reader #In Need of Comfort #gob's fanfiction

[ode-to-fury]

Was that Gale’s Grandad?

Summary: This line has been stuck in my head for months so here is whatever this is. Karlach pov. Based on my Tav but again it’s fairly vague so

Karlach watched with interest as the old man gestured at Gale, then at Tav, then into the air. She watched Gale heave a deep sigh, and Tav’s frown become deeper and deeper as the old guy talked. He had a damned good beard, if you asked Karlach. Obviously the news he had wasn’t the best, but… another day for the likes of them, huh?

She watched as Gale said something with a certain look on his face, a look Karlach thought she didn’t like. Seemed Tav didn’t quite like it either, cause soon she was frowning even harder, and obviously getting annoyed.

Gramps chose then to say his goodbyes and whoosh off into the afternoon.

Tav turned to Gale, frowning at him. An impressive frown, when it came to it. And Gale… Karlach winced when he said something with a determined expression on his face, gesturing decisively in front of him, and Tav threw up her hands.

Not great with women, was he?

Tav stalked off, straight toward the fire, and Karlach walked over too, not above a bit of gossip. Bonus points if she could find out the details before Shadowheart did.

“So…” she said, walking up to Tav’s side.

“Was that Gale’s grandad?”

Tav fixed her with a Look. She was damned good at those, too. Had the jaw for it, sort of square and hard. Karlach smiled, and pretended not to notice. It was a damned good Look, but you couldn’t beat the ones she’d seen in Avernus, unfortunately.

“Not exactly,” Tav grated out, somehow managing it between clenched teeth.

“That was Elminster Aumar,” she continued. “Come to tell Gale he needs to sacrifice himself for Mystra’s forgiveness.”

Karlach blinked.

“Wait. What?”

“You heard me,” Tav ran a hand through her hair, making the brown shimmer golden where it caught the light.

“Detonate the orb, kill this Absolute, Mystra deigns to forgive him.”

She spat into the fire, a thick gob that made Karlach proud, and a little sick.

Sacrifice himself for Mystra… gods, the poor man. He could be a bit of a twat sometimes, but she didn’t think exploding was a fair punishment for that. Being asked something like that by someone he trusted, someone he’d loved… if anyone could relate, Karlach could.

“Poor Gale…” she said, aware of Tav’s fists clenching in the corner of her eye, a muscle ticking in her jaw.

Karlach put a hand on her shoulder, grinning.

“I bet he could do with some cheering up. Oh! Oh! Tell him I haven’t read a book since secondary school and watch his face melt off!”

Karlach flashed an even bigger smile at Tav, but the other girl just frowned deeper, her lips a hard line.

“Go tell him yourself,” she said, and there was a deep sadness behind the bite in her voice. “I want nothing to do with him. Ever. Fair warning, though, he’s being insufferable about it.”

Karlach opened her mouth to respond, but at the glint in the younger girl’s eyes thought better of it. Instead, she let go of her shoulder, squared her own, and walked over to Gale with a practiced grin on her features.

He started slightly as she reached him where he was reading in front of his tent. Staring glumly at a page was a better description, though, since his eyes weren’t even moving across the page.

His eyes met hers, and the first thing she saw there was fear, before he mastered himself enough to smile.

“Karlach!” Deceptively cheery. Alright, she could do that. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

She stared for a second. Shit. Hadn’t thought this far ahead, had she?

“Help,” she blurted, then, when he raised an eyebrow expectantly, realised that wasn’t much better than no answer.

“Help… with… a book!” She said, smiling more out of appreciation for her quick thinking than anything else.

“I was wondering if you had one for me to read, since I haven’t picked one up since secondary school.” She shrugged.

“Figured it was time I picked up the old… ink… I suppose.”

Smooth, Karlach. Really smooth.

He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide.

“You haven’t…” he grimaced. “Please tell me that was an ill timed joke.”

She shrugged as innocently as she could manage.

“Wish I could, soldier.”

He sighed, fingers moving up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Weave help us all. Hold on a moment.”

He tried to stifle the groan as he got up to go through the books he had. The same way Tav did when she had to get up quickly. Karlach shook her head at the two of them.

Idiots.

As he was looking, she wondered what would be the best way to approach the topic, then settled on direct. The way she did everything in life.

“…So,” she started innocently, “You really thinking about going through with it, are you?”

He stilled, crouched over a pile of books.

“Ah,” he said, sitting back on his haunches. More athletic than she’d given him credit for, if she was being honest.

“I see. Tav put you up to this, did she?” He stood up from his knees with another stifled groan, and frowned up at her.

“Well, you can tell her I don’t need, nor do I want, any help making this decision.”

“Actually, she told me not to come over here. Said you might get…” she paused, trying to find the right word. “Touchy.”

“I’m not touchy!” He snapped at her.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, popped a hip, and he took a breath before continuing.

“I’m merely… irritated,” he said, sounding as much, “by the fact that everyone else seems to think they know what is best. That she seems to think she knows what is best.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the fire, then turned away from Karlach, toward the entrance to his tent.

“Why don’t you explain it to me, then?” She asked gently, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m your friend, Gale. If you really believe this is the best thing to do, then I want to hear about it! Why do you care so much about Mystra’s forgiveness?”

“Because… because magic is- it’s who I am!” He threw his hands in the air as he spun to face her again.

“My goddess gave me an order. Mystra gave me an order, and it is not my place to defy her.”

He took another deep breath, and his dark eyes seemed to look far away from their little camp in the mountains.

“I made a mistake, Karlach. I made a terrible, terrible mistake, and if my death is what it takes to make it right, then by the Weave I will do everything in my power to see it come to pass. If my death is all it takes to overthrow this Absolute then I have a moral duty to see it through.”

And he stood there, wrapped in self-righteousness and holy purpose with a lethal bomb in his chest, almost convincing himself that this suicide mission was really what he wanted, and Karlach couldn’t help but feel the biggest surge of pity for him. For both of them, if she was honest.

“Ugh,” she said, putting a hand on her hip as she studied him. “Wizards.”

He blinked, shut up for a moment. For once.

“Sorry?” He asked.

She sighed.

“Gale… look, as someone who knows what it feels like to have a bomb in their chest… you have so much to live for. And now that the orb isn’t a problem any more, you can live for it. So why would you throw it all away, just like that, on the whim of a goddess?”

He grinned at her, a sad little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Pity, since he was better looking when he was smiling.

“Huh,” a self deprecating little laugh. “Until a few weeks ago I was a hermit living in his tower with no one but his cat for company. What do I have to live for?”

And as if the gods willed it to happen, at that moment a bark of Shadowheart’s laughter reached them from the fire, and Karlach looked over to see her standing next to Tav, grinning. Tav was trying to hold back a smile of her own, trying, and failing miserably to hide the dimples in her cheeks, the twinkle in those grey eyes of hers.

Karlach watched them for a second, thanking whatever gods were up there for giving her friends like the two of them, especially now.

She turned back to Gale, and he was staring over at the fire with half a grin on his face, his eyes filled longing, with so much adoration she wanted to puke almost. Fuck, he was an idiot. Both of them were idiots. Fuck.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said, unable to stop a knowing little smile from forming on her lips. “I can think of at least one thing that might be worth living for.”

He started, his eyes leaving the fire, and a blush creeping over his bearded cheeks as he looked down at the ground, avoided her eyes. It was actually sort of adorable.

“You know,” she said softly, gently, “if I could find someone to look at the way you were just looking at her, I think I’d find every reason imaginable to stay alive.”

“Come now, Karlach,” he shook his head, like she was a child who hadn’t quite figured out how the world worked yet. She saw his eyes drawn almost involuntarily back toward the fire.

“What type of man would I be to choose one woman over the fate of the entire world? Or, if Mystra is correct, the fate of all Nine Realms?”

Karlach had never been one to mince her words. Or hide her feelings. Or be shy about the important stuff. Especially now.

“The type of man who’s in love, Gale.”

Another bark of laughter reached them from the fire, and this time it was Tav’s. This time her head tilted back as she laughed at something Shadowheart had said, and the light from the fire and the setting sun caught her just right, and she looked like a golden statue of herself, her eyes screwed up with laughter. It was such a truthful, open moment that Karlach found herself grinning along.

When her eyes opened, they met Gale’s across the fire, and she frowned immediately and looked away.

But not before Karlach saw the same longing she’d seen in Gale’s eyes. Not before she saw the hurt.

“The type of man who’s loved back,” she said quietly.

Gale didn’t reply, and she didn’t expect him to, but maybe she’d given him something to think about. Maybe she’d given the two of them a chance to be happy, at least for a little while. That was more than most people ever got. More than Karlach had thought she’d ever get.

That was worth something.

“‘Sides,” she continued more jovially, “She’s probably going to end up being the one that saves all of us anyway, I’d bet. Now I know she probably already told you this, but I’ll say it again. We’re going to find a different way.”

And with that she started toward the fire, because she had a bomb in her chest, too, and she’d be damned if she wasted even a second of her new life worrying about it. She’d be damned if she wasted even a second being sad about it, instead of living, instead of feeling, instead of hoping.

She supposed it was up to Gale to want the same.

“Karlach!” He called after her when she’d taken a few steps. She stopped, turned back to him, already grinning at the fragile hope in his eyes.

“Do you… you truly believe she… returns my feelings?” He asked her.

“I think you’re an idiot if you don’t, soldier.”

Ugh. Wizards.

#this is not as good as the other one #but you know what i like it #also sorry ive been reading abercrombie so i think karlach sounds a little like shivers oops #thats also where the spit comes from it just felt natural after best served cold🤷‍♀️ #deal with it #anyway #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale/tav #karlach cliffgate #gale bg3 #karlach bg3 #gale fic #gale dekarios fic #baldur’s gate 3 #my writing #wildweave

[shadowmonkstone]

Right, we’ve got ourselves a pretty settled system now. Me, Kay, Lae’zel and Wyll go out to try and find the Crèche and the cure while Gale and Astarion wait at camp with Shadowheart researching what they can on Mind Flayers and all of the books and shite we pick up on the way. It keeps Shadowheart and Lae’zel from killing each other and Astarion and Gale talking at me with words that don’t make any fucking sense.

Like agog. What the fuck does agog mean? I give up.

We were heading in the direction of the Crèche that the tiefling showed us on the map when we came across a Balurdurian outpost. At least it used to be, it was on fire after a Drow and Goblin raid. We helped as many people as we could…well, I say ‘we’ but Lae’zel was a less than enthusiastic member of the team.

She still helped anyway, which says to me that beneath the growls, threats and big fuck-off sword at my throat she does have a heart. A walnut sized heart, but it’s there nonetheless.

After we had rescued everyone, it turns out that the Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate himself was there and was kidnapped.

So what, you might ask? Just another posh bloke in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But…no. He’s fucking Wyll’s fucking father.

Wait, that sounded like he was fucking Wyll’s father. He’s not. I mean he IS Wyll’s father.

Because of course he is.

Fuck’s sake.

Just one, normal, no one’s connected with anybody else and has a dark bloody secret kind of day. That’s all I’m asking for.

FUCK.

So yeah, The Blade of Frontiers’ old man is the big daddy Duke of Baldur’s Gate, and like all good families they haven’t spoken in fucking years. Of course, I said we’d go and rescue him from some tower. Kay thought this was a good idea, Lae’zel thought this was a good opportunity to hold the pointy end of her magic, fuck-off sword at my throat.

So we reached a compromise. Find Wyll’s dad after we’re cured in her Crèche.

Why after? Because we spoke with some of the dead Drow (magic amulet from Withers - don’t ask) who said that this Absolute wanted the Duke and wanted him alive. Says to me that the bugger’s going to be a prisoner, not goblin scran. So we’ve got time.

Plus, I’m no father (that I know of), but the last thing any dad wants is for a happy family reunion to be spoiled by the long lost son sprouting fucking tentacles from his gob halfway through a toast.

At the other end of the scale we saved a bloke from the fire but he’d lost his wife in the attack. Poor bastard. They’d had a fight about a dowry and with his permission we spoke with her corpse…which sounds a lot fucking worse when I say it aloud…but she said it was in the barn at the back. And we’ve just found it.

We’ve agreed to have a quick sit down out here because this has all been pretty intense, and even Lae’zel’s agreed to it. Wyll’s contemplating seeing his old man again, Karlach’s dancing…fuck me she’s got some moves…and Lae’zel is exploring the other bar-…hang on a second.

What do you mean there’s someone in there?! …Yes I know you don’t talk in fucking riddles Lae’zel it was a rhetorical bloody…yes of course I can sodding see th-…please stop fucking threatening him…I don’t bloody care if the dickhead’s got a fireball in his hand, he looks ready to fucking piss himself!

Sorry, gotta go, bye!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 act 1 #bg3 rp #bg3 tav #lae'zel #d&d 5e #astarion #shadowheart #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: The time has come to fly back home... but who won the bet?

Word Count: 6,800

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, aggravation, references to graphic images, references to sex, references to bodily functions, toilet humour, motive for murder, way too much caffeine)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Thank you so much for bearing with me! This chapter was supposed to be done quickly but then it suddenly exploded into the almost 7,000-word monster that you see before you (I blame Leo 😆). Hopefully, the contents make up for the longer-than-planned wait! There will be one more chapter.

A/N2: As an FYI, everything that is mentioned is true/correct/accurate. Yes, everything! You'll know what I mean when you get to it! 🙃

Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

"Mmm... You're right... These pancakes are heavenly...!" enthuses Max 'round an overstuffed gob.

"I have to admit, I may have been skeptical at first, given the somewhat... dated nature of the décor," admits Chris, skewering the last bite of his own stack, "but I am very glad that I did not allow first impressions to sway me, and to instead let the delights of the fare speak for itself."

I throw him a sidelong glance. "I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"That you did, mate," Chris chuckles good-naturedly. "That you did."

"Drake always finds the best food," sighs Max as he closes his eyes in blissful appreciation.

I shrug nonchalantly. If you know where to look...

Having hit up Times Square and snapping the obligatory pic or two — it's the end of the trip... fuck it — I'd heeded Chris' final request for this trip by tracking down somewhere we could fuel up before our fast-approaching flight home.

And given the questionable-looking nature of our chosen venue, Chris' initial trepidation had been more than understandable.

Because from the outside — but for the tell-tale smell of bacon wafting out onto the street — this joint looks more like an illicit drug den than a bona fide restaurant. The single-paned window that faces the street has a massive crack in it, the doorway stinks of stale urine, and I wouldn't be surprised if a dead body or two had ended up in the dumpster 'round the back.

The inside's not much better, either. It's a cheap, no-frills galley-kitchen kind of set-up manned by a single, overweight chef who pumps out eggs, bacon, pancakes and hash browns in massive portions while you sit on the other side of the greasy, Lino-covered counter on creaky, '60's bar stools, sipping fully-leaded coffee from chipped mugs.

In short, the complete antithesis of the polished and slightly over-glammed feel of the retro, 1950s diner we ate at yesterday.

And that's why I picked it. Because after having been up the whole night, we need something to sub-in for our lack of sleep, and nothing tastes better than comfort food when you're craving a calorie hit. Plus, Chris had wanted a 'classic' Stateside breakfast experience, and it doesn't get much more Americana than this...

"What is all that sticky goop that it's swimming in?"

...except for the fact that I have Tariq sitting on the other side of me, complaining loudly about every-damn-thing that offends his toffee-nosed sensibilities.

Because as per usual, I can't seem to take two steps in this fuckin’ city without the Almighty crapping on me.

Our butts had just hit the stools when Chris' phone began lighting up with a million-and-one messages from Max asking where we were, what the plan was, and was there any food anywhere.

So, Chris (being Chris) had extended the breakfast invite to not only Max, but to the rest of our band of noble misfits, meaning that our laid-back outing has now morphed into a real-life rendition of The Breakfast Club.

I suppress a groan as I take another swig of my scalding coffee, careful not to move my mouth too much, given that — on top of everything — my jaw has set into exactly the kind of contused stiffness that I'd hoped to avoid.

My own damn fault for not icing the damn thing down when I had the chance...

The only person missing is Leo.

Not that I really care. I've had enough of that guy and his BS for one trip. And the main reason I haven't decked him yet for the shit he pulled last night is because I haven't actually seen him since Gale and I got booted from the club.

And I don't want to ruin Chris' last hour in the Big Apple by knocking his brother's teeth out.

The same can't be said for Tariq, though...

"It's maple syrup, Besnard..." I grunt at him, trying to maintain my focus on the viscous caffeine in my hand, and not the half-a-dozen ways in which I could smash the asshole's face into the countertop.

Because after the steady stream of crap that's hit the fan in the past 36 hours, the only thing keeping me on this side of sane right now is the free-refill mugs of coffee that I've been pouring into myself since we sat down.

Which means that my mood's dancing on a hair trigger, and I'm one stupid comment away from committing violence.

The chef'd probably thank me, though...

Tariq flashes me a disgusted look. "Maple syrup...? You mean tree sap? That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard of!"

"A lot of things come from trees, dipshit..." I mutter, forcing myself to keep staring at the wall ahead.

Tariq scoffs. "Why would—?"

"Cinnamon is obtained from the inner bark of various South and South East Asian tree species," Chris reminds him.

"And cloves are the dried aromatic flower buds of the clove tree," adds Max, chewing loudly on a ketchup-coveted tater-tot.

Tariq glares down the counter disdainfully. "What are you lot? Walking encyclopaedias...?"

"We just know where our food comes from, Besnard," I grind out around the rim of my mug. "As would you if you ever bothered to step outside."

"Where it comes from is irrelevant," comes the derisive clap-back. "The only thing that matters is the price tag."

"Even when it's been through the digestive tract of a wild animal?" interjects Max with a perfectly straight face.

Tariq nearly spews his over-steeped tea across the room. "What!"

"Certain brands of coffee demand a premium price because of their somewhat... exotic processing process," affirms Chris. "For instance, Kopi Luwak is the most exclusive coffee in the world primarily because it comes from beans that have been consumed and then excreted by the Indonesian palm civet."

Tariq's eyes bulge. "Excreted... As in—?"

"Pooped out," confirms Max gleefully. "Through tiny little butt holes."

Tariq looks like he's about to puke.

"That is correct," continues Chris. "The bile in the civet's digestive system causes the fermentation of—"

Tariq bolts from his chair.

"Lemme guess..." I drawl, turning to face the other two. "The fuck stick's just realised that he's willingly subjected himself to this fancy ass coffee."

"Ass being the operative word..." sniggers Max as he mops up the escaped yolk from his sunny-side-up eggs with a piece of over-buttered toast.

"Yes," laughs Chris, reaching for his own mug of coffee. "He accompanied his father on a business trip to Indonesia last year where he was given the 'Holy Grail' of coffees as a gift..."

"...not realising what it actually was," I snort. "Typical."

The door of the dive creaks open.

"Speaking of typical..." I muttered under my breath as I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of the familiar figure who's just stepped through the entranceway.

"Hey, hey, hey, party people!" greets Leo as he saunters up to us like he doesn't have a care in the world...

...Oh, wait. He never does.

"Glad you could make it!" smiles Chris as he gets up from his stool to clasp his brother's hand in his own. "I was starting to think maybe you lost your phone again."

"I did, as a matter of fact," confirms Leo with a lop-sided grin, fist-pumping Max as he flops down into Tariq's now-vacant seat.

Chris frowns. "But then how—?"

"DiCaprio took pity on me and gave me a new one he had lying around his flat... Which, I have to say, is pretty sweet."

Max is gaping in starry-eyed admiration. "You got to go to famous Leo's apartment? Jealous!"

"No party like the after-party! And that man knows how to party. Oh! Bacon!" the elder Rys exclaims, suddenly laying eyes on Tariq's abandoned plate.

Chris still looks confused. "But if you lost your phone—"

"The magic of the eSIM, baby!" declares Leo with a full mouth as he brandishes a brand-new iPhone into the air. "Been using it for years! Why d'you think my number never changes?"

Chris opens, then closes his mouth. "Fair point."

"Glad to see you haven't lost your touch, Walker," continues Leo with a shit-eating grin as he elbows me in the ribs. "This place is the perfect spot to get daytime murdered in!"

"Careful what you wish for, Rys..." I mutter under my breath.

"Good bacon, though!" he quips, filching another rasher.

"We can order you a helping if you're hungry..." offers Chris.

"Nah, I'm good," replies Leo, dunking the bacon into some syrup. "Grabbed a bagel on the way from this awesome little Jewish place. Do you know that they even—?"

"Oh, dear God...!" gasps Tariq, bursting back into the dining area with a horrified look on his face. "That restroom is disgusting!"

I clench my eyes shut. Sweet Jesus give me strength...

"I admit it smelled a bit funky," concedes Max, "but nothing worse than when Bertrand—"

"There is excrement floating in the toilet bowl!" Tariq all but shrieks.

"Lemme guess..." I murmur to Chris under my breath. "He didn't know how that shit got made either."

Chris' eyes bulge as his coffee goes down the wrong way.

"That is generally what happens when you take a dump," Max tells him prosaically.

"It wasn't mine!!"

"Hate to break it to you, old sport," intones Leo, laying a hand on Besnard's shoulder, "but not every pisser flushes itself. So, you're going to have t—"

"No!" interjects Tariq, shoving Leo's arm away. "I refuse to go back in there! In fact, I've had it with this entire establishment, this entire city, and this entire bloody trip! Everybody is rude, nobody respects me, and I have suffered enough denigration to last me a lifetime! I am leaving!"

Throwing his nose into the air, he turns on the heel of his treadless Ferragamo loafers to stomp out of the diner.

"Christ!" huffs Leo as he jerks a derisive thumb in Tariq's direction. "Who pissed in his Earl Grey?"

"Oh, he's just miffed because he knows he lost the bet last night," supplies Max 'round a mouthful of toast.

Leo perks up. "What bet?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." I groan.

I'd completely forgotten 'bout the stupid bet...

"He does know that the hotel is in the other... direction..." coughs Chris, having finally managed to clear the wayward coffee from his lungs. "Doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," I mutter, watching Tariq nearly get run over by an early morning cab as he tries to cross the street. "If we're lucky, he'll end up in Brooklyn again."

Chris starts hacking all over again as he tries and fails to stifle a laugh. "You're a...horrible person..."

"But I'm not wrong," I tell him, pointedly lifting my mug to my mouth again.

"Screw the sour-arsed sod!" cries Leo. "I want to know about this bet! And why I wasn't included on it!"

"You weren't there," I tell him tersely. "Plus, you'd've been ineligible anyway."

"Why would I—?" The proverbial lightbulb clicks to life in Leo's head. "Ooh! It was a race to fourth base, wasn't it?"

"Congrats, Sherlock," I grunt. "You've graduated to deductive reasoning..."

"Not just a pretty face, Walker," winks Leo in reply.

I roll my eyes as I return my attention to my coffee.

"But who's the winner...?" Leo continues contemplatively, eyeing the rest of us.

Max opens his mouth...

"No! Don't tell me!" decrees Leo, shoving a hand into the Beaumont's face. "I wasn't included in the bet, so I demand some vicarious recompense! I'm going to guess!"

"How—?" starts Chris.

"By using my incomparable situational awareness, sprinkled with just a smidge of mind-reading!"

"Sounds mystical..." admits Chris.

"Oh, it is! Prepare to be amazed!"

"I'm ready!" shouts Max like an overeager five-year old.

My head hits the Lino between my arms with a pained groan. Somebody just shoot me...

"Alrighty, then," declares Leo, rubbing his hands together with an ungodly dose of perverse satisfaction. "So, we know for a fact that Toss-Pot Besnard never made it out the gate, and—"

"How are you so certain?" asks Chris with a frown.

"For a start, it's Tariq," I mutter at him from the greasy countertop. "Plus, if by some miracle he had managed to pull, he'd've been bragging about it as soon as he walked in."

"True..." Chris concedes with a laugh.

"But, more importantly," adds Max, "Lucy and Jamie — the two girls he'd been after — ended up taking me home last night."

My head snaps up so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash. "They fucking what?"

"You heard me!" grins Max like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

"Hayley and Harper's friends..." reiterates Chris carefully. "You slept with both of them?"

"Yup!" comes the cocky affirmation.

"Well, fuck me running..." I scoff with a shake of my head.

Though I can't seem to stop an involuntary smirk from pulling at my mouth. Because that shit? That's impressive.

"Yes, gold star to Baby Beaumont," agrees Leo with a grin, slapping Max on the back. "But did he seal the deal before my little brother? That's the million-dollar question..."

"What about Drake?" interjects Chris. "He and Harper—"

"Oh, Walker didn't score!" laughs Leo.

Chris' eyes widen as he turns back to me. "You didn't? But you were the first to leave."

"Not by choice..." I admit sourly.

"Captain America here got his arse handed to him by a couple of beefcakes..." Leo explains.

"Fuck you, Rys!" I snap. "It was five against one and I still held my ground!"

"It was you who got caught up in that fight?" gasps Max. "That looked brutal..."

"It would certainly explain the bruises on your face," muses Chris, eyeing me critically. "And the ripped shirt."

I make a vague noise by way of reply. But I don't bother to correct him. The details aren't important. They lead to the same result.

Not that that's anybody's business...

"...and promptly got tossed out the club with Swifty in tow," continues Leo cheerfully. "Which I'm guessing is the reason why she wasn't willing to put out, because—"

I shoot off the stool, shattering the mug in my hand in the process. "Mention her one more time, Rys, and I swear to God—"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" interjects Max with a frantic wave of his hands. "If he left with Harper, how do you know that he didn't—?"

Leo jabs an uncompromising finger into my face. "Does this look like the expression of a man who spent the night warmly cocooned by the soft embrace of a woman's supple and welcoming thighs?"

I slap his hand away with a growl.

"Hmm..." muses Max, narrowing his eyes at me. "Now that you mention it... He does seem surprisingly grouchy this morning. Even more so than he was last night..."

"Beaumont..." I warn.

"Whereas my little brother is positively glowing!" continues Leo, fanning his hands around Chris by way of illustration. "Tell me you don't see the difference!"

"Fuck you, both," I grunt, slinging myself down into the barstool again.

A fresh mug of coffee appears before me, as if by magic.

I grab for it tersely. Where's the whiskey when you need it...?

"I rest my case," declares Leo smugly. "Which means, it's down to Lord Three-Way Beaumont and Prince Pull-Hard Charming. But who took their ladies to Heaven first...?"

"It doesn't matter," I grunt abrasively. "Max isn't in the running."

"I am afraid he is correct," Chris agrees after a second's reflection, glancing at Max. "No one backed you, so—"

"Rubbish!" objects Leo loudly. "The sheer act of the ménage à trois should guarantee him a spot in the champions' league, if not the entirety of the pot outright!"

"Except he's not the one who gets the money," I point out. "It's the person who ponied him."

"Christ, if it's that much of an issue, I'll punt him!" declares Leo. "What were the stakes?"

"Eight hundred ducats," Max tells him.

"Done," Leo declares, pulling his wallet out to drop a handful of Ben Franklins on the counter.

Chris meets my eye. "Your call, Drake. It's your money on the line."

I flick my eyes between Max and Chris, before letting out a low breath. "Fuck it. Let's make it interesting."

Pulling my own wallet out, I slap the requisite cash down as well.

Because worst case? I'm out of pocket $500. But best case? I net four times that. And I'm my book, that's a play worth making. Especially when my money's on Chris.

"That's my man!" whoops Leo, punching me enthusiastically in the arm.

"Careful, Rys," I warn him as Chris and Max add their contributions to the purse as well. "It's your dough I'm about to walk away with..."

"Eh..." shrugs Leo unconcernedly. "Money's relative."

"Spoken like a born-and-bred fat cat," I reply dryly.

"And now for the big reveal!" shouts Leo, clapping his hands together. "The stakes are set. The buttocks are clenched. Who takes the crown of Don Juan?"

Chris and Max exchange wry looks.

"What time did you get back to the hotel?" Max asks.

"Just after midnight, I believe..."

"Twelve thirty-five," I tell him.

Max's feet start dancing beneath him. "Oh, this is going to be close! We got back to the girls' flat around half-past as well."

"Sod all that!" cries Leo. "Get to the climax, gents! We want to know who got slob on their knob first!"

"Well, after we got back to the suite, we shared a drink before we..." Chris clears his throat. "...retired to the bedroom. So, perhaps 1am?"

"Yeah-yah!" enthuses Leo with a snap of his fingers. "Bring it home like a pro, bro!"

"Not sure why you're rooting for him," I scoff.

"I am permitted to share in my little brother's sex-tastic accomplishments!" he counters. "Especially when I'm the one who taught him everything he knows!"

"Except now, it's about to leave you out of pocket," I smirk, reaching for the pile of cash.

"Hold on!" interjects Max, scrolling furiously through his phone. "I think I have Christian beat!"

I frown. "How in the—?"

"Watch it and weep!" the Beaumont exclaims triumphantly, thrusting his phone out.

Leaning in towards the device — from the speakers of which spew the unmistakably pornographic sounds of sex — Leo, Chris, and I are greeted with a bird's eye view of Max balling Lucy from behind while she went down on Jamie's spread-eagled form on the bed.

Leo's jaw drops. "You filmed it?"

"Would've been rude not to," smirks Max.

"You dirty bugger!" laughs Leo, grabbing the Beaumont to noogie him.

I pull my eyes away from the X-rated spectacle. "Okay, but how does this—?"

"Look at the...time stamp," prompts Max from beneath Leo's arm.

Glancing back at the screen, I focus in on the tiny numbers at the top.

12:52am.

My shoulders slump. "Goddamn it."

"Looks like we have our winner," Chris concedes with a wry chuckle.

"You're not even going to contest it?" I demand, throwing an accusatory hand out at Max.

"I am not sure there is anything to contest," replies Chris. "The numbers speak for themselves. And since Maxwell is the only one out of the two of us who had the foresight to record the exact timing of the event, I think it is only fair that he takes the pot."

"Yeah, baby!" whoops Leo, jumping off his stool with outstretched arms to thrust out an in-your-face victory dance à la Ace Ventura. "Can you feel it? Can... you... feel it?! Damn, it feels good!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." I grunt with a roll of my eyes.

But, Leo's asinine antics aside, I have to hand it to Max. Not only did the guy manage to go above and beyond, but he somehow managed to beat the clock as well.

So, I can't begrudge second place too much.

"I believe this is rightfully yours, big brother," declares Chris, graciously handing the pile of bills over.

"Why, thank you, little brother!" grins Leo as he accepts the winnings with a mock bow...

...before studiously dumping the cash into Max's lap.

The Beaumont's eyes widen in disbelief. "I— But you— I didn't—"

"Hey, I wasn't the one with my pants down on the front lines last night," he says. "So, if anyone deserves the spoils of war, it's you."

Max is still gawping like a stupefied goldfish. "But—"

"Spend it well, kemosabe," the elder Rys incants somberly, laying a hand on Max's shoulder.

"Th-thank you," stammers Max, suddenly overcome with unexpected emotion.

"Ehh... Don't mention it!" shrugs Leo with a grin. "I'm just here for the memories. Though... speaking of, if you want your lasting memories of this trip to be anything other than dear Father sending a squadron of Guards after you to haul you back across the Pond, I suggest you get your tushes to the airport."

"Oh, shit..." I cuss, glancing down at my watch. "We gotta move." Necking the last of my coffee, I signal for the cheque.

"Are you flying back with us?" asks Chris as he pushes himself off his stool.

"Nah," demurs Leo, reaching across his brother to grab the final piece of bacon off Tariq's plate. "As much as I'd love to steal your thunder by gate-crashing yet another fancy ball that I don't have an invitation to, you know Regina still hasn't revoked that shoot-on-sight order she put out on my head last year."

Chris laughs. "I'm sure it's not all that bad..."

"You'd be surprised!" insists Leo with only a touch of sardonicism. "Plus, I promised Katie that I'll bring her back a box of cronuts. So, I got a few errands to run before I jet out."

"Well, in that case," replies Chris, reaching out to envelop his brother in a hug, "thank you for coming, and we'll hopefully see each other soon!"

"You can bet on it, matey," confirms Leo, giving Chris a heartfelt thump on the back before pulling away. "At the Coronation, if nothing else."

Chris' eyes widen. "Father signed off on your attendance?"

"Not yet," the elder Rys admits. "But I'm slowing wearing the old man down."

"Well, I — for one — certainly hope you succeed!" laughs Chris.

"I have faith in myself," winks Leo. Leaning past Chris, he reaches out to bump knuckles with Max. "Beaumont. Say hi to Bert for me."

"Will do," nods Max. "And thank you. Again. You really didn't—"

"Like I said," Leo deflects with an arrant smirk. "Don't even mention it."

Max nods gratefully.

Finally, Leo turns to me. "Walker."

I meet his eye impassively as I draw myself up to my full height to face him. "Rys."

"You got his six, right?" he asks, inclining his head almost imperceptibly back towards his brother, who — true to his earlier promise — is in the process of intercepting the bill before it can make it to me.

"Come hell or high water," I affirm.

"Good," he nods, his expression uncharacteristically tight. "'Cause there's going to be both. And he'll need someone to help pull him through."

"This ain't my first rodeo, Leo," I remind him, watching Chris trying to figure out which greenback was which with Max's help as he sought to pay for our breakfast.

"I know," acknowledges Leo, his face tightening as the memories of the fallout from the assassination attempt flash through his memory. "But I still appreciate it. He is my only brother, after all."

I meet his eye. "Then you know why I'm doing it."

Leo holds my gaze for a long moment before extending his hand. "You're a good friend, Drake."

"Someone's gotta be," I tell him with a wry smile, reciprocating the gesture.

Leo might grate me up the wrong way with his bad jokes and juvenile attitude, but we are — and always have been — on the same page when it comes to Chris.

"They're rarer than you think," Leo murmurs softly. Dropping my hand, he turns back to Chris and Max, who have finally managed to settle the bill, plus tip. "Ciao, amigos! It's been a blast!"

"Have a good flight!" Chris tells him with a wave.

"I always do!" Leo assures him. "Stay safe, little brother. Give the ladies a fair chance, don't do anything I wouldn't—"

I scoff. "Is there even such a thing?"

"—and remember," Leo continues unabashedly, "if you're ever in doubt, there's always the balcony!"

Chris stifles a laugh. "I'm sure it won't come to that..."

"Never underestimate the beauty of a Plan B!" Leo hollers over his shoulder as he pulls the rickety door open, and steps out onto the street.

Max stares after him with a perplexed look. "When he said 'balcony'... Did he mean you jumping off it, or you throwing the lady off?"

"I wouldn't read into it too much," I advise as I grab my leather jacket to pull it on. Turning to Chris I ask, "You good?"

"Yes, I think I managed to sort the bill..." he replies, pulling his own jacket on as well. "Fifty percent gratuity is acceptable here, right?"

I nearly dislocate my shoulder putting my arm into a non-existent sleeve. "Erm... Yeah. Sure. More than acceptable."

Christmas definitely came early for this waitress!

But at least the hefty tip would help smooth over any wayward resentment left in the wake of Tariq's ass-like behaviour.

Chris' face visibly relaxes. "Oh, good! I wasn't sure of the correct etiquette."

"Trust me," I drawl, opening the creaky door. "You ain't never gonna fall flat in that department."

"If you say so," concedes Chris with a smile as he and Max follow me out onto the street.

"I know so," I assure him, leading the way back to Broadway.

At just gone 7am on a weekday, the city is already a hive of activity with cyclists, taxis, and pedestrians vying for position on the thoroughfares against the buses, garbage trucks, and private vehicles, as everyone tries to get where they're going just that much faster.

My gaze tracks west almost on auto-pilot. Wonder what Gale's doing... Is she still asleep, or—?

I yank myself forcefully back from the precipice of that dead-end drift.

The only thing that matters right now is getting Chris and Max (...Tariq can go fuck himself) back to the hotel and then getting 'cross town to Teterboro in time for scheduled departure.

Leo hadn't been joking when he'd said that Constantine would not hesitate to unleash a squadron of King's Guard on our tails if we didn't arrive back in Cordonia by the agreed time.

That had been the agreement.

Because the first event of the season kicks off tomorrow with the Masquerade Ball, and Chris has a full week's worth of engagements penciled into the twelve hours beforehand.

Which means that there can be zero deviations, zero slippages. We have to be on that plane...

...even though that's the last thing any of us want to do right now.

Because glancing back at Chris and Max as we make our way up back to the hotel, it's clear that New York has been a much-needed escape for both of them. Not just from the daily grind of court, but also from the strictures of expectation. As here, you weren't your name, or your title, or your birthright.

You were just another guy on the street, trying to make your American dream come true.

And despite — or rather, because of — their stations, that's a privilege that neither Chris nor Max have ever had the luxury of experiencing before. Because even though they may have all the money in the world, one thing they could not buy with it is freedom — true freedom. As money garnered expectations and expectations choked you out like chains around your neck.

And that was life's unfair trade-off...

...unless you were Leo, who somehow managed to screw the pooch into laying him a golden egg by finding a woman who was apparently not only worth abdicating for, but who also turned out to be loaded in her own right, thanks to a very generous inheritance provision in her grandmother's will.

And because that money came with zero strings attached, the lucky bastard got to have it all: living it up large, while also getting to flip the rules and regulations that he's always hated the bird.

But, unfortunately for the rest of us mere mortals who weren't born with the luck of the devil, the best we can hope for are those rare moments in between when the constraints of your usual life fall away, and you're rewarded with a much-needed breath of levity.

And maybe that's why I'd fallen so hard and fast for Gale. Because irrespective of the magnetic pull she had on me, she wasn't just some hot girl I'd happened to hit it off with. As while undeniable, the deep seated attraction went beyond the mere physical... or even the personal.

Because beyond the fact that she was gorgeous, funny, and knocked me for six at every turn, she was more than just simple perfection. She was the sweet promise of possibility. Tantalising me with a taste of what could've been in a world free of obligation. Where I was just me — not an undercover Guard, not a duty-bound friend to a prince, not a jaded outsider confined to the sidelines, always looking in.

But as entrancing as the experience had been, I know it couldn't last.

Because such moments are — by their nature — transient. And like a pre-dawn mist on the water, they dissolve with the first light of the sun.

Just like our time in the States.

Which means that it's time to return to reality. Whether we want to or not.

Because duty always calls.

Arriving back at the hotel, I see that the pre-arranged limo is already idling next to the curb.

Detouring by the driver's side window, I have a quick word with the chauffeur to let him know that we'll be back down in a sec with our bags.

Turning to lope into the hotel, I catch up with Chris and Max just as the lift arrives in the lobby. The doors ping open and we pile in to make our way up to our floor, each of us lost in our respective thoughts.

The elevator arrives on our booked-out floor and we disperse into our rooms to throw our shit together. While packing, I send a text to Schweitzer to let him know that we're bugging out, so his team can start the clean-up and check out.

Zipping my duffle up, I do one last sweep of the space before grabbing the keycard and exiting the room for the final time.

Stepping back out into the corridor as the door clicks shut behind me, I find Chris already waiting for a lift.

"You were quick," I say, coming to a stop next to him.

"Wasn't much to pack," he admits.

"Hayley still there?"

"Yes, she's sleeping," he confirms with a ghost of a smile. "I couldn't bring myself to wake her."

I nod wordlessly. Good-byes suck. They're either gut-wrenching, or awkward, or both. Best to just—

"Will...you be back?" "I wouldn't hold my breath." "Maybe I want to."

The ding of the elevator knocks me back into the present.

Shaking my head, I step into the car after Chris. But for some reason, I can't seem to duck the sudden sense of emptiness that's dropped into my guts. Like I'd forgotten something... Even though I know I haven't.

I rub my eyes. I'm just beat...

I'm about to hit the button for the lobby when Max careens in out of nowhere to throw himself through the wedge between the doors, Gucci backpack dangling haphazardly from his arm.

"Oh, thank God!" he pants, falling gracelessly into the small space. "Thought you'd left already!"

"We wouldn't dream of leaving without you, dear friend," Chris assures him with a laugh.

"Speak for yourself," I grunt abrasively as the doors finally close. "You fall behind, you get left behind."

Max's eyes widen. "You wouldn't!"

I meet his gaze impassively. "Try me."

"But Tariq—"

"—can find his own damn way home," I cut in flatly. "If he ain't buckled up by last and final call, that plane's not waiting for him."

Max flicks his horrified gaze from me to Chris.

Chris shrugs. "Drake is correct. It is unfortunately too short notice to modify the flight plan and—"

Throwing his head down, Max begins typing away furiously on his phone.

"You're wasting you're time, Beaumont," I tell him with a low exhale. "Regardless of where the fuck-wit is, he'll still need to come back to the hotel to get his passport, if nothing else. He ain't gonna make it."

"But we can't just abandon him!"

"He's a grown-ass man," I grunt dispassionately in response as we hit the ground floor again. "If he can't be bothered to look at his overpriced Rolex, then that's his problem. Not mine."

"Chances are he is waiting for us at the terminal already," advises Chris optimistically.

"But—"

"Drop it, Beaumont," I grunt, grabbing my duffel to march out of the elevator car without a backwards glance.

I have no clue why Max is being so hard up about waiting for the dipshit who wasn't even supposed to be on this trip in the first place. Especially since that same dipshit also happens to be in possession of a gold credit card.

So, I really can’t give a flying fuck if Besnard misses the flight. He can pay for his own charter home.

I'm not about to jeopardise Chris' commitments for the benefit of a self-absorbed prick.

Exiting the lobby, I beat a straight line to the back of the waiting limo. The chauffeur spots my approach and scrambles to open the door, but I've already beaten him to it.

Popping the trunk, I toss my duffle in before making my way to the front to grab the shotgun seat while Chris and Max offload their own bags.

A slam of doors, a click of seatbelts and we're pulling out onto 57th St., only ten minutes behind schedule.

I try to settle down for the half-hour drive, but I find my knee jackhammering impatiently. I know we have plenty of time to spare before takeoff, but I hate running late. Even if it's only by a minute.

Because you never what kind of shit's gonna hit the fan — roadworks, lane closure, freeway pileup — and you can't mitigate if you ain't got any time in the bank.

I can only hope and pray that we don't run into any last-minute surprises on the 15 or so miles to the airport.

Chris strikes up some kind of conversation with the chauffeur, but I'm in no mood for small talk. Folding my arms, I try to tune out whatever it is they're saying by watching the skyscrapers flick past as we head west, then north to pick up the George Washington Bridge to Jersey.

And apart from a brief wait at the toll plaza on the other side of the Hudson, the journey passes quickly and uneventfully.

Arriving at the airport concourse, we exit the limo and make our way into the main terminal building. Luckily, at this time in the morning, there are not too many flights, so we pass through customs without any hang-ups...

...except for the fact that Max remains glued to his phone, obsessively-compulsively checking for texts from Tariq every two seconds, even as we board the jet.

"Have you tried calling him?" Chris asks as he stows his bag in preparation for the flight.

"At least ten times," confirms Max, glancing anxiously out the window in the over-keen hope that Tariq will magically appear.

"Maybe his phone ran out of battery..." offers Chris hopefully.

"More likely he got mugged," I grunt, falling into one of the leather seats.

Max throws me a disbelieving look. "That's a horrible—! Oh. You're actually serious..."

"Guy like him... Prime target," I reply dispassionately.

Max's face drains of colour. "We have to call the police!"

"And say what?" I snap abrasively. "That the bell-end got himself lost somewhere in Manhattan? They'll laugh us off the call."

"But—"

"If Tariq really is in trouble, he can hit up the Cordonian consulate," I declare uncompromisingly. "But it was his bright idea to throw a hissy fit and stomp off in the wrong direction when—"

"You ungrateful ingrates!"

My eyes snap past Max. "For fuck's sake..."

Tariq is stood in the doorway of the jet, looking like he'd literally battled his way through the nine levels of hell to get here. His over-gelled hair looks like it's been zapped with a Taser, his clothes are somehow drenched and filthy, and he's wearing only one shoe.

"Would it have killed you to wait?!" he shrieks, throwing his Louis Vuitton man-bag onto the closest seat.

"Yes..." I reply.

Tariq shoots me a murderous expression. But before he can open his mouth again, Max has crushed him into an over-eager bear hug.

"You made it!" he enthuses. He pulls back suddenly. "But why were you not picking up your phone? And also, why do you smell like a wet dog?"

"Because I was robbed!"

"Told ya," I smirk across the aisle at Chris.

"It's not funny!" shouts Tariq, jabbing an irate finger at me. "If you only knew of the horrors that I have been subjected to, you would think more than twice about making light of my plight!"

"Pretty sure I wouldn't..." I mutter with a roll of my eyes.

"What was that?" demands Tariq imperiously.

"Nothing," I grunt as a steward appears next to my seat.

"Can I interest you in a pre-flight refreshment?" she asks.

"Yeah, sure," I shrug.

She hands me something pink and bubbly in a champagne glass. "Enjoy!"

"I doubt it," I mutter, grabbing the flute to throw it back in one swig.

I grimace as the sour mix of grapefruit and Prosecco hits the back of my throat. But alcohol's alcohol, and at this point, I would've downed windscreen wash if it'd've helped drown out Tariq's high-pitched info dump of his trials and tribulations.

Kinda wish we had left the bastard behind...

But I couldn't seem to win on this trip, so I'm just going to have to suck up the next twelve-or-so hours locked up in an airtight fuselage with the bouchebag and pray that there's enough whiskey on board to keep me from choking him out.

Pulling my phone from my pocket to help distract myself, I shoot off one final text to Schweitzer to let him know that we've made it to the airport and we're about to take off.

I'm about to do the same for Bast when the over-taxed device finally gives up the ghost and the battery dies halfway through the text.

"Great..."

Reaching into my duffel with a sigh, I extract the phone's charging cable and plug it into the seat's USB port so it can get some life back while we're airborne.

As Tariq continues to piss and moan about nearly getting run over, having his phone stolen right out of his hand as he tried to call a cab — followed shortly thereafter by his watch — and then tripping and falling into an open excavation hole as he tried to chase after the pickpockets, the cabin crew shut the aircraft door and complete their final cross-checks in preparation for departure.

A quick intro from the captain, and the jet starts rolling. After a short taxi, we're out on the runway, where we idle for a couple of minutes waiting for the go from the tower.

As soon as we get it, the pilot revs the turbines and the jet lurches forward. We hurtle down the runway, wheels bouncing and jet engines whining before jumping into the air to start our climb to 41,000 feet.

Glancing out the window, I watch the ground fall away as we ascend over Jersey, my ears popping from the rapid altitude change.

The plane banks sharply to the right and I catch sight of the Manhattan skyscape...

...but there must've been something in the mimosa because I’ve crashed out before the plane fully levels off.

The story concludes in Epilogue: Into The Night.

A/N: As another little bonus, here is a pic of Chris in Times Square:

Permatags

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Breakfast - New York - Diner - Chris - Tariq

Max, Leo, and Drake were generated using the AI art app Wonder

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #prince leo #prince liam #maxwell beaumont #tariq #the royal romance #new york #trr fanfic

[honourablejester]

For reasons, I’m doodling a PF2e dwarven pirate druid from the Shackles on pathbuilder.

(These reasons are almost entirely related to the existence of the NPC Pirate Lord the Master of Gales, who won the Free Captain’s Regatta, the annual race-for-lordship among the pirates of the Shackles, for five years running owing to being a druid captain in a ship race, and only stopped winning because they made him the judge instead. I just love this. Being a druid in a ship race has to be basically cheating? Or, rather, natural advantage. But we’re pirates over here, so that fully tracks. I just love that this guy exists. Pirate druids. What an excellent concept. I’m stealing it immediately).

And, I don’t know how many of these are from the recent remaster and how many were original, but if you’re trying to play a piratical storm druid (could have gone wave, but given location and profession, I’m feeling storm more) from the pirate archipelago where they go racing annually in the outer reaches of the perpetual hurricane that is the Eye of Abendago, the primal spell list has some boss stuff on it. If you want a general stormy, nautical sort of theme.

Like, as I’m going through pathbuilder and levelling this dwarf up, picking my spells as I go, there are some fantastic things on there. I’ve no idea how good and/or practical they are in play, but the vibes are incredible.

Starting from cantrips, we’ve got things like Deep Breath (hold your breath for the duration, starting from 10mins at base), Rousing Splash (give someone temporary hit points by dumping a splash of cold water on their head to ‘invigorate’ them) and Slashing Gust (what it sounds like, you cut one to two people with blades of air).

And then as we climb spell levels, we get things like Horizon Thunder Sphere (throw ball lightning at someone), Brine Dragon’s Bile (a vicious little reaction spell where if someone takes slashing/piercing damage within range, you spit a gob of caustic salt water at them to scour their fresh wounds with salt, dealing persistent acid damage), Obscuring Mist (fog cloud, but on a nautical character fog cloud is always welcome), Voice on the Breeze (whisper a message and send it to a specific location you know within 10miles, where it’ll whisper in a 10ft burst regardless of who’s actually there), Scrying Ripples (watch people through bodies of flowing water within 500ft – does this work with the sea?), Coral Eruption (AOE that sends up razor sharp coral growths), Grasp of the Deep (grip someone with the ‘phantasmal pressure of the deep sea’, crushing them for bludgeoning damage), Misty Memory (summon memories in the mist of what a body of water witnessed within the last 24hrs), Mariner’s Curse (you afflict the target with the ‘curse of the roiling, unforgiving sea’, aka you make them seasick, is this a good use of a 5th level spell, IDK, but I’d do it, in a heartbeat), Hungry Depths (you open a miles-deep maelstrom of ‘dark corrupted water’, teeth and eyes that chews people up), and, for a 10th level capper, Summon Kaiju (very much what it says on the tin, I think I’d go either Agyra, the Forever Storm, or possibly Vorgozen, the Shapeless Feeder, for them, but most Agyra, because Eye of Abendego).

Like. If you want to be a vicious, vindictive pirate druid who shrouds themselves in mist to attack people, crushes their enemies with the phantom sensations of the deeps, whispers words in their allies’ (or enemies’) ears across miles of water, curses people with sea sickness when pissed off, wields all the myriad elemental wraths of the storm, and also on occasion likes to literally throw burning salt in their enemy’s wounds …

This is a thing you can do, basically. If you want a thematic spell list for a vicious salty sea dog, the primal list definitely has you covered.

I love Pathfinder spells. They’re so gnarly and descriptive and evocative. Also vicious. Literal salt in the wound. Good gods. Or neutral gods, I suppose, hi Besmara! And/or Gozreh. Heh.

#pf2e #character concepts #the shackles #pirate druids #primal spell list #pathfinder spells are gnarly #i love them #occult and primal spell lists are the best #sorry divine and arcane but you're just not as lively

[veilkeeper]

Tav questions for Serenity: 9 + 13 + 14 + 16 + 26 (can you tell i like color schemes) + 33 + 58

a rare serenity ask.... alright here we go, i'll do my best but a lot of this is going to be subject to change when i actually get around to his pt

(questions from here)

9. What is your Tav’s biggest priority or goal?

this is so interesting bc theres like, the goal serenity is working towards and says he wants, and then there's the thing he actually wants but does nothing about. pre-tadpole, he'd tell you his goals align with his father's - he intends to do as is expected of him. secretly, however, he wants nothing more than to be rid of the Urge. post-tadpole, he's more honest about his goals.

13. How does your Tav fight in a combat situation?

so. a lot of people build their durges as like. sneaky assassin types. and i get that, it makes sense with the whole god of assassins, murder in the shadowy streets of baldur's gate thing. serenity however is a bladelock with a big fuck-off sword. he can stealth, he just doesnt care to once he's in an actual fight. he's a bit of a show-off - he likes letting people know he's got tricks up his sleeve and he can and will kill them. he likes when people are scared of him and his power before they die.

14. Does your Tav know any other languages besides Common? 

i really want to say yes, but truthfully, probably not. he spent most of his life in the temple of bhaal and i just dont think they're doing language lessons in there.

(putting the rest under the cut)

16. Which of the companions does your Tav trust most? 

extremely subject to change when i start vibe checking people but i suspect serenity is going to gravitate towards people in the moral middle-ground. he'll like astarion but not trust him, he'll like wyll but not trust him. lae'zel is more loyal to her people/queen than she'd ever be to him, etc. anyone too good or too morally dubious will raise his hackles, and anyone with loyalties that might conflict with his safety will do the same. so i think the best candidates for Trusted Besties are shadowheart and gale. keep in mind that especially in the early days, serenity is (ironically much like astarion) picking who he's trying to tie to him as insulation for if that Ominous Bloodlust in his head ever becomes a problem.

26. What is the most prominent color in your Tav’s color scheme?

pre-tadpole serenity followed typical temple of bhaal dress, a lot of black with red accents. gortash could... occasionally... convince him to wear nicer clothes and when that happened he liked to experiment with different colours. he's already playing dress up, right? might as well be completely out of character. it's not like he likes it............ shut up. post-tadpole he wears whatever he wants, and i will have so much fun experimenting with dyes to see what colour i like on him.

33. What is your Tav’s relationship with their family?

serenity intentionally stomps down any memory of their foster family, he does not want to think about them. not because they were awful but because they were so good and theyre the only victims of his he's ever felt bad about (not that he'd admit it). that leaves orin as his only "family" and... i think he wants them to be friends. i think he wants them to not be antagonistic towards each other, he wants them to be a team. but their father constantly pits them against each other and orin fucking hates him for being the Golden Child, so instead he does his best to keep things as civil as possible while knowing he's going to have to kill her one day.

58. What decision would your party have to make in order for Tav to consider splitting off from the group?

short of grabbing pitchforks and going after him, nothing. serenity is taking all of his moral cues from the gang since he's pretty sure what he thinks is cool is... an outlier opinion. like he's not going to try to take the moral high ground anywhere, because he was fantasizing about finding a nice spot to watch the goblins and tieflings tear each other apart.

#serenity #my boy my terrible boy #asks #thankieeeee <33333

[papermoonloveslucy]

HELLS LUCY!

Lucy & Motorcycles

Lucille Ball was a motorcyle fan. She owned Hondas, Suzukis, and a Harley Davidson. In her personal ife, she rode on the back of Clark Gable's motorcycle. Lucy reluctantly gave up motorcycling after she hit a curb and her bike fell on her.

A GIrl, a Guy, and a Gob (1941) ~ Dot (Lucille Ball) disapproves of ‘Coffee Cup’ (George Murphy) riding a motorcyle. 

DOT: That’s how angels are made. 

“Liz the Matchmaker” (1949) ~ In this episode of Lucille Ball’s radio series “My Favorite Husband” Liz (Lucille Ball) is worried about her maid Katie’s romance with Mr. Negley, the postman (Jay Novello), because he always takes her to a drive-in theater on a motorcycle.

“The Sleigh Ride” (1949) ~ Mr. Negley decides to use his motorcycle to pull the holiday sleigh, but the load proves to much and the milkman’s old horse is pressed into service. 

“Safe Driving Week” (1950) ~ Liz and Marge (Elvia Allman) are pulled over by a motorcycle cop for driving too close to the curb. The policeman insists on driving their car away from the curb, but runs over his own motorcycle in the process!  Marge and Liz drive away, leaving the motorcycle cop in tears, clutching only his handlebars. 

This visual gag was brought to life on “I Love Lucy” in....

“Ricky Sells the Car” (1955) ~ Doubtful that Ricky will spring for their train fare home, Fred purchases an antique motorcycle. He weighs it down with all their belongings, just like the Pontiac in “California, Here We Come!”  The Mertzes are even attired in vintage leather riding outfits!  Viewers who know their motorbikes guess that it is a Harley-Davidson Model DL 750cc from about 1929.

LUCY: Ethel, are you seriously considering going all the way to New York on a motorcycle?  ETHEL: Well, Fred gave me a choice and this beats hitchhiking.

Oops! The sound of the motorcycle crashing happens before it is even off the screen. Also, Fred’s dialogue in this scene has been noticeably re-recorded because of the noise from the crash. In the above screen shot you can see the wire that pulled the motorcycle backward.  

“Lucy Hunts Uranium” (1958) ~ The Ricardos and Fred MacMurray get pulled over for speeding by a morotcycle cop. 

“Lucy Drives a Dump Truck” (1963) ~ And this policeman (Richard Reeves) drives a three-wheeled motorbike. 

“Lucy the Meter Maid” (1964) ~ A hybrid vehicle, Lucy drives a Cushman Minute Miser Truckster. These vehicles were especially created for traffic police who checked meters. 

“Mr. and Mrs. aka The Lucille Ball Comedy Hour” (1964) ~ Lucille Ball and Gale Gordon travel across the German border driving a Vespa motor scooter searching for Bob Hope. 

“Lucy in the Music World” (1965) ~ Lucy’s neighbor Mel Tinker (Mel Torme) keeps his 1962 Honda Dream motorcycle indoors. The question is - how did he get it up the stairs?

“Lucy Goes to a Hollywood Premiere” (1966) ~  A motorcycle zooms by Lucy Carmichael selling maps to the movie stars homes. This time it is the driver who is old, not the motorcycle.  As the old lady races off, Lucy shouts “Say hello to Steve McQueen!”  Two of McQueen’s favorite things were racing and motorcycles. He famously rode a motorcycle in 1963’s The Great Escape.

“Lucy in London” (1966) ~ Lucy Carmichael and Anthony Newley get around mod London any way they can - including motorcycle and rocket-shaped side-car.

The special was shot on location in London. Ball and Newley did the driving themselves! 

“Viv Visits Lucy” (1967) ~ Trying to track down a Danfield boy, they go down to the Sunset Strip dressed as ‘hippies’ and go into a biker bar.  The Police Officer’s motorcycle is a 1958 Harley-Davidson Duo Glide. 

Several other motorcycles are also parked on the street during the scene. Hamburger Hovel is home of the ‘Biker Burger’!  

“Lucy Gets Involved” (1968) ~ Tommy Watkins (Phil Vandervoort) rides a white 1962 Honda Dream motorcycle. It was previously seen parked inside Mel Tinker’s apartment in “Lucy in the Music World”.  

Yours, Mine & Ours (1968) ~ In the Lucille Ball / Henry Fonda film, the neighbor boy’s motorcycle is run over by the Beardsley’s station wagon.  

“Lucy and the Diamond Cutter” (1970) ~ Craig talks to Steve on the telephone about a part for his motorcycle. It turns out to be an air horn. Motorcycles don’t usually have air horns! Oops!

“Lucy the Skydiver” (1970) ~ Craig takes up spear fishing while Kim joins a motorcycle club. When Lucy sees her daughter in a motorcycle helmet she asks if she’s playing for the Rams football team. Lucy says she doesn’t want Kim to be another Steve McQueen.

“Circus of the Stars II” (1977) ~ Lucille Ball is the ringmaster and Peter Fonda performs a daredevil motorcycle stunt on a high wire. 

In a taped segment singer / songwriter Paul Williams goes skydiving. Once he alights (just outside his circus ring target) Williams and a dozen men waiting for him on the ground mount motorbikes and zoom away through the desert.

“Lucy Moves to NBC” (1980) ~ Scotty Plummer (Scotty Coogan) wants a motorcycle for his 18th birthday. He even tries to pawn his prized banjo to buy one. 

1999 ~ Postage stamps from Republic of Turkmenistan feature Lucille Ball in a diner with Carmen Miranda and Humphrey Bogart, looking at Marilyn Monroe standing outside next to a motorcycle. 

2020 ~ A Lucille Ball impersonator at Universal Studios Hollywood poses in the sidecar of a Royal Enfield motorcycle. The Royal Enfield brandis the oldest global motorcycle brand in continuous production.

#Lucille Ball #Motorcycles #I Love Lucy #The Lucy Show #Here's Lucy #Vivian Vance #William Frawley #Gale Gordon #Desi Arnaz #Lucie Arnaz #Desi Arnaz Jr. #Scotty Coogan #Peter Fonda #Anthony Newley #TV #Fred MacMurray #The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour #My Favorite Husband

[jacobsneed]

OC CHARACTER ASSIGNMENT

Had a fun time doing this before, so I decided to do it again with some more of my OCs :P

Belle (Beauty and the Beast)

Littlefoot (The Land Before Time)

Alphonse Elric (FMA:B)

Ann Perkins (Parks and Recreation)

Dorothy Gale (The Wizard of Oz)

Ben Chang (Community)

Marla Singer (Fight Club)

Dee Reynolds (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia)

Gob Bluth (Arrested Development)

Cheryl Tunt (Archer)

Charlie Kelly (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia)

Frank Gallagher (Shameless)

Nux (Mad Max: Fury Road)

Tobias Funke (Arrested Development)

Alan (The Hangover)

Jasper Hale (Twilight)

Lucius Fox (Gotham)

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier (Hannibal)

Alex Dunphy (Modern Family)

Ben Wyatt (Parks and Recreation)

Tina Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Allison Reynolds (The Breakfast Club)

Elliot Anderson (Mr. Robot)

Will Graham (Hannibal)

The Narrator (Fight Club)

Dr. Rene Belloq (Raiders of the Lost Ark)

Benjamin Horne (Twin Peaks)

Gustavo Fring (Breaking Bad)

Junior Soprano (The Sopranos)

Cho Sang-woo (Squid Game)

Lau (The Dark Knight)

Bonnie Winterbottom (How to Get Away with Murder)

James Norrington (Pirates of the Caribbean)

General Hux (Star Wars: The Last Jedi)

Agent Smith (The Matrix)

Armin Arlet (Attack on Titan)

Anita 'Needy' Lesnicki (Jennifer's Body)

Kif Kroker (Futurama)

Willow Rosenberg (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Sailor Mercury (Sailor Moon)

Rue Bennett (Euphoria)

Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad)

Janis Ian (Mean Girls)

Kenny McCormick (South Park)

April Ludgate (Parks and Recreation)

Spike Speigel (Cowboy Bebop)

Veronica Fisher (Shameless)

Damian Leigh (Mean Girls)

Donna Meagle (Parks and Recreation)

Miriam Maisel (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)

#david's ocs #oc: sunny #oc: hatred #oc: lucky #oc: dexter #oc: yuri #oc: valentino #oc: giorgio #oc: minette #oc: roach #oc: valkyrie #i love this quiz i love kin assigning my OCs >:3c #i might have too many OCs

[boo-moved]

6, 9 and 11 from general :3

:D!!! Thank you :3

6. Do they have any secrets that can be revealed? What are the prerequisites for this secret coming to light?

Yeah 😭😭 Komi is so chockful of secrets. Surprisingly enough it's easy to pull it out of them, well at least there's like two times you can. At one cut scene they are a little tipsy (Gob/tief party) and you can ask them about their past and why they hate Gale if you are curious, and they'll talk about the wizard they were an apprentice for. Or if you are close enough to them after experiencing a susser flower/being silenced, they'll talk about him.

That's their biggest secret at least, the other ones are just like surrounding their tail and heritage, that's an easy one, you ask and they'll hint at it until like the end of act two.

9. Does your Tav have any escalating conflicts with one of the other companions, like Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s knife-fight?

GALE, Komi despises Gale for being a wizard, and the two will constantly get into it. Gale doesn't know why Komi hates wizards, assuming it's an inferiority/I think I am better then you complex, so he snaps back. At one point it gets extreme enough that Komi will try to leave the camp if they have to deal with Gale any longer.

(Spoiler alert, Komi is just terrified of Gale, thinking that due to Gale's lust for knowledge and ambition he'd want to do what the other wizard did to Komi)

11. Are there any moments in the game that trigger unique dialogue for your character? (Like Gale’s anecdote about the barfight after you save the goblin prisoner)

Being silenced! Like the spell or by the flower! He can still cast (love sorcerery points) But it totally freaks him out so he fumbles it. Also Lorroakan's tower/being imprisoned. He gets very freaked out and stiff about it

#asks #TANK YOUUUUU #I LOVE THIS NERD #Komi

[horridgoblin]

In Need of Comfort (Part 1)

For part 2, click here. Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, SFW, Christmas AU set in Waterdeep, gender neutral Tav x Gale. Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, anxiety in a crowded place, sensory overload. Disclaimer: I’m currently in the middle of Act 2, and I'm yet to finish BG3, so this is where my knowledge of the game stands. No spoilers please!

The Market was charged with the energy of festive cheer, and you could not help but feel entirely out of place. Sounds overwhelmed you; the crowds made you wish you were invisible, and a persistent sadness refused to leave your soul. The Market of Castle Ward was spectacular, despite how you felt. Twinkling baubles, trinkets, and other valuables were displayed proudly in their vibrant stalls. The scent of spice filled the air, and chants of merchants advertising their wares filled the atmosphere with electricity. It was a lot to take in. You wanted desperately to reciprocate the joy of the season, especially because Gale was beaming with joy; talking for weeks about how excited he was to show you how the ‘City of Splendour’ celebrates Christmas. 

A gentle, warm touch of Gale’s hand deliberately brushing yours snapped you out of your thoughts. As you looked up, brown eyes full of adoration locked yours. You could not resist but to smile. Gale was dressed in his best winter finery fit for the occasion, swathes of deep purple wool keeping most of the cold at bay. The grey streaks in his curly brown hair glinted in the winter sunlight, his beauty ethereal. Your anxiety abated with his love, but you thought it best to not show how you felt to preserve his happiness. Gale was always putting others before himself, and you wanted more than anything for him to have happiness in his life.

“You look absolutely stunning my love,” Gale said, gently tucking stray locks of your hair behind your ear, “I know we have a firm agenda set for today, but is there anything that catches your eye? I want nothing more than to spoil you.”

“Gale, spending time with you is a gift enough, please don’t fret.”

“Alright, I won’t try and outdazzle this gift, but I may be purchasing you a trinket or two regardless.” He winked, kissing your forehead, his beard scratching you lightly. “The stall with the brandy mincemeat is over there,” he pointed towards a stall of green tarp with jars gleaming in the sunlight, neatly lined up and tied with delicate red ribbon, “I bet I could add a bit of pizazz to it with an enchantment or two, though this doesn’t mean making the pies explode in some grand display, unfortunately.” You laughed at the thought despite your growing anxiety as you both approached the stall, hand in hand.

Snowflakes began to flit down from the greying sky, their icy touch amplified by fear as they landed on your face. The Market was becoming increasingly crowded. Claustrophobia was setting in. You had a nagging feeling to give into your base instincts and to run far, far away and hide. Instead, you gripped Gale’s hand for support. Your anxiety came at you at full force, and it was dizzying, the stall in front of you feeling imposing. 

Concerned, Gale took you aside and put his hand gently on your shoulder, turning you to face him. He leaned to whisper to your ear. “Are you ok, my heart?” 

Shaking your head to say no, he planted a feather light kiss onto your cheek. “These crowds must be immensely overwhelming; I can tell that as much. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, darling.” You murmured, croaking as you struggled to speak.

“I’m afraid I must.” Gale insisted, “I think it's best if we leave, I cannot have you suffering.” He cupped your cheek with his hand. “Would you like that? To return home?”

You felt incredibly guilty and ashamed. He was looking forward to this for so long. “We can stay, we have to buy things for tonight.”

Seeing the sadness on your face, he said, “Don’t concern yourself with that any longer, I shall deal with this.”  Turning back to the stall, he placed a loving hand on the small of your back as he purchased two jars of mincemeat. “Perfect! We can do without the rest and have a splendid night together. Shall we head home?”

Putting aside your guilt at his insistence, you nodded. He knew you liked to appease others; it was why you could relate to each other so much. Your fatigue from sensory overload made it hard to refuse his suggestions. Snowfall began to intensify so much that it was difficult to see. Most of the crowd rushed for shelter away from the increasing cold, and the two of you sped to find a hire coach home.

#bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #gale fanfic #gale x tav #gale x reader #In Need of Comfort #gob's fanfiction

[snazzy-suit]

Fool Me Once, Fool Me Thrice Chapter 7.4 Deleted Scenes

Oh hey it’s a thing! Some of y’all showed interest in seeing the deleted stuff I mentioned, so I’m posting ‘em as promised. If you haven’t read part 4, I highly recommend you do that first.

These were all cut pretty early, so they didn’t get any revision. In other words: they be rough af. Enjoy!

===

“Plunger Scene”

I hadn’t originally planned for King Boo to land a successful hit on Luigi. In fact, it had been the other way around. As I said in the notes of part 4, I was going to have Luigi throw King Boo with the Plunger Shot, but ultimately got rid of it because it just didn’t feel right (and I didn’t think Hellen would sit quietly by and watch her idol get smacked around).

For kicks, I also included the alternative way King Boo reveals the fate of Luigi’s family and friends. 

=

“Did... did you just stick a plunger to my face?”

Luigi shrinks in on himself, shoulders rising until they are level with his ears.

“It was an accident?” he offers uncertainly.

King Boo’s eyes narrow into a glare. Despite the plunger on their face, the king still somehow manages to look menacing.

“This won’t be,” he hisses.

King Boo lunges at the plumber, foregoing the portrait entirely. Luigi reflexively activates the Poltergust’s intake, but instead of catching the monarch in its gale, it latches on to something else—the knotted end of the plunger’s rope. Luigi reels back with a start, and is surprised when the plunger holds firm. The sharp tug startles King Boo enough that the spirit aborts their attack, instinctively resisting the opposing force. Suddenly, Luigi and King Boo find themselves in an incredibly bizarre game of tug-o-war. The plumber begins to feel his shoes lose their purchase, and as he slowly skids across the floor, Luigi realizes he could (and probably should) shut off the intake and let the rope go.

He doesn’t.

What happens next, Luigi can’t even begin to explain what possessed him to do it. He briefly allows himself to stumble forward, tricking the monarch into thinking he had lost their little impromptu game. King Boo eases on their pull, and the second Luigi feels the lost tension in the rope, he acts. Luigi firmly plants his feet in a wide stance and jerks the rope upward with all his might. The ghostly monarch soars into the air with a startled squawk. Luigi swiftly spins on his heel, yanking a flailing King Boo above him in a wide arch—the latter skimming the bottom of the chandelier as they reach the zenith of their trajectory. With an involuntary battle cry, Luigi slams King Boo onto the ground as hard as he can. A loud crack splits the air—the sound accompanied by shattering dishware and ornaments falling from the nearby buffet tables. Luigi, still adjusting to the new Poltergust, accidentally releases the plunger, sending King Boo crashing into the hotel entrance and knocking himself onto his backside.  

The plumber blinks slowly from his sprawled position. He looks from the dazed king to the caved-in floor spider-webbed with cracks. Luigi spies the dislodged plunger lying in the mess that spilled from the shaken tables. He isn't sure what amazes him most, that such an innocuous thing could assist in causing so much damage, or that he was able to throw King Boo like that all on his own. He’ll have to tell his brother about it later—Mario would have loved to see that.

Luigi grins. He has to admit, it was very cathartic.

The elation from his successful maneuver is short lived. King Boo quickly shakes off their daze and rises from the floor with a furious snarl, spurring Luigi into scrambling to his feet. The monarch’s eyes burn with unkempt rage, but there’s surprise there too, and something else... Fear? It’s gone so fast that Luigi thinks he may have imagined it.

“How?” King Boo snarls. “How do you have a Poltergust with you?!”

King Boo’s fervid ire has the plumber trembling again, but it’s not quite as bad as before. Luigi squeezes the Poltergust’s wand, intake nozzle at the ready.

“The professor never leaves home without it,” Luigi replies, “And I’m not leaving here without him.”

The spectral monarch’s anger evaporates into shock. They open their mouth as if to speak—perhaps to ask how Luigi knew E. Gadd was here in the first place—but the question dies on their tongue as a look of epiphany abruptly crosses their face. King Boo’s features relax, melting into something cavalier. What little satisfaction Luigi got from catching the king off-guard gives way to unease.

“Oh?” King Boo asks casually. “Just the professor?” He grins. “Does that mean I can keep the others?”

Luigi suddenly recalls the other vehicles he had seen in the parking garage with utmost clarity. Dread weighs heavily in his gut.

“Others?” he dares to ask.

King Boo gestures at a point behind Luigi. The plumber turns to look. Some distant part of him would later realize how stupid it had been to take his eyes off the monarch, and just how lucky he was that King Boo hadn’t taken advantage of his carelessness. Currently, Luigi feels the furthest thing from lucky. Horror fills him to the brim. This time, Luigi does drop the Poltergust’s nozzle.

There, floating in a neat arc above Hellen Gravely, are portraits containing Luigi’s friends and family.

===

“Olive Branch Scene”

There was a brief moment where I considered having Luigi attempt to make peace with King Boo, but I decided it was too soon for the string bean to extend an olive branch (we all know King Boo wouldn’t have accepted it, anyway). Plus, I already have another installment drafted that covers when King Boo and Luigi first agree on a “truce”. Having the concept of peace introduced this early would kind of take away from it (you’ll see what I mean when we get to that chapter).

=

Luigi tightens his grip on the Poltergust’s wand, anger bleeding through his fear. Lightning crackles to life about the plumber’s hands, unbidden. King Boo grins.

“Oh dear, have I upset you, Luigi? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you angry before. It’s adorable! Like a tiny chihuahua yapping at lion.” The spirit chuckles. “But I think we all know what happens to the chihuahua, don’t we?”

Luigi bites back an angry retort. He quietly sighs—eyes closed—and takes a deep, composing breath as he reigns in his anger. The building electricity fizzles out. Luigi pointedly ignores King Boo’s disappointed huff while he collects himself.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says at last.

King Boo’s malicious grin falters. Confusion replaces triumph.

“What?” the monarch asks, looking genuinely perplexed.  

For a moment, Luigi shares the monarch's confusion, surprised at his own words. Initiating peaceful negotiations had become almost second nature to Luigi since he began mending the relationships between mortals and spirits. Despite his unpleasant history with King Boo, the plumber turned mediator had found himself habitually going through the motions of his newfound career. Luigi nearly retracts his engager, but a ludicrous thought has him hesitating.

What if he tried…talking to King Boo? Tried reasoning with them?

Luigi frowns internally at the idea. There’s no way it will work…right? It would be a waste of time and breath…wouldn’t it?

He decides it couldn’t hurt to try.

“We don’t have to do this,” Luigi repeats. He slowly—hesitantly—returns the Poltergust’s wand to its holster and raises his hands in a placating gesture. “We don’t have to fight.”

Hellen and King Boo exchange bewildered looks. The spectral monarch stares back at Luigi, gob smacked.

“Are...are you surrendering?”

Luigi quickly shakes his head, alarmed by the suggestion.

“What? No! I’m just—” the plumber cuts himself off. He takes a deep, composing breath. “I’m asking you to let us go.”

King Boo stares at the plumber uncomprehendingly. Luigi is about to repeat himself when the monarch abruptly bursts into laughter. A distant tittering informs Luigi that Hellen shares the king’s mirth.

“Luigi, you continue to surprise me. I never realized you had such a bizarre sense of humor,” he cackles, wiping away an imaginary tear.

“I’m being serious.”

The spirit’s mouth clamps shut. Luigi quickly presses on, lest he be dismissed before he can even make his case.

“Return my friends to me, let us leave in peace, and I won’t try to capture you or any of the other spirits in this hotel.” Luigi gestures vaguely around him. “No one has to get hurt. No one has to lose their freedom. We can put all of this behind us and move on with our lives—err, afterlives.” He laughs nervously.

No one laughs with him.

===

“Baby’s First Banter Scene”

I thought of a dumb joke reminiscent of King Boo and Luigi’s usual banter, but because the Plunger Scene got removed, it, too, was scrapped. 

=

“It sounds like you’re in good hands, Luigi. I would stick around and join in on the fun, but thanks to your cheap, apish assault, I need to go make an appointment with a chiropractor.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Luigi can’t help but wrinkle his brow at King Boo’s absurdity.

“You don’t have a spine,” he says flatly.  

“Neither do you, but I’m not so rude as to call attention to it, now am I?”

Luigi sighs internally. He had walked right into that one, hadn’t he?

“Well then! Now that everything’s settled, I really must be going—these portraits aren’t going to hang themselves.” With a wave, the portrait prisons containing Luigi’s friends and family drift after the monarch as he slowly begins to ascend. King Boo spares the plumber one last sinister grin before he disappears through the ceiling. “See you soon, Luigi.”

And with that, they are gone.

#Luigi #King Boo #Hellen Gravely #Luigi's Mansion 3 #part 4 has undergone the most change of the 5 #and now you see why! #this isn't even all of the cut things #these are just the ones that are the most... coherent XD #I hope you guys enjoyed this little peek into my cut docs #those files are a complete mess #like the ramblings of a madman #LLoG AU #snippet #cut stuff #deleted scenes #suit speaks

[hoodoo12]

Chapter 6/15 Mature

Chapter 1,  2,  3,  4,  5

@turtlepated, @anyamercury, @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice

(I’d like to thank @porkchop-ao3​ for reading and offering opinions on some of this chapter. She’s not in the fandom but is an excellent author; if you’re in the Red Dead Redemption 2 fandom, check her stuff out. Seriously.)

He didn’t realize it was possible to be in an even fouler mood. Forget the business cards. A drop of his spunk landed right between her knees! Out of nowhere a gob of jizz hit the water! What in the actual fuck did she think it was?! A drop of water appeared from a non-existent leak in the roof?!

The only thing non-existent in this fucking house is me, Beetlejuice thought blackly. 

When there was still no acknowledgement of him, no fear, no investigation, not even any goddamned curiosity, his rage fizzled out. It left him in a dismal place. He felt small and hollowed, like a husk, and thought more than once that the Lost Souls room couldn’t be any worse than this. When the bureaucracy wanted to punish someone, they sure as fuck knew how to twist the knife and cause the most damage. Beetlejuice would have tipped his hat to them, if he didn’t hate the Netherworld so fucking much.

He drifted aimlessly, lifelessly, in his corner of the room. He rarely even turned his head when Lisette was around; the cracks in plaster of the wall held his interest now. He felt closer to crying than he had in centuries, but what the fuck would that accomplish?

Beetlejuice didn’t know how long he stayed in that corner. A day? A week? A month? Till the sun was about to burn out? Time had no meaning.

But words still did. Despite his best efforts, when Lisette clearly spoke the word, “Shoggoth,” again, he lifted his head to look blearily over to her. 

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, in pyjama pants but only wearing a bra for a top, staring down into her journal. She seemed upset, scribbling notes into the book with a fervor he’d not witnessed before. At one point she grimaced and underlined something so many times the page tore. Then she threw up her hands and dropped everything to the quilt.

She buried her face in her hands for a moment. 

Whatever her frustration was, it was a negative enough emotion to interest him. And she was basically topless again, which was always a bonus. Beetlejuice let himself descend from his corner near the ceiling like gravity actually worked on him, and settled on the mattress to her right. 

He leaned over a bit, to read whatever it was that was affecting her, but at the moment Lisette slammed the journal shut irritably, leaving the pen trapped in its pages. 

Beetlejuice scowled. Annoyance flashed through him, and he went to flick her on the cheek. It wouldn’t be to sip any life force, although the minor touch would be a nice pick-me-up. It would just let him . . . he didn’t know! Do something! Let her know she pissed him off!

But just as his fingers were near her face, Lisette turned her head. He only touched her hair, and she batted at him again like he was a gnat, just like her first night in this fucking house. Her fingertips grazed the side of his hand, sending a tiny warmth radiating out from the point of contact, but then she scooted off the bed opposite of him with an exasperated sigh and left the room, mindlessly shaking her hand as she went, like it had fallen asleep.

The sadness that he’d kept himself wrapped in threatened to pull him into its folds again. That was easiest. Nothing mattered. He didn’t matter. It was the price he was supposed to be paying for all his transgressions.

But before he succumbed to it, a hot burst of rage clawed its way through the suffocating despair. He wasn’t going to rot in this house while the stupidest woman in the world just lived her life in it!

With a roar that he knew only he could hear, Beetlejuice leapt from the bed, making it squeak. He flung an arm out over the bedside table. The wrath that fueled him gave him the strength to physically knock her stupid fucking books and the lamp over as well, sending everything crashing to the floor. The ceramic lamp shattered. 

The books fell open and he saw he’d torn their dust jackets. 

He shoved the wrought iron bed frame into the dresser, using enough force to gouge the wood, then he flipped the bed, mattress and all, upright on its side against the other piece of furniture. His anger was enough that he grabbed her clothing through the bed and dresser drawer and pulled them out, sending them into a whirlwind of ripping chaos throughout the room. 

The maelstrom created by his rage made the floorboards groan and the glass in the windows creak. Cracks appeared in the plaster on the walls, and a more substantial crack split the ceiling. The overhead light swung erratically. Dust drifted down and was immediately caught in the gale, giving it a more solid appearance, with particulates occasionally reflecting the light.

Shards of glass from the broken lamp were swept up too, as well loose papers like his cards, and her pen.

It felt marvelous to be this powerful again, even if it was only going to last momentarily. 

There was no way for Lisette to deny anything now! This room was going to be wrecked! Like a tornado hit it! He was going to laugh and laugh in his corner when she saw it! He was going to carve his name into the floorboards with a piece of glass. He was going to take her now torn socks and panties and spell his name out with them. He would cut into his own hand and smear his name in ectoplasmic blood in her precious journal and she would say finally it and he’d be here again and it would be glorious--

As Beetlejuice snatched a shard of glass from the air so hard it sliced his palm, his foot caught the “Twilight” book he’d thrown to the floor. It spun a little, staying open. He glanced at it. 

He’d never read “Twilight”, but he was pretty sure it was written on standard white paper with standard black print. 

The pages in this book were tea stained brown. The writing inside was calligraphy, and the ink was a faded ochre. 

What the--?

Beetlejuice bent over to have a closer look.

The unholy tempest he’d created knocked “Outlander” against his heel. It was the same. No mass market hardback here; it had the same antique parchment and faded text inside. It wasn’t written in English. Maybe it was French? But some of it looked Arabic, and there was a drawing he glimpsed that niggled the far reaches of his mind and gave him a pleasurable little shiver. The wind made the pages flip erratically, and then snapped the book shut. The dust jacket that proclaimed it was covering “Outlander” lied. 

He reached out to grab it for a closer look, but couldn’t quite make contact with it. That made no sense; he wasn’t that weak. He would be soon though; the storm of his rage was already tapering in his confusion. Both books, however, scraped along the floor away from him, to join the whirlwind in the center of the room.

Puzzled, Beetlejuice stopped. He stood like a statue, one hand outstretched towards a book that wasn’t within reach any longer. It didn’t make sense. 

Something fluttered under the upturned bed. 

Lisette’s journal.

It was caught between one of the iron legs and dresser. Beetlejuice went to it, crouched down, and released it. He could touch this leather bound book with no problem, which only deepened the mystery of the other one. His palm left a bloody smear on the cover.

If he’d expected to find the diary of a boring woman who should probably just post her daily pap on Facebook, he was mistaken. He started slow, then began flipping wildly through the handwritten pages. They were filled with nonsense ramblings and sketches:

“--full moon, quarter moon, new moon IS BEST--”

“--mixture of myrrh and sand; use a crow’s feather for dark or a blue jay’s feather for light--”

“--Tindalos--”, with a never-ending circle repeated over and over on the page--

--a penciled drawing of some archaic symbol in various sizes--

“--shoggoth as described--”

“--do not, repeat, NOT look at it directly. Use a mirror, or put your eyes out--”

Wait, shoggoth?

Shoggoth?!

Beetlejuice pulled the book open to that page so hard the spine cracked. He skimmed the page:

“--a shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles, faintly self-luminous, and with myriads of temporary eyes forming and un-forming . . . shoggoth as described by Lovecraft. Would an Elder Sign work? No mention of any abilities to mate. But the mere fact that Shoggoth is used as a name may suggest otherwise--”

If he’d had to breathe, Beetlejuice would have felt like all the air had been kicked from his lungs. 

What was this? What did this mean? His head was in a bigger whirl than the dying cyclone behind him. He didn’t understand! How could this stupid woman have his name in her book, and obviously be trying to put down her thoughts in the matter?!

He had to find her. He had to understand what the fuck was going on. Beetlejuice released everything that had been swirling in the air to drop into a mass on the floor. He kept hold of Lisette’s journal. He was going it find her and find a way to make her explain all this--

“Beetlejuice!”

Something punched him in the gut and grabbed his innards. It was the most beautiful hurt in the world: his name.

SHE SAID HIS NAME.

His name was an irresistible pull; he didn’t want to and he couldn’t deny it. Like he’d been stung, he scrambled to the bedroom door, grabbing hold of the doorframe to assist turning into the hallway.

“Beetlejuice!”

SHE SAID HIS NAME A SECOND TIME.

Beetlejuice grinned. He’d go to her. He’d be right beside her and when the last syllable of the third repeat fell from her lips he’d be visible and free and he’d fucking kiss her right on her breather mouth before making her piss her pants and run screaming for the door. 

The pull was stronger now. If he’d tried to resist, he’d split in two. In his haste and forgetting he was spectral, Beetlejuice slipped on the floor; he caught himself and continued running on all fours for a moment, before he could right himself again. He tugged at the crotch of his trousers with the hand that wasn’t holding her journal; he’d gotten a hard-on.

Her voice was coming from the small bedroom, the one with the “good light”; he wanted to get there and stand in glory when that final, orgasmic moment arrived that would free him--

Beetlejuice crashed through the partially opened door of the small bedroom. If he had needed to pant for air, he would have. As it was, a wordless, pathetic keening noise escaped his mouth. 

This was it, this was it, this was it--!

As he burst into the room, several things happened at once. The journal he’d been holding was plucked out of his grip. A hand shoved him hard between the shoulder blades, making pleasure radiate through his chest. He stumbled forward with the extra momentum, but something was wrong; for a split moment he slowed, like moving through molasses. He sucked in a mouthful of dust, then the sensation was gone and he tumbled forward, off balance, falling to his knees and skidding on the floor in real time.

The pleasure from being touched by a live person ate away the pain in his knees from the floorboards. 

That meant he had at least one foot in the living world; just one more time, just three more syllables and he was out! 

Beetlejuice twisted on his knees to face Lisette. He was sure the expression on his face was needy desperation, and he was still making that whining pleading noise.

She was ignoring him, hastily drawing a line and writing symbols on the wooden floor between him and the door. The thick piece of chalk she used quickly wore away and left dust hanging in the air. 

Although he didn’t understand exactly was what happening, Beetlejuice got up and rushed towards Lisette. At his movement she awkwardly pushed herself to her feet, clutching her journal to her chest. She looked concerned but stood her ground. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to grab her and beg her to say his name one last time, or strangle her.

He made it to the chalk line when he hit a wall. He couldn’t move one step closer to her. He looked right and left and saw the same chalk circle and writing on the floor, surrounding him, corralling him, trapping him.

Realization came quickly and his wordless plea died. Beetlejuice snarled. He threw himself at the invisible barrier, pounding at it, and was repelled. 

One step away from him, Lisette let out a breath. 

She stared him directly in the eye as she said, “I wasn’t sure that was going to work.”

tbc

#beetlejuice #betelguese #writing #fanfiction #movie #movie beetlejuice #musical beetlejuice

[hobohobgoblim]

I like a good storm as much as the next gob but fer föresest froggin' sake it been almost a month now of nonstope gales and freezemeltfreezemeltblizzardfloodfreezemelt and I am losing my damned mind!

#feralcore #caves #goblincore #weather #globalweirding

[papermoonloveslucy]

THE BIG STREET

August 13, 1942

Producer: Damon Runyon

Director: Irving Reis

Screenplay: Leonard Spigelgass, based on the short story “Little Pinks” by Damon Runyon, first published in Collier’s magazine.

Dance Staging: Chester Hale

Gowns: Renie

Miss Ball’s Dancing Costume: Freddy Wittop

Miss Ball’s Make-Up: Perc Westmore

The film is sometimes referred to as Damon Runyon’s The Big Street.

The film premiered in New York City at the RKO Palace on August 13, 1942. That same day Disney’s long-awaited Bambi opened at Radio City Music Hall. At the Capitol, Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons, also starring Agnes Moorehead and Gil Perkins, continued its run. Nearby, at the Albee, a second-run cinema, Top Hat (1935) starring Ginger Rogers and Lucille Ball was playing. The Big Street opened nationally September 4, 1942. 

“Love is something that gets you one room, two chins, and three kids.” ~ Gloria Lyons (Lucille Ball) 

PRINCIPAL CAST

Lucille Ball (Gloria Lyons aka ‘Her Highness’) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Gloria’s singing voice was provided by Martha Mears, who also did Ball’s singing in DuBarry Was a Lady (1944).

Henry Fonda (Augustus Pinkerton II aka ‘Little Pinks’) first worked with Lucille Ball in the 1935 film I Dream Too Much. When Lucille Ball first got to Hollywood, the two actually briefly dated. They collaborated on the TV special “The Good Years” (1962) and the film Yours, Mine and Ours (1968). During the 1970s, Fonda and Ball often turned up on the same awards and tribute shows. Fonda was nominated for three Oscars, winning in 1982 for On Golden Pond. He also won an honorary Oscar in 1981. Fonda died in 1982 at age 77.  

Barton MacLane (Case Ables) was seen in the film The Maltese Falcon (1941) but is probably best remembered for his final role, the blustery General Peterson on “I Dream of Jeannie” (1965-69). 

“A fat man’s always listening to love stories, but he’s never go any to tell.” ~ Nicely Nicely Johnson

Eugene Pallette (Nicely Nicely Johnson, The Greatest Eater Alive) was seen as Friar Tuck in Robin Hood (1938) and in Mr. Smith Goes To Washington (1939). 

The character of Nicely Nicely Johnson was played by Stubby Kaye, who reprised the role he played on Broadway, in the film version of Runyon’s Guys and Dolls (1955).  He was so named because his usual reply to the question “How are you doing?” was typically “Nicely nicely, thank you!” 

Agnes Moorehead (Violette Shumberg) was a classically trained performer who collaborated with Orson Welles on Citizen Kane (1941) and The Magnificent Ambersons (1942). She is best remembered as Samantha’s exotic mother Endora on the TV series “Bewitched” (1964-72). 

Violette weighs 100 pounds, four ounces.

“She has a very large capacity for groceries.” ~ Pinks (about Violette) 

Sam Levene (Horsethief) originated the role of Nathan Detroit in the Broadway stage musical of Runyon’s Guys and Dolls. Singing great Frank Sinatra played  Nathan Detroit in the movie version in 1955. 

Ray Collins (Professor B) also collaborated with Orson Welles on Citizen Kane (1941) and The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), along with Agnes Moorehead. He is best remembered for playing Lieutenant Tragg on “Perry Mason” from 1957 to 1965. 

Marion Martin (Mimi Venus) would also be seen with Lucille Ball in Abbott and Costello in Hollywood (1945). Although she was often cast as a brassy stripper, showgirl or tough gun moll, off screen she was known to be extremely shy and retiring.

“That dame is a lump of mud!”  ~Gloria (about Mimi)

William Orr (Decatur Reed) was an actor turned executive. As the head of WB Television for nine years, he was executive producer of the studio's early forays into the medium, helping to put ABC on the prime-time map with a steady staple of westerns and detective shows. In 1959 he received a Golden Globe for his contributions to television. 

Vera Gordon (Mrs. Lefkowitz) emigrated with her family from Russia when she was seven years old. She became involved in the theatre and was active in silent films and early talkies. She had previously appeared with Lucille Ball in 1938′s Having Wonderful Time. 

George Cleveland (Col. Venus) makes his fourth film appearance with Lucille Ball. In 1949 they also did Miss Grant Takes Richmond. He is best remembered for playing Gramps on “Lassie” (1954-57). 

Ozzie Nelson (Himself) was considered the pre-eminent TV dad of the 1950s thanks to his successful family sitcom “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet” (1952-66). Before TV fame, he was a bandleader with his wife Harriet the lead singer. Nelson later appeared on several talk shows with Lucille Ball. 

UNCREDITED CAST (with connections to Lucille Ball)

Baby (Gloria’s Pekingese Dog)

Louise Beavers (Ruby, Gloria’s Maid) went on to appear in three more films with Lucille Ball: DuBarry Was a Lady (1943), Lover Come Back (1946), and The Facts of Life (1960). 

Charles Cane (McCarty, Holland Tunnel Policeman) also appeared with Lucille Ball in The Dark Corner (1946) and as one of the theatre patrons at “Over The Teacups” in “Ethel’s Birthday” (1954) which also featured Big Street extras Bess Flowers, James Conaty, Sam Harris, and Harold Miller. 

Jack Chefe was seen as a Paris waiter in “Lucy Meets Charles Boyer” (ILL S5;E19) and played a bellhop in “Lucy and John Wayne” (ILL S5;E2) and had also appeared in five films with Lucille Ball, including playing a waiter in Forever, Darling.  Of Chefe’s 358 film roles, 165 were waiters!

James Conaty (Nightclub Patron) was also seen with Lucille in I Dreamed Too Much (1935), Lured (1947), and The Long Long Trailer (1953).  He was one of the theatre patrons at “Over The Teacups” in “Ethel’s Birthday” (1954) which also featured Big Street extras Bess Flowers, Charles Cane, Sam Harris, and Harold Miller.

Hans Conried (Waiter) played Harry Martin in “Redecorating” (ILL S2;E8) and Percy Livermore in “Lucy Hires an English Tutor” (ILL S2;E13), both in 1952. He also did two episodes of “The Lucy Show,” both as her music tutor Dr. Gitterman in 1963.  

Pedro de Cordoba (Doctor) was also seen with Lucille Ball in Five Came Back (1939).

Helen Dickson (Florida Club Patron) had appeared with Lucille Ball in Carnival (1935) and Two Smart People (1946). She was one of the aging flapper showgirls in “Ricky Loses His Voice” (ILL S2;E9) in 1952. 

Jimmy Dime (Truck Driver / Stunts) was seen with Lucille Ball in 1951′s The Magic Carpet. He did a half dozen episodes as a background players on Desilu’s “The Untouchables” (1959-61). 

Eddie Dunn (Mulvaney) was also part of Ziegfeld Follies (1945) featuring Lucille Ball. 

Jay Eaton (Late Night New York Nightclub Patron) did a total of nine films with Lucille Ball between 1934 and 1949, including her other Damon Runyon film Sorrowful Jones (1949). 

Bess Flowers (Florida Nightclub Patron) aka 'Queen of the Extras’ made numerous uncredited background appearances on both “I Love Lucy” and “The Lucy Show.” She holds the record of the most film collaborations with Lucille Ball: 17. 

Karen X. Gaylord (Florida Club Patron) was also part of Ziegfeld Follies (1945) featuring Lucille Ball.

Charlie Hall (Caviar Waiter) also did Kid Millions with Lucille Ball and went on to do four more films with her until 1942. 

William Halligan (Detective) was also with Lucille Ball in 1940′s You Can’t Fool Your Wife. 

Art Hamburger (Joe Duffle, Eating Contest Opponent) makes his final of three screen appearances. He became an associate director. This is his only time working with Lucille Ball. 

Joe Duffle is from Boston and weighs 337 and a half pounds. There is some irony that Nicely Nicely (then Violette’s) eating contest opponent is actually named Hamburger. 

Mary Halsey (Showgirl) also did Seven Days Leave with Lucille Ball in 1942. 

Sam Harris (Passerby on Florida Boardwalk) was in the background of a dozen Lucille Ball films, as well as being seen on “I Love Lucy,” “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” and “The Lucy Show.”  He was one of the theatre patrons at “Over The Teacups” in “Ethel’s Birthday” (1954) which also featured Big Street extras Bess Flowers, Charles Cane, James Conaty, and Harold Miller.

Jack Herrick (Mindy’s Customer) was also seen with Lucille Ball in The Bowery (1933). 

John Indrisano (Mug at Mindy's) was also seen with Lucille Ball in The Facts of Life (1960). 

Tiny Jones (Small Friendly Neighbor) was seen with Lucille Ball in A Girl, A Guy, and a Gob (1934) and Five Came Back (1939). 

Donald Kerr (Pete the Passer) appeared in eight films with Lucille Ball between 1936 and 1954.

Wilbur Mack (Florida Club Patron) appeared in three more films with Lucille Ball: Thousands Cheer (1943), Ziegfeld Follies (1945), and Lured (1947). 

George Magrill (Mug at Mindy's / Stunts) appeared with Lucille Ball in ten films between 1933 and 1949. 

Richard Martin also did Seven Days Leave with Lucille Ball in 1942

Tony Merlo (Mug at Mindy's) was also seen with Lucille Ball in Dance, Girl, Dance (1940) and Broadway Bill (1934).

John ‘Skins’ Miller (Truck Driver) was also with Lucille Ball in Fancy Pants (1950) and Sorrowful Jones (1949). 

Harold Miller (Florida Club Patron) shares 13 film credits with Lucille Ball. He was one of the theatre patrons at “Over The Teacups” in “Ethel’s Birthday” (1954) which also featured Big Street extras Bess Flowers, Charles Cane, James Conaty, and Harold Miller. Harris would return for “Lucy and the Loving Cup” (S6;E12) as a subway strap hanger. He appeared in six episodes of “The Lucy Show,” the last one being as a party guest on “My Fair Lucy” (1965).

Bert Moorhouse (Florida Club Waiter) did nine films with Lucille Ball from 1933 to 1954. 

Frank Moran (Mug at Mindy’s) makes his final of five film appearances with Lucille Ball. 

George Noisome (Newsboy) also appeared with Lucille Ball in That’s Right, You’re Wrong (1939). 

Barry Norton (Florida Club Patron) was also seen with Lucille Ball in Nana (1934) and Dance, Girl, Dance (1940).

Frank O’Connor (Police Captain at Holland Tunnel) did nine films with Lucille Ball from 1933 to 1946. 

Gil Perkins (Mug / Stunts) was aboard the train when Lucy and Ricky headed home from California in “The Great Train Robbery” (ILL S5;E5). He was seen in The Fuller Brush Girl (1950) with Lucille Ball. He made one appearance on “Here’s Lucy” (above right) in 1970. 

Bob Perry (Toupee, Associate of Ables / Stunts) was also seen with Lucille Ball in Stage Door (1937) and Joy of Living (1938). 

Ralph Peters (Florist) was also with Lucille Ball in Sorrowful Jones (1949). 

Addison Richards (Dr. Mitchell) played the American Consul in “Lucy Goes To Mexico” (LDCH 1959) as well as three other films with Lucille Ball. 

Dewey Robinson (Truck Driver) did five other films with Lucille Ball. 

Shimen Ruskin (Waiter Captain at Florida Club) was previously seen with Lucille Ball in Having Wonderful Time (1938) but is best remembered as Mordcha in the film Fiddler on the Roof (1971). 

Hector V. Sarno (Friendly Neighbor) was also with Lucille Ball in Muss ‘em Up (1936). 

Harry Shannon (Florida Doctor) was seen with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz in Too Many Girls (1940). He played Jim White (above center), photographer in “Men Are Messy” (ILL S1;E8) in 1951. He is probably best remembered as the father of Rose (Rosalind Russell) in Gypsy (1962). 

Walter Soderling (Doctor at Mindy’s) was with Lucille Ball in Easy To Wed (1946). 

Mary Stuart (Showgirl) was also seen with Lucille Ball in Seven Days Leave (1942). She is best remembered for her four decade run as Mary on “Search for Tomorrow”. 

Elliott Sullivan (Tramp) was also in That’s Right, You’re Wrong (1939) and Next Time I Marry (1938) with Lucille Ball. 

Harry Wilson (Fethington) did four other films with Lucille Ball between 1934 and 1950. He was also an extra on Desilu’s “Untouchables” (1959-62). 

Marie Windsor (Florida Club Patron) was also in Critic’s Choice (1963) with Lucille Ball. 

BIG STREET OPENING

"Loser's Lane - the sidewalk in front of Mindy's Restaurant on Broadway - is not as high-toned a trading center as Wall Street, but the brokers are a lot more colorful. Generally they prefer to put their money on a prizefight or horse race, but when the action slows, anything can happen and it usually does. Tonight, for example, the citizens of the Lane are discussing the latest contest in their usual quiet way..."

BIG STREET TRIVIA

The Big Street was a nickname for Broadway, where this movie's plot starts, and where all Runyon's stories take place. The film opens at West 50th and Broadway in New York City, with the marquee of the Capitol Theatre in the background. 

Damon Runyon originally wanted to cast Charles Laughton and Carole Lombard in the lead roles, but neither one was interested in the project. The two had previously paired on White Women (1933) and They Knew What They Wanted (1940), Lombard suggested the producer consider her friend Lucille Ball and, despite pressure by RKO to hire a better-known actress, Runyon offered her the role.  Unaccustomed to playing series roles, Lucille asked advice from Laughton on how to approach such a difficult part. Laughton told her not to hold back: “If you are going to play a bitch, play a bitch!”

Ball later recalled that at the time she was cast, "nothing much seemed to be happening for me at the studio. My $1000 weekly paycheck came regularly, but I was still a regular among the Bs."

Philadelphia Daily News ~ June 6, 1942

Reports that Lucille Ball sent a $25 War Bond to each of the ten girls that were fired from backing her up on “The Big Street”.

During filming, Lucy’s new husband Desi Arnaz felt so insecure about leaving Lucy and Fonda alone together that he’d often pop by the set to keep an eye on them. His paranoia so exasperated director Irving Reis that he finally banned him from the set.

This was Lucille Ball’s favorite of her nearly 80 films. She felt her performance was unjustly ignored by the Academy.

The vocals for "Who Knows?" by Harry Revel and Mort Greene, performed by Gloria in Case's Manhattan club, were provided by Martha Mears. The character later reprises the song with Ozzie Nelson and his orchestra in the Miami nightspot.

The film was re-released in 1955, at the height of Lucille Ball’s television success. Although Fonda remains first billed, Ball’s photo clearly indicates that she is the drawing card. 

Damon Runyon also created the source material for the hit Broadway musical Guys and Dolls (1950), which starred Robert Alda, who went on to make several appearances on “The Lucy Show.” The two stories share the character of Nicely Nicely Johnson. When the film version was made by MGM in 1955, Lucy and Desi were also under contract to the studio. A brief clip of the film was inserted into the middle of an episode of “I Love Lucy” called “Lucy and the Dummy” (S5;E3), although the clip was removed after its initial airing. Further, when Lucille Ball first came to Hollywood, before becoming a contract player at RKO, she worked for Sam Goldwyn as one of the Goldwyn Girls. In Guys and Dolls, the Hot Box Girls are played by the Goldwyn Girls. 

In 1949, Lucille Ball starred in another film based on a Damon Runyon story, Sorrowful Jones, a remake of the 1934 Shirley Temple film, Little Miss Marker.

Damon Runyon was a big fan of Lindy’s, a Manhattan restaurant famous for their cheesecake, and wrote the eatery into his books as Mindy's. The musical Guys and Dolls, based on Runyon's writings, immortalizes Lindy's in one of its songs. In “Ricky’s Contract” (ILL S4;E10), Lucy tells Fred and Ethel that Ricky took his entire band to Lindy’s to celebrate learning that he had been offered a movie contract. 

In The Big Street, a sympathetic Pinks decides to take Gloria to Florida to recuperate - by pushing her wheelchair the entire way - starting with the Holland Tunnel!  Although Lucy and Fonda never left Hollywood, the locations are achieved by rear projection and establishing footage. 

The Holland Tunnel figures into “I Love Lucy,” not once - but twice. In “The Marriage License” (ILL S ), after finding out that her marriage license may be invalid, Lucy goes on a twelve hour walk to East Orange, New Jersey. “How I ever got through the Holland Tunnel, I don’t know.” 

The Holland Tunnel will be mentioned again three years later in “Lucy Learns to Drive” (ILL S4;E11). Reportedly, she tried to make a u-turn in the Holland Tunnel resulting in traffic being tied up to East Orange, New Jersey.

Action is also set in Miami Beach, Florida. Pinks and Gloria hitchhike there to visit with Nicely Nicely and Violette who are operating a night spot there. 

In “Off To Florida” (ILL S6;E6), Lucy and Ethel also hitchhike to Miami Beach Florida after being left on the side of the road by their ride share, a suspected hatchet murderess.  They arrive at the North Miami train station covered in chicken feathers from riding in the back of a poultry truck. 

Doting Pinks has a pet name for haughty Gloria: 'Your Highness'.  In Florida, her friends conspire to get people to come and hear her sing by fibbing that she is the Princess of Corolia, a fictional place.

In “The Publicity Agent” (ILL S1;E31), Lucy conspires to get Ricky more publicity by pretending to be a fawning fan of royal blood: ‘The Maharincess of Franistan’!  

FAST FORWARD!

On a 1971 episode of “The Dick Cavett Show" with guests Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, and Lucie Arnaz, Lucie compliments her mother's dramatic performance in the film.

The film is referenced in the television film Lucy & Desi: Before the Laughter (1991) 

A poster for the film is on Lucy’s dressing room wall in Lucy, a 2003 TV movie.

The Big Street turns up in the TV listings in the low budget film Hollywood Mouth (2008) starring Joe Bologna. 

A clip from the film is featured in a montage during “AFI Life Achievement Award: A Tribute to Henry Fonda” a 1978 special attended by Lucille Ball. 

Henry Fonda: The Man and His Movies (1982) contains dressing room and dance floor scenes with Lucille Ball. 

The Emmy-winning documentary Lucy and Desi: A Home Movie (1993) features a brief clip from the movie.

When Cher is TCM Guest Programmer in 2011, she selects The Big Street as one of her films to be aired.

In December 1948, Lucille Ball reprised her role on radio with John Garfield taking the role of Pinks. 

The Big Street on VHS. 

The Big Street is available on DVD from Warner Home Video. It is also part of the Lucille Ball Collection DVD, which also includes Dance, Girl, Dance, DuBarry Was A Lady, Critic’s Choice, and Mame.

#The Big Street #lucille ball

[ellaofoakhill]

Nectarmoon, Part Three

And here’s the last tftem update in 2021. Don’t worry, the story’s not done by a long shot; Ella and Meline have lots of adventures coming up. I’m kinda glad I get to end the year by showing you guys some of my favourite writing ever.

Anyway, I hope you’ve had a happy holiday so far, and 2022 is kinder to you than 2021. Take care, and enjoy.

Meline heard that scream. She knew that voice. That name. The terrible, desperate rage that had consumed her on the docks so long ago filled her. If she died trying, the fire in that clearing would be snuffed out. Her wings roared, then snapped tight to her back. Meline plummeted to earth. Words of power thrummed in her heart and blood and bones as her feet hit the ground. It yielded, inches from Chultaroth’s head. Deeper and deeper, until it could give no more. Her fist pulled back, her whole body winding up. One more word, and her voice thundered through the ground, heartbreak and fury given one mighty target.

“Worm!”

The earth snapped up as her body twisted, her fist whipped out in a perfect line, and the dragon turned her head.

Meline was blinded by the light of her own fist as it struck, punching elbow-deep into flesh. Blood poured from Chultaroth’s head as it snapped away, wobbling on her long neck, and Meline’s fist wrenched free. As she fell to the ground, her eyes recovered, and Meline saw a glowing against Chultaroth’s neck.

Gobs of what had recently been teeth spun from the dragon’s mouth as she spat. Her uninjured lip pulled back in a wild snarl. Her jaws were aglow. “That. Stu—”

She shrieked as the glowing spot leapt from her neck with a sound like ripping paper. It took Meline a moment to identify it. “Ella!” She catapulted herself into the air, hooking her arms under Ella’s and bringing her to earth as softly as possible. Ella’s shin twisted just below the knee. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Meline set her hands on Ella’s leg and spoke. As the bone started regaining its proper position and knitting together, she felt a hand on the back of her head. “Yes, just—”

Ella pulled her into a kiss so fierce Meline forgot what was happening. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said, flopping back in a clammy sweat. “I don’t suppose you can put me back together less painfully?”

Ella never complained about pain. “I can do it quick or I can do it painless���”

“—Or not at all!” Meline grabbed Ella and jumped sideways as Chultaroth’s tail smashed where they’d lain an instant before.

Meline turned, brandishing her fists. Ella groaned behind her, struggling to rise. The dragon arched her neck. “I will enjoy incinerating you.”

“Want some more teeth pulled?” Unless Meline downed another tonic, Chultaroth would see through her bluff any second.

“Ha!” Chultaroth inhaled with a sound like a screaming gale. She opened her bloody mouth. The back of her throat flared. A shrieking snarl tore through the night, and Rickard the fox crashed into Chultaroth’s head, teeth scraping at her neck.

Meline felt a hand at her shoulder. “Splint my leg!” Ella barked, “I need to get back in there!”

“With what!” Meline spun around. And understood.

Tatters of hardened slime hung off the glowing silver spear in Ella’s hand. Four inches long, its head shaped like a willow leaf with crosstrees like stag antlers, its haft leather-wrapped, with a star sapphire as its wheel-shaped pommel. Writing in a script Meline didn’t recognize covered it end to end.

Ella’s expression was grim satisfaction. “With this.”

“I don’t think there’s time—”

Ella’s elytra snapped open, her wings spread, rippling red glass. Supporting herself with the spear, Ella pulled herself up. “Then I’ll improvise.”

 This was as bad as when Elmum fought her dad. Selva couldn’t watch, but was too scared to look away. Vesi stood beside her, under the one bush that wasn’t burning. Vaness was hugging Selva. Vernon led Coarser to them so he could rest, then plunged in. He was tiny next to Chultaroth, but he was real good at wedging his horns between scales.

Chultaroth thumped her wings down and heaved, sending one fox bouncing with a pained yelp. The other bit the end of her tail, dodging wings and claws and teeth.

The nice fairy had dragged Felix over to them. He was awake, but too hurt to move; Vaness thought he had broken bones. The nice fairy had asked for his bow, and Felix, groaning, gave it. Selva couldn’t see him, but every now and again she heard a tiny arrow clink off a scale, or a little thwack as it hit flesh. Red spots blossomed on Chultaroth’s wings. She was getting madder, roaring and thrashing. Vaness wondered under her breath if they were keeping Chultaroth too busy to use her fire again.

A screech came from overhead. Then another. And a hundred more. Big shapes dropped through the trees. Most dropped water over the fires, with hissing steam. A few dropped balls of black shiny stuff on Chultaroth that burst open. Selva saw little black things swarm over her body, and Chultaroth’s roars got even angrier. A few bigger shapes dropped too. Their laughs chilled Selva even with the fires. Metal scraped on metal. Sparks flew from Chultaroth’s back.

Selva kept her eyes on two bright lights, flitting through the smoke and sparks. Once, Elmum flew close enough for her to see. She had a spear that flashed and flew at the dragon, before zipping back to her hands. Every throw pulled a snarl from Chultaroth. She spun and snapped and flapped her wings, but Elmum was too quick. And Melmom… she wasn’t so fast as Elmum, but now and again there was a thud, and Chultaroth would stagger as her shoulder, her leg, her wing, or her head shivered from an attack Selva barely saw.

Vaness was cursing under her breath, which normally would’ve had all Selva’s attention. Under all the fear, hope bloomed in Selva’s heart.

“Enough!” Chultaroth stood on her back legs, wings spread, and spun. The fox on her tail was flung off. Selva heard a thump and a yelp in the trees. Chultaroth twisted her neck, and fire shot down her back and wings. Selva heard yells and shrieks as drakles and critters jumped away. The smell of burnt meat hit Selva in the face. She retched. Vaness did too. The tip of Chultaroth’s tail caught Vernon in the side. He was bowled into the undergrowth. Selva heard a curse.

Two falling stars collided high above. There were three shrieks. Selva only realized one of them was hers when her throat cracked. They hit the earth a stone’s throw to Selva’s left. She ran. Vaness was faster. They weren’t moving when Selva caught up. Vaness was over them, hands to necks.

“They’re alive,” she choked. Selva’s legs wobbled. She felt a little thump against her chest. She pulled out her harp. It wasn’t broken.

“But not for long.” Selva’s head snapped around. That huge head, those bone-white teeth, were so close. Chultaroth raised her voice. “A valiant effort, smallfolk. But no force in all the worlds may deny a dragon her due. If it is any consolation,” she spread her wings; her jaws began to glow, “you will share a lovely pyre.” Selva looked into that furnace. She set fingers to harpstrings—when did she strap it on?—and began to pluck. It was really out of tune. That wasn’t important now.

As Chultaroth’s mouth flashed white, Selva began to sing.

 “Fornmy dhu,

Frimmy dhu,

Vylmy dhu,

Rummy shridshan dhu,

Fevé myrvlodha.”

Ella stirred from her daze. A slight pressure at her throat roused her. Shapeless blobs floated across her eyes, crackling sound. A dark, angry thrumming. Then delicate notes, accompanied by a small voice. Beneath it, around it, was a dull roar.

Ella blinked several times, and raised her head. Her leg was still an agony, but her vision and hearing were clear. She did not immediately believe them.

“Azldha dhu,

Duddha dhu,

Dodha dhu,

Movntha arenldh dhu,

Fevé myrvlodha.”

Fire danced a hair from her and Meline, who lay stunned in her arms, blood trickling from her nose. But not a tongue touched them. They should both have vaporised in white-hot flames, but Ella just felt… warm. And the shapes the flames took! Daisies, roses, violets, cherry and apple blossoms every colour of the rainbow. Foliage and flowers so thick she almost missed the little shape before her, fingers plucking, head upturned, right hand actually touching the inferno curling about them. The song she had sung at the wedding was soft and rich on her lips. Ella could have been deaf and heard the magic in it.

Meline stirred. Ella gave her a tiny shake, and pointed. After a moment, Meline covered her mouth with one hand.

Umthefmy dhu,

Umdlommy dhu,

Fa, frunmysh dhu,

Umfrnmysh vrur nenr dhu,

Fevé myrvlodha.”

The blasting flames tapered off as Selva sang the last line. Chultaroth stood before them, panting. Her eyes widened; Ella would never forget that look of slack-jawed awe.

Selva finished her song, tottering on her feet. Vaness caught her before she struck the ground. The flames, as if at the snap of a finger, went out. Vaness picked Selva up, and backed away.

But for the crackling of the remaining fires, there was silence. Meline struggled to her feet. After she got the spear upright, Ella joined her, using it as a crutch. She opened her elytra, ready to fly in an instant.

“How… interesting,” Chultaroth said. It sounded forced. “It’s been fun, but I profess myself bored. How do you smallfolk taste with—”

“Give it up!” Meline shouted, resetting her nose with a small crunch.

Ten pupils focused on her. “Pardon—”

“You’re spent. You can’t keep fighting. Leave now, and we won’t kill you.” Ella saw shapes rising all around. One might have been Sali, Arthur another; all black and grey with ash.

“I’m not going any—”

“Has it not sunk in yet?” Meline took a step forward. Ella saw her leg tremble; she doubted the dragon noticed. “You haven’t killed even one of us, worm. We are picking ourselves up. We are rallying our strength. And if you aren’t gone in five minutes, we’ll bury you.”

“Call me ‘worm’ one more—”

“Shut! Up!” Meline roared. Several drakles jumped. “I will call you worm until you deserve better!” She stalked straight at those eyes. The force of them was waning fast. “You don’t know Oak and Stone’s history, ignorant beast. We know what dragons can do. And we know they can be killed. Since its inception, this town has prepared for your wings on the horizon. Had you stooped on the town, you would’ve gotten six harpoons in the guts for your trouble.

“We fought for our freedom once, long ago. We fought for our lives. We know tyranny, we know your style of self-congratulating theft.

“And even if you kill us here, now, our places will be taken. We will rise up again, and again. And again. Until you leave. Or we mount your skull on the lighthouse as a warning to all your kind.”

She was at Chultaroth’s nose. The dragon’s forelegs trembled; Ella suspected it was from more than exhaustion. Chultaroth snorted; nothing came out, not even smoke. Her eyes widened the instant before Meline kicked her in the lip. Chultaroth recoiled.

“Try again! I’m ready! In fact,” Meline looked about her, “we’re all ready.” Ella scanned the clearing. The crackling flames and smoke had hidden the approaching defenders. They stood at the edge of the trees. Most were fey and drakles and the little creatures. But four more foxes, and badgers, and other creatures besides, waited. In the trees were pterosaurs, their riders invisible in the gloom.

“Who…” Chultaroth’s head snapped quickly around, “Who are you?”

Meline barked a laugh. Her hand went to her torc. “I?” Ella was too far away to tell, but Meline’s grin sounded savage. “I am the Wild Rose. Now get out of my sight.”

Chultaroth held her gaze. Meline returned it unwavering. Finally, Chultaroth spread her wings until the death and blood tattooed on her skin stretched translucent. With a flap and a pained grunt, Chultaroth pushed off. Another, and she was almost above the trees. Ella limped to Meline, who refused to collapse until the last wingbeat faded away.

 Meline gradually woke to the smell of Ella’s hair, and one powerful arm draped over her. She squinted. Two soft grey eyes peeked out from behind a curtain of crisp blonde. “Good evening, sleepy,” Ella said. She nuzzled Meline’s nose and kissed her. “How’re you feeling?”

“Well,” Meline’s throat felt like she hadn’t used it in a month. She tried to sit up, and bit back a curse. “Like I got hit by a cart.” She flopped back’ looking up at the cottage ceiling. “I haven’t been this stiff in ages.” She looked out. The sun was setting again. “How long was I out?”

Ella sat up and called. “Selv! How long was Melmom asleep?”

Feet pattered, the door swung open, and Selva sprang across the bed. Ella let out a squawk as Selva crawled into Meline’s arms. “Thirty-two nights!”

“Thirty—” Meline bit back another curse. She’d let one slip in front of Selva a while ago. The child had eventually dropped it.

“You pushed yourself,” Ella said, running a hand through Meline’s hair. “In twenty three thousand years, I’ve never seen anything like it.” She nuzzled Meline’s head. “You were amazing.”

Meline nuzzled back. Selva adjusted her place in Meline’s lap. The movement pulled the blankets sideways, revealing Ella’s cast. Meline looked up at her. “Who—”

“A drakle nurse in town here,” Ella said, noticing Meline’s gaze. “It itches something fierce, and her re-positioning the bone fragments was…”

“Elmum had a cloth in her mouth when they did it!” Selva said. “She cried lots!”

“You weren’t there! And there’s nothing wrong with crying!”

“Vaness told me!”

“Anyway,” Ella said, “I may have been a bit reckless in my recovery, and started walking too soon, and…”

“Your muscle turned to bone,” Selva said.

“Who’s telling the story, Selv?” Ella said, touching her nose in admonishment. Selva scrunched tighter against Meline. “Anyway, yes, so they removed that, and said if I didn’t listen, they’d amputate.” Her smile was crooked. “I’m fairly sure they were joking.”

Meline ruffled Ella’s hair. “You’re an idiot. And lucky. I would’ve slapped you upside the head and tied you to a rock for a week.”

“I know.” Ella chuckled. “But I’ve got the hang of my crutches, now.”

A thought occurred to Meline. “Speaking of crutches, where’s that spear?”

“The guildmasters are crafting a sheath for it,” Ella said, “and then it’ll rest in town hall until it’s needed again.”

“They haven’t gifted it to you? You pulled it from the dragon’s belly.”

Ella shook her head. “The wind told me it’ll be needed here.” She looked out the window. “I have many weapons in my armoury, Meline. The only one I didn’t make with my own hands was the sword my teacher gave me when I left her. Besides, that spear is the stuff of legend.”

Meline raised an eyebrow. “Legend, you say?”

Ella nodded. “I’ve examined it while you were asleep. The mayor sent for some loremasters. They’re translating the inscriptions. But Meline, that spear is old. As in a million years or more. There’s similarities to the oldest Feyish writings I’ve seen, but it’s either even older than that, or the inscriptions are in a language other than Feyish. The songs written about it have likely been lost.”

Selva shifted. “Well,” Meline said, giving Selva a kiss on the forehead, “no one will forget your song any time soon, Selva.”

Ella threw her head back and laughed. “Nevermind! Selva’s the hero of the night! The miracle child who turned dragonfire to flowers with song!”

“It just… happened,” Selva said. Her face heated up under Meline’s hand.

“Well, it’s a good thing it did,” Ella said, leaning forward and giving Selva a kiss. “You saved many lives, my dear.”

“Couldn’t any fire fairy do it?”

Meline scratched her chin. “… Yes. With a song. Words of power won’t break a dragon’s control over her own fire. But not many fire fairies your age could do that.” She hugged Selva tight. “You still did something amazing. So for a while, at least, you’ll have to put up with folks calling you… Dragonsong?”

Ella snorted. “That is precisely the name everyone’s using. And you’ll never guess what I—”

“Dragonspear?”

Selva laughed. Meline did too, at the look on Ella’s face. “So how long do we have before they kick us out of the cottage? I imagine Sali would put us up.”

Ella laughed again. “Meline.” She took Meline’s shoulders in her hands. “We saved Oak and Stone. I pulled a spear from a dragon’s throat. Selva bent dragonfire to her will. You punched a dragon in the face! We have numerous assurances that we’ll be put up here for ten thousand years, on the town’s coin, if we want. Though I’d rather head home as soon as I can ride. So… do you want tea and barley cakes?”

Meline’s stomach, waking up after over a month, howled. “Yes,” Meline squeezed Ella’s hand and gave her a kiss, “I want them very much.” She levered herself out of bed, and shuffled around to help Ella, who seemed perfectly comfortable hefting herself onto her crutches. “Anything else happen while I was asleep?”

Ella’s mouth was open when Selva all but shouted, “Elmum widdled on a rock!”

“On a…”

“Stop stealing my news!” Ella laughed, aggressively ruffling Selva’s hair. Selva ducked behind Meline.

“When will we know the result?” There was only one reason any fairy—let alone the bashful Lord of Oakhill—would squat on a rock. A moonstone, Meline guessed.

“As soon as Vaness—” Hooves clattered on the gravel path, and feet hit the ground before the clattering stopped. Selva scampered to open the door. And nearly wore it as Vaness barged in.

“Auntie El! Auntie—” she set a hand on Selva’s shoulder to steady the girl. She was breathing hard, like she’d ridden at full gallop.

“Well?” Ella said. She stood up straight on her good leg.

Vaness didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. Her nod said everything.

Meline shrieked. She simultaneously threw herself into Ella’s arms, and stopped herself from doing so. The wash was she banged her right knee on the corner of the kitchen table. She laughed and cried tears of wild joy while pounding the table in pain. Ella and Vaness pulled her upright. Through her tears, she saw Ella grinning and crying, too. Meline put a hand on Ella’s belly, taut with laughter, and prayed no more excitement would visit until this little one was born.

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #nectarmoon #part 3 #chapter 47 #my original work #fantasy #backyard fantasy #fae #fey #fairies #healing #lgbtqia+ #magic #elemental magic system #strong female protagonists #y'know #even when dragons are evil #they're really fun characters to write #plus meline being a bamf will always be a blast ;)

[johobi]

When You Least Expect It | 06

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung 

Word count: 11.4k

Warnings: sexy groping, very lewd language >:D 

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: Writing this chapter nearly claimed my life. I wrote it all in one day and then spent two days editing it because I want to die young, apparently. I hope you enjoy it!

Next: 07 || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

“Don’t touch that,” the chilly admonishment came from behind you. Despite being accustomed to Yoongi’s imperious barking, you jumped, your fingers recoiling from one of the many sliders dotting his expensive equipment. It wasn’t your fault it looked so fun to play with.

You turned to greet him with wide, awestruck eyes, the two of you surrounded by his new production suite. How you’d found yourself wandering into – and so brazenly trespassing on – his elaborate studio was beyond you. Perhaps you had a rather pressing death wish? “This is ridiculously impressive,” you gushed, drawing your words out as you turned, astonished, on the spot. “How much did all this cost? Dude, you’ve come a long way from your bedroom studio days.”

He folded his arms. That was strike two.

“Exactly, so don’t mess with what is too far above your measly pay-packet to understand,” he hissed, and you felt the familiar creep of ice enveloping the room. “I don’t let anyone in here for a reason.”

Your bottom lip protruded in supplication. “Even me?”

“Especially you,” Yoongi deadpanned without a second of hesitation. “You’re the clumsiest of them all.”

After considering his words, you shrugged. It was a fair point. “True. I’ll leave, then, before I anger His Lordship any further.”

Two beady, carob eyes watched your departure, when he called after you. “Where’s your date?”

You clutched your phone in the absence of Jungkook’s hand. The device had remained affixed to your palm all evening, warming it in lieu of him. “He’s in a meeting, so we had to come separately. He’ll be here in half an hour or so, hopefully.”

Yoongi raised his head in a half-nod of acknowledgement. Then, expelling a sigh that duly conveyed his reluctance, he unfurled his arms in an attempt to soften his demeanour. Nothing could really do that, in all honesty, but you could see that he was trying. You knew what was coming; how stilted this conversation was going to be for him. “How is it going with him?”

There wasn’t even any need to concoct some half-truth for him. Your answer came to you as simple and as true as the emotion behind it. “Really well,” you exhaled, a quiet smile weakening the obstinate line of your mouth.

You weren’t sure what you had expected to see in him from your declaration, but it certainly wasn’t the surprise you saw there now. “Oh?”

He was weirding you out a little. “Uh, yeah. Why? Were you expecting it to go horribly wrong?”

His face settled into its natural state of being: narrowed eyes and an embellishing smirk. “Not at all. Well, maybe. I thought it might take you a few tries to find someone, but this is good. You deserve it,” he added awkwardly.

You were poker-faced. “Thanks for your faith.”

You flashed back to your debriefing with Hoseok a few days ago. After spilling the intimate, inelegant details of your date with Jungkook to him – the unwelcome advent of Taehyung included – you’d cornered him into confessing just what the purpose of his drunken, indirect interrogation game had been for. And it had, indeed, been for the sole reason of making it known to Yoongi just how willing and available he was. Unfortunately, nothing had come of it. Despite Yoongi’s initial shock – and poorly masked interest – their succeeding exchanges had contained none of the love-laden admissions you had been expecting. No, they had continued, unwavering, from their distinctly parallel paths, never to intersect.

So, you decided to tease what you could from him. Hoseok hadn’t prompted you to, of course, but you couldn’t resist a little well-meaning duplicity. “What about you, Yoongs?” you kept it casual, a mere polite inquiry into the goings-on of his life. “Got anyone special yet?”

Yoongi was far too sharp for his own – and your – good, though. If possible, his eyes narrowed further, decidedly suspicious. “Does it look like it? You know what I’m like. I haven’t got time for that.”

But you weren’t easy to intimidate. “I’m well aware. It’s just, I know someone who might be interested, and—“

“Who?” he piped up, raising a sceptical brow. “You don’t know anyone.”

Okay, you weren’t easy to intimidate, but he was a tough fucking customer. You stymied the urge to cower. “First of all, ouch. And second of all, fuck you.”

It was difficult for Yoongi to find interest in much, least of all your banal ambiguity. You knew you wouldn’t have him for long by the way his legs stirred into motion. “I’ve got to prepare stuff. I’m the host, after all.”

You pushed a hand to his chest to halt him, but the absolute disdain he regarded it with had you withdrawing it immediately. “I’m serious. Someone I know, likes you. A lot. So don’t close yourself off,” you advised him in your own meandering way. “Unless, you know, it’s not even your thing, if you know what I mean. But if it is, and you might be interested—“

He was already out the door. Before you could even heave a sigh of dejection, though, he popped his head around the threshold and hollered at you. “Get out, I’m locking this room. I don’t trust Taehyung not to vomit all over my set-up.”

After his miserly eviction of you, you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. You’d arrived early, because you knew you wouldn’t have had the chance to talk to Mr. Popular himself all evening before it started. And, yeah, good talk, as expected. But slinging superficial stings at each other was how your emotionally-compromised twosome communicated. Veiled behind the jabs and jibes was a genuine consideration for each other’s wellbeing. And you’d touched base, you’d ascertained that the two of you were both doing fine – very well, in fact. That was good enough for you.

You watched as he greeted the gradual inpouring of guests, none of whom you recognised. It was quite bizarre to you that someone as socially closeted as Yoongi would know so many people, and yet it made perfect sense if you considered the amount of time he spent collaborating and liaising with others for his work. It was a possibility, even, that some of these faces belonged to well-known industry or media persons, but your favourite place to live was under a rock. You were barely able to keep up with your daily life, never mind the business of other people’s.

Lacking the company of the usual suspects, food was your next best friend. So, of course, you made a beeline for Yoongi’s suitably minimalist, monochrome kitchen. If ever there were a physical, bedecked embodiment of his personality, it was here in this stark, empty room. Black, and white, and devoid of the extraneous – it was pure him. And, like him, you found it refreshingly honest; a rest for the senses in the face of the wearying décor others tried so hard to emulate their lacking personalities through.

But rather than find repose, you sailed into the teeth of the gale, instead. “Taehyung-ah?”

His mop of tawny hair fluttered at his starting. “_____?” your name was barely coherent around the gobful of fried chicken he was sporting. His hands, complicit in his misdeeds, held two pieces aloft. And you didn’t miss the way – as fleeting as it was – he ogled what you were wearing. You were sure he was unfamiliar with your dressing in such a way. Yes, tonight you had taken it upon yourself to wear one of those damnable thigh-skimming dresses that haunted your wardrobe, beckoning mothballs in their neglect, and thought, fuck it, I want Jungkook to get an eyeful tonight. And, if you were honest with yourself, maybe Taehyung, too.

You spluttered with laughter at having caught him up to no good. “Tucking in early, are we?”

Hastily swallowing his quarry, Taehyung returned his intended victims to their plates, withdrawing greasy-fingered and guilty-looking. You looked away as he – rather unnecessarily, in your mind – took to sucking the drippings away from his digits. He mumbled around his fingertips. “Don’t tell Yoongi, he’ll kill me. I was starving.”

“Your life-endangering secret is safe with me,” you snickered, approaching the island he was standing at and perching yourself atop one of the stools. “It’s been a while, huh?” you realised, your scant communication dawning on you. The run-in at the theatre certainly didn’t count as anything other than unfortunate and uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” Taehyung sighed, and his downcast eyes looked genuinely upset by the fact. “I don’t know how.”

It was a blatant lie, of course, because both of you knew full well how. He did well to paper over the cracks, but talking to you had become about as easy as extracting a holiday greeting from Yoongi. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

Your adoring puppy was back, enchanting you with his big, brown, desolate eyes. “I miss you,” he stated plainly, and your heart must have jumped two storeys for all the time it took for it to return, palpitating, to your chest. Taehyung was always so fucking free with his emotions; honestly, you envied and hated it both.

And if there was anything you hated more than that, it was the blatant waver in your voice. You prayed that it would go unnoticed. “I-I miss you, too. We should hang out really soon.”

“I’ll set a date, then, because it’s been so long since we had some one-on-one time,” that strangely assertive tone was back. “Are you working Wednesday evening?”

You raised your brows, ready to berate him. “Why only ask me if I’m working? I could be doing anything that evening. I’m interesting, you know.”

It was a joke, of course, but Taehyung’s expression flickered with something so forlorn that you almost reached out to comfort him. “Are you going on a date?”

Your heart made a false start. “No, why?” you razed your inhibitions and just fucking asked. “Does it bother you?”

Taehyung banished the suggestion with a brisk shake of his head. He looked utterly bewildered. “Not at all! No, please, don’t think that I’m unhappy that you’re with Jungkook. I’m so happy that things are going well. I just, I don’t know, I—“

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to have a heart attack. This was it, this is all you would’ve amounted to in life. A life of transgression and recurrent wrong turns. You hadn’t even gotten your damn degree yet!

“—I miss my friend. I miss hanging out, you know,” he expelled an aggressive puff of air.

Oh.

Had you really been expecting some grandiose pronouncement of love?

Don’t be so fucking naïve.

“Jungkook won’t take my spot from me, will he?” Taehyung pouted, and that had your head snapping up. Because holy fuck, how could this man flit so effortlessly between infantile vulnerability and charismatic confidence? He was even prodding his index fingers together, eyes glued to the countertop in diffidence.

Puerile? Maybe.

Adorable? Fucking yes.

“Taehyung-ah,” you began, your legs ready to carry you around the island and into an imminent hug. But he flapped his hands suddenly, dispersing the brume of sentimentality.

“Sorry, I’m being an idiot. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, or put you on the spot, or anything. I just – I really don’t want us to go back to how we were for years, you know? No texts, calls, visits – no nothing. I hated it, even though I was just as guilty of neglecting our friendship,” he blurted, and then you understood.

It hadn’t been jealousy, obviously. The odd looks you’d weathered at the theatre – they hadn’t been an intimation of some green-eyed monster lurking just beneath Taehyung’s surface. As keen as you were to see it so, it was nothing quite as thrilling as that.

He was just worried about losing his friend.

And that was entirely understandable; you’d not let anyone into your social circle for the longest time. Taehyung often flittered – the social butterfly that he was – from acquaintance to acquaintance, but he always returned to you. In your case, your attachments were measured, long-term investments and rare in occurrence.

You’d upset the norm, and he was reeling from that.

With that understanding, you rounded the island and secured your long-overdue hug. And it occurred to you, then, in the shelter of his embrace, just how different in build he and Jungkook were. Your arms hung a little more liberally around Taehyung’s willowy frame, but he encompassed you all the same.

All the better, a voice in the back of your head insisted.

You smothered it.

“Let’s meet next week, Tae. Let’s meet whenever you want. No-one could ever replace you,” you cooed, and he squeezed you all the tighter for it. What you hadn’t been expecting, though, was for him to rest his face atop your head. And, though it was subtle, it was indisputable.

An inhalation.

A contented sigh.

You stiffened in his arms. Did he just sniff your hair? Yes, you were familiar with each other, very familiar. Comfortably so. But he had never made so intimate a gesture before. Perhaps it was second nature to him? A mere extension of your embrace?

So why did you feel the gesture was far too cognisant of that shared only between lovers?

“Wednesday is okay, then? How about a night in with Netflix and some takeout, or something?” he released you, uncoupling your hands from behind his back when you hadn’t the mind to do so yourself. He unhitched you like a carriage hooked to a departing train.

You shot him a vibrant smile so he better felt your enthusiasm, then turned to pop open one of the numerous bottles of wine awaiting consumption. “That sounds good to me.”

Pouring yourself a glass, you glanced at Taehyung out of the corner of your eye to find his gaze affixed firmly to you. And though you thought – naively – that you were better prepared these days to shoulder such attention, a dormant thrill rallied to tinge your cheeks the hue of your wine. “What?” you muttered into the glass, your breath steaming the sides.

“You look amazing tonight,” he stated matter-of-factly. Inarguably, even. You would have tried, though, had it not been for the glimmer of challenge in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you wear anything like that.”

You took a swig of your wine. “No, because I stopped wearing stuff like this, ages ago. This is just one last hurrah before I throw out the things that I don’t want anymore. But, thanks,” you added, clearing the congestion from your throat that was definitely all to do with the alcohol and nothing to do with being the benefactor of such coveted praise.

Taehyung let out a breathy chuckle as he observed you. “You know, Yoongi will kill you for opening that prematurely, never mind me tucking into the chicken.”

Earthy tones burned the back of your nostrils. Who knew you were better at wine-tasting when you were choking on it? “Oh, fuck, what am I doing? I didn’t even realise. I’m far too used to cracking open bottles of booze, obviously.”

“Don’t become as absent-minded as me,” Taehyung warned, rewrapping the bottle with the foil you had so brazenly discarded. It didn’t look very convincing, however, so he surrendered with a sigh. “Oh well. Let’s just hide what we’ve interfered with before he kicks our ass.”

You both felt it before your heard it. A faint tremor quaked through the apartment, basically imperceptible but for the vibration it sent through the soles of your feet. “Holy shit,” you gasped, gawping at Taehyung. He was a mirror image of you as the bass rumbled through your innards.

“It wouldn’t be Yoongi if his sound system couldn’t disembowel you,” Taehyung grinned, bobbing his head vaguely with the rhythm of the music that began to filter to you.

“Mmhmm,” you agreed absently, finding the thumping beat hypnotic. Then, as though you had only just placed who he was and where you were, your eyes darted needlessly around the open-plan room. “Where’s Tara? Weren’t you going to bring her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Taehyung perked up at the mere mention of her name, and you regretted even asking. Maybe speaking of her evoked her. Maybe she would never materialise if you didn’t? You watched an adoring smile pull at the corners of his beautiful mouth. “She’s coming soon. She had to do overtime today.”

You were reminded that you knew absolutely nothing about the woman who had won, unknowing, the heart of the man you were devastatingly besotted with. “What does she do for a living?”

Taehyung puffed out his chest proudly, as though her life accomplishments added value to his own. “She’s a vet.”

Of course she was.

Perfect, pretty, prosperous.

And look at you.

Petty, parasitic, poor.

Her achievements were far more impressive than your choice of words might have you believe. But, again, you were petty. You couldn’t help it. “Cool,” and because you were petty, you wanted to keep Taehyung on his toes despite the fact Jungkook posed no threat whatsoever to him. In any capacity. “Jungkook is on his way, too.”

To your immense delight, Taehyung’s face fell. Only a fraction, of course, but now you were aware of his insecurity, you couldn’t help but dangle such a delicious carrot before him. Cruel? Probably. You’d angst over it later, for sure. “Oh, I didn’t know you’d invited him. That’s cool, maybe I can get to know him a little better.”

The idea didn’t appeal to you much at all. The man who held your heart, and, obliviously, the man who had to capture it from him? He’d have to kill him first, probably. “Yeah,” was your non-committal response.

Yoongi entered the kitchen, and you both froze. It’s not like either of you had been doing anything suspect at that moment, but just the knowledge of your past discrepancies hung heavily, implicating, in the air around you. Luckily, the food and drink you’d touched and subsequently spoilt was relatively camouflaged amidst the cramped countertop, but the guilt of your actions may as well have been written in black marker across your foreheads. Also, the greasy sheen around Taehyung’s mouth probably didn’t help.

His eyes darted between the two of you, clearly calculating the extent of your misgivings, before he grunted an order. “As you both seem to think it’s acceptable to raid my pantry, you can help me bring some out to the dining table.”

Neither of you had to be told twice. You gathered up what you could in your arms and followed him out, exchanging a relieved look as you trailed behind him. Out in the open expanse of Yoongi’s living room slash dining room, the music reverberated all the louder. There wouldn’t be much conversing tonight, after all. Typical Yoongi. Still, the people milling and mingling appeared to revel in the atmosphere he’d created. The party had only officially started fifteen minutes ago but they were already laughing, clinking drinks and shouting anecdotes to one another. No-one had been so brave as to take to the dancefloor – an area Yoongi had designated two couches to eventually go, but for now it lay vacant. It was truly the centrepiece of the room; two steps leading down into a spacious, rectangular area that was currently devoid of furniture, but it was easy to see how chic it could ultimately be.

When Yoongi seemed satisfied with the hearty array of snacks and drinks you’d laid out, you huffed – or, rather, yelled over the music – at him. “May I have a drink now, My Lord?”

He waved you off with all the care of someone shooing a flight of pigeons from some crapped-on monument. “Go ahead.”

With impressive speed, your eyes discerned the bottle of the fanciest wine available and – a dab-hand with a corkscrew – made short work of opening it. Your stomach had been leaden with some vague discomfit since your encounter with Taehyung, and you were keen to alleviate it. You tipped the bottle to him when he followed you over to pour his own drink, and, although you couldn’t hear what exited his mouth, you were sure it were his thanks. Downing a generous amount of your glass, you smacked your lips, refreshed, the liquid swaddling your insides on its way down. That adequately relaxed you.

Mid-tip-toe and stretching to whisper into Taehyung’s ear, he jerked away from your advance to throw one of his goofily exuberant waves to someone he’d seen across the room. He left without a word, your eyes following the path he waded through the throng of partygoers.  And you knew exactly who would be standing there, looking – yep, now that you could see her, without a doubt – like fucking Cinderella. A gorgeous, form-fitting, white cocktail dress adorned her slender body. You cast a sorry glance down at your racy attire and knew you would never possess an ounce of the class she exuded. Taehyung didn’t even look back at you.

At least you had your wine.

Your phone buzzed.

And you had Jungkook, right?

[19:20] Jungkook i’ll be there in a few minutes, sorry again for being so late!

Right. And breathe out.

You tapped a reply.

[19:21] You don’t need to apologise when you gave me forewarning and constant updates, lol! Just get your ass here.

[19:22] Jungkook just my ass?

Your hand flew to your mouth to prevent the dribble of wine. Thankfully, you didn’t burn the insides of your nose in your attempts to repress a laugh, this time.

[19:23] Yeah. I really like it. It’s your ass I want to date, not you.

[19:23] Sorry if this is news to you.

[19:24] Jungkook but i… im so attached to this ass. were a package deal

[19:24] Jungkook cant we make it work somehow?

Without a doubt, you looked like a madwoman. Alone, clutching a glass of wine, and finding more entertainment in the glow of your phone than the people around you; they might have been staring, but you didn’t give a shit. You craved the levity, and Jungkook always provided.

[19:25] I’ll have to evaluate the rest of you very closely before I make my decision.

Risqué? Not really, not even now. This had become pretty standard. Innuendo and double-entendres were abound in your chatlog. Nothing despicably dirty had been exchanged – yet – but it was certainly building to something.

[19:26] Jungkook ill happily submit myself for inspection

[19:26] Jungkook how do you want me?

Okay, so perhaps Jungkook, against expectations, was treading that line a lot closer than you, but the important thing was, he never quite crossed it. The two of you teetered on the edge together, willing one to step first, to make that leap into the alluring pull of the void, but neither had. Yet.

You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on.

And unfortunately, as enthralling as your conversation was becoming, Jungkook couldn’t do much, from the confines of your phone, to erase the couple parting the crowd on their way to see you.

Your thumbs flew deftly across the screen, a sigh escaping you as you pressed ‘send’.

[19:24] We’ll have to revisit this conversation at another time. I have company. Get here quick! I’m in hell!

You’d gleaned from Jungkook that he’d also been hesitant about attending the party, although his plight was far more sympathetic than yours. He didn’t know anyone, and he professed himself to be a wallflower, just like you. With Yoongi playing host and Hoseok’s non-arrival, you wouldn’t have anyone to speak to for a while. Taehyung, having paired off for the night, wasn’t going to be a viable option in the long-run, either.

Mingle? Hah!

“____!” you could just about hear the tinkle of Tara’s voice over the stomping bassline. You weren’t prepared for it, so when she hugged you, you handled it with all the grace of a seldom-touched spinster. A stiff pat to the back was all you could offer her in return. She took a step back, holding your shoulders, taking in your choice of dress. You fidgeted, uneasy. No, I’m not wearing Versace, or Gucci, or whatever the fuck you’re wearing, you seethed internally.

Why were you being such a bitch, though? It was entirely uncalled for.

“Tara,” you smiled, not even bothering to raise your voice so she could hear.

Taehyung seemed frustrated by the hindrance of the music. He shouted over the frenetic synth. “This probably wasn’t the best place to bring you to meet people, after all,” you saw, rather than heard, his sigh. He draped an arm around Tara’s shoulders to capture her attention. “Maybe I can get him to lower the volume a bit?”

You regarded him sceptically. “Really? I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you leaned in to buffer your words between the three of you.

Tara leaned in, too. “Don’t worry about it, Tae, seriously. I’ve got a good pair of lungs on me, I’ll make do,” and sure enough, you could make out her words without much effort. Your voice was embarrassingly weak in comparison and cracked when put under too much strain. “____, I’m sorry our first meeting was so rushed. Is your boyfriend with you?”

It felt peculiar to have Jungkook referred to as such. “We’re just dating right now, we’re not quite that far along. But, yes, he will be soon. He should be here any minute.”

Taehyung lowered his face to one of her pretty little ears and murmured something. You knew all too well what it was like to have the baritone of his voice penetrate your eardrums at such a proximity. Reminiscent of the bassline currently turning your skeletons to jelly, but endlessly more preferable. Feeling as though you were watching something intimate, you turned away, looking to the door hopefully.

Still no sign.

When you looked back, Taehyung had gone, and it was just the two of you. If only you knew, you thought, as you studied her pleasantly-set features. What I think about your boyfriend. You wouldn’t look so happy to see me, then.

She spoke clearly. “Tae’s told me a lot about you, but I bet he hasn’t mentioned me much, huh?”

Surprisingly, he hadn’t. He’d kept her rather close to his chest.

Figuratively and literally.

Lucky girl.

“Not really, but I think he just wanted to keep things under wraps until he was, uh—“  how could you word this? “—sure. He’s not usually one for long-running things. So, that must make you very special,” you smiled sweetly, and though your expression was saccharine rather than pure cane sugar, your last utterance was true. She must have been special to domesticate Taehyung.

“I hope he thinks so,” she reciprocated your smile, looking a little sheepish.

Ugh. She was still nice. Better add it to the list. Perfect, pretty, prosperous, pleasant.

Blah.

“He told me you’re a vet, but that’s about it,” you offered genially. Meeting new people was difficult, especially if they were the friends of your new beau. You didn’t want to be an asshole just because Tara was attached to a man you wanted for yourself. You had to be bigger than that. “How did you two meet?”

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” she began, her eyes twinkling in reminiscence. You were sure that it wouldn’t be. That, in fact, their love story had begun in one of the many sorry, sleazy clubs Taehyung frequented. That she had simply been considered, on their first meeting, as another prospective notch on his battered bedpost. Without meaning to, you allowed the music to drown out her story – effusively retold with facial expression and hand gestures alike – and got lost in your own introspection.

That was, until you spotted the only person you cared to see this evening. Jungkook stood at the front door, scanning the faces of the people present. He didn’t look shy, or unsure, though.

He looked like a man on a mission.

It rallied you into interrupting Tara. “I’m sorry, Tara, to stop you–“ you weren’t at all sorry—“I’ve just got to see my boyf—Jungkook. He’s just arrived, I can see him.”

She looked round and lit up in recognition. “Oh, yes, of course! Go ahead, I’ll go see where Taehyung got to.”

Honestly, you’d wanted this moment to be like that scene from Romeo & Juliet – the Leonardo DiCaprio one, of course, because he was hot as fuck in the 90s. You, a few years younger, and Jungkook – perhaps a few years older – as star-crossed lovers, your first glimpses of each other being through the aqueous window of a fish tank. And your only means of communicating your captivation with each other played out in fervid, desirous eye contact.

As it was, you stomped your way through the horde of revellers, not having the patience for such sensibilities. When you reached him, his arms opened wide and you flung yourself into them willingly. In what was, you were sure, a deliberate showcase of his strength, he lifted you from the floor and span you on the spot, and you wished you had been wearing something a little more fairytale, then. Your skirt could fan out in an aesthetically pleasing way, and everyone would clap like it was the end of a romance movie. You know, when the two leads inevitably got together. In reality, your hazardously short skirt instead began to ride up, and you had to clap your hands down on it to prevent its progression. “Jungkook, stop,” you giggled merrily. “I’ll puke at this rate.”

Gingerly, he placed you back down. And for a short, quiet moment, devoid of the headache-spurring beat, it was just the two of you. This was your actual hello, this bubble that no-one could pop. His hands, no longer in contention with the leather jacket he had gifted you on your date, moulded to your curves. For all the thickness – or lack thereof – of your dress, he might as well have had his palms on your bare skin, so malleable were you in his grip. He dug his fingertips into the meat of your hips, and although his eyes shone nothing but an innocent radiance for having seen you, his touch told of the mounting, fizzing tension.

As always, there was someone on hand to break the spell.

Yoongi rocked up, you were sure, to inspect rather than introduce, and extended his hand toward Jungkook. “You must be ____’s new squeeze. Jungkook, right?”

Your forehead creased incredulously as you mouthed the word. Squeeze?

Jungkook took his hand and, with a firm shake, confirmed his suspicions. “That’s right. And you must be either Yoongi or Hoseok.��

Yoongi fixed you with an apathetic look. “She didn’t even specify? I see how it is.”

“Funnily enough, Yoongi, you didn’t really come up all that much. I wonder why?” you shot back, folding your arms across your chest. When you noticed the concern marring Jungkook’s boyish features, you were quick to allay his fears. “Don’t worry, this is just how we are. It’s not a fight, more like a weird, insulting, verbal hug.”

Yoongi’s eyes were still trained on Jungkook. “That’s one way of putting it. _____ seems very taken with you,” he commented casually, unmoved when you gave his shoulder a chastising swipe.

“Yoongi! What the fuck, don’t say weird shit like that. If you’re just going to embarrass me, I’m going to avoid you all night,” you hissed. You may as well have had fangs for all the venom you injected into your words.

Of course, he was nonplussed. Jungkook, though, must have been looking at you, because you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin. “Taken with me, huh?” he chuckled. You couldn’t look at him. “Thanks for the intel.”

Yoongi gave him an icy smile. Icy because he was incapable of conjuring any warmth to his face, not because it was disingenuous. “You’re most welcome. I’d like to get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have a lot of guests to entertain tonight.”

You cut off Jungkook and squared up to Yoongi. “Then why are you hovering by the door? Waiting for someone in particular?” your eyes flashed triumphantly when his head whipped around in mild alarm. “Oh, I wonder who it is?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yoongi snapped, taking his leave. He sidled up to Jungkook to impart one last piece of infuriating advice. “You’ve got your hands full with this one.”

You seethed as you watched him disappear into the welcoming crowd, and turned hesitantly to Jungkook. He looked rather amused. “I do, but I like what I’m feeling,” he snickered. And, as usual, your biggest tell defied your downplayed reaction – your cheeks burned bright ruby, and Jungkook’s grin only broadened in response. He put his lips close to the shell of your ear – unnecessarily so – and whispered. “Shall we get a drink?”

All you could manage was a wooden nod before you dragged him into the fray. Some of Yoongi’s guests had finally taken to the dancefloor and were letting loose. Jungkook surveyed them with interest and yelled to you. “Do you want to dance later?”

For some reason, that surprised you. You hadn’t expected the timid Jungkook to be so inclined. He wasn’t quite the wallflower he had made himself out to be, then. You wanted to see how he bloomed. “Sure,” you called back over your shoulder, leading him to the drinks table. “This isn’t really my type of music, but I’ll make do.”

You handed him a glass and poured the wine he gestured to. White, unlike your red. Your differing tastes intrigued you. Some might argue such trivial details were inconsequential, but to you, they were a pleasure to behold. Unravelling Jungkook had become one of your favourite pastimes.

He leaned back against the table, then, and you stood before him, coy, knowing well that he was taking the opportunity to fully digest what you were wearing. As if he could read your mind, he voiced his approval. “I like it,” he murmured, his eyes lingering a little too long on the exposed skin of your lower thighs. “I like it very much. Damn—”

“Oh, stop it,” you gushed, pushing at his shoulder playfully. “Stop complimenting me all the time, I might just start to believe it.”

“Good, that’s all I want,” he shrugged, inclining his glass to you with a wink. “My ultimate goal in life.”

“We need to find you some better goals, then,” you rebuffed him gently. His persistent praise was beginning to get through to you, though. You almost said thank you this time. “Like getting back into your photography! Listen—“ you insisted, when he eyed you dubiously. “No, listen, what if we go hiking for our third date? We both like it, and I know some lovely places. Bring your camera, I’ll bring my shitty iPhone camera, and we can have, like, a photography competition. What do you think?”

He was level with you. “I think this is just a ploy to get me to do what you want. You’re determined to get me back into it, aren’t you?” he poked an accusatory finger into your chest. Despite his apparent reluctance, he was buoyant. How was he so damn happy all the time? Was it really you? “I have no reason to pick up my camera again.”

“You do,” you insisted, standing over him and tracing absent circles above his knees with furtive fingers. The corners of your mouth turned down into a sulk. “I want you to.”

When you heard The Sigh, you knew you’d won. Jungkook was always far too eager to please, and for this one thing, you were happy to exploit it. You knew from experience just how desaturated, how tedious life could become when you were forced to abandon your favourite pursuits.

Jungkook gently seized your wrists and held your hands out before him, halting your inkless defacement of him. He, in turn, reproduced the gesture, marking invisible hearts into your twitching palms. They weren’t even erogenous zones, were they? So why was he reducing you to jelly? “I can’t say no to you,” he admitted, even though it was as plain as the shapes he rendered. “Hiking does sound fun, though.”

It was unfeasible to find yourself more than two feet away and still audible above the music, and yet Taehyung’s lively “There you are!” somehow transcended the forces of drum ‘n’ bass and had both you and Jungkook turning to look. You withdrew your hands from him hastily, catching a glimpse of the confusion bunching his eyebrows when you turned to acknowledge your best friend. Whose date, of course, was trailing obediently behind him.

Why did you keep forgetting? They were a thing now, they were a 2-for-1. A brand new entity, basically.

You ousted the frown quickly dominating your features in favour of a tepid smile and motioned for them to come and join you. Jungkook rose from his slouch and inclined his head at their approach, offering his hand to Tara. “I didn’t get a chance to properly introduce myself the other day,” the tips of his teeth emerged in a smile when she took it.

God, it was hard not to glower. One of your eyes twitched under the strain of suppressing it. Your possessiveness may as well have manifested in the form of bared teeth and territorial hissing for all the suspicion with which you regarded her.

“I’m Jungkook.”

Seriously, though. Who the fuck wouldn’t fall in love with those fucking teeth? Could she still not see them?

“Tara,” she smiled politely, releasing him – to your relief –  from her grip. “Lots of new faces, tonight,” she mused. “Difficult to keep up with them all.”

Something intrigued you. “Did you meet Yoongi yet?”

Tara seemed a little flustered. “Yeah. He’s, uh,” she looked to Taehyung for help, but his attentions were elsewhere. “Interesting.”

You addressed Taehyung directly. “Was Yoongi an asshole?”

His eyes snapped to you. “A little more than usual.”

Maybe he didn’t like her after all? But, why? She was everything good in the world wrapped up into one, pristine person-shape.

Tonight was full of surprises. One of the biggest was when you found yourself reaching out to pat her hand consolingly. “Don’t worry about him, he’s notoriously difficult to get along with, or even just generally stay civil. He likes to provoke.”

That seemed to quell her worries somewhat. “I’ll bear that in mind, thank you.”

You watched the man in question from afar, deep in conversation with the person you intuited to be the reason for his loitering near the door.

Hoseok.

He was, as usual, animated in his speaking, and for once, Yoongi looked as though he was making a genuine effort to appear attentive. It warmed your cold, dead heart to see – what you wanted to believe – a tender new love blooming. If Yoongi was even capable of such foreign feelings, that was.

Despite the relentless pulse buffeting your ears, an awkward silence befell your group. Mostly because Taehyung seemed absorbed by his very directed anger. You were well-acquainted with his sullen tendencies. And, admittedly, you’d always found it rather hot. Those thick brows, slanted and severe, hardening his winsome eyes? Taehyung was king of The Smoulder.

You faintly remembered him avowing his intention to know Jungkook better, so you tugged on his sleeve to get his attention. When you had it: “How come you get to skip out of staff meetings but Jungkook doesn’t?”

You felt the man in question go rigid beside you, presuming the ambitious gulp of bitter wine he had just taken to be its cause. Taehyung, several glasses in and a little beside himself with irritation, was only half-listening. “What are you talking about? There was no meeting today.”

Jungkook was quick to explain. “It wasn’t a formal meeting, more just a little get-together of TAs to sound off against each other,” he avoided eye contact with Taehyung and muffled his following words with his glass. “Moan about work, that sort of thing.”

That had his attention. “So it wasn’t really a work meeting,” Taehyung quirked a brow, but he seemed tickled more than anything. “Did anyone bitch about me?”

Jungkook seemed to relax again, the backs of his thighs hitting the table. “Honestly? No, everyone there loves you. How does it feel to be everyone’s favourite?”

Taehyung’s eyes danced peculiarly. He seemed to have interpreted Jungkook’s words differently. “You tell me.”

In all honesty – yes, Yoongi was terrifying when angry, and yes, Hoseok was too, for different reasons. Mainly because it was more disappointment than ire, and you never wanted the disapproval of your favourite son. But Taehyung, enraged, was something else altogether. You could count the amount of times it had happened on one hand for all its rarity. And you had a sixth sense for when he was about to turn. A preternatural tingle zigzagged your spine, heralding his imminent transition from puppy to rabid, rabies-infested hound.

The first time you’d seen it, you’d been 15.  And Taehyung, a tender 12 years of age, but having already eclipsed you in height. There’d been a boy who you’d put in his place on multiple occasions for bullying one of your friends that, one day, decided to push you, in plain sight of Taehyung, to the ground. The cowardly attack had been launched from behind, so you’d been none the wiser – but Taehyung saw it unfold. And you’d never seen him consumed with such rage. Such brilliant, blazing fury.

He’d still been that awkward, gangly kid, but he taught you the value of not judging a book by its cover that day. Nor should the boy have judged its slightly misaligned spine, or its cheap, tattered bindings. With admirable strength had Taehyung hoisted him by his arms and legs and let him drop to his awaiting knee with a sickening crack. Okay, so the two of you may have been in the clutch of your WWE phase at the time, and no, the warnings imploring young children not to replicate such moves at home had not been heeded. Thankfully, the boy was bruised but otherwise unharmed, and he left you well alone after that. You still recalled the way your heart had been all aflutter at the thought of a boy protecting you, not the other way around. It’d been incredibly novel.

The second time had been shortly after you dropped out of your first university course. Your parents, who up until that point had displayed nothing but a pernicious apathy for your general existence, did a complete 180 and demolished you with a flurry of acerbic criticism. How you were such a disappointment, that they’d put up with your miscreant friends and shameful behaviour because you were still going somewhere, still in the system. When you’d abandoned it to start afresh, they’d rallied against you. Finding yourself overwhelmed by their reproval, you’d fled to the rotted ruins of your and Taehyung’s hideaway and sat there, swathed in forested silence, sobbing to yourself. Questioning where and how it had all gone so wrong.

How he’d found you, you still had no idea – but he did, a few hours later. First, he was concerned. Then, at seeing you so hysterical, panicked. And after coaxing some jumbled, sob-strangled ramble about your parents hating you, his face changed. Just as it had the first time. God, you’d been scared. Not of him, but of what he might do.

So when he ran, cursing, in the direction of your house, you’d trailed after, tearful and begging him not to say, not to do anything, but he hadn’t listened. When you arrived, mud-scuffed and panting, he already had them at the front door and hurling endless abuses at them. Having regarded Taehyung as your only one, decent friend, they’d merely stood there, gobsmacked at his audacity, receiving the torrent of his ire. And when he was done, he dragged you with him as he left, imploring you to stay the night with him.

The next day, he helped you look for employment and rentals in the city proper. Until you were able to secure such things, though, your parents tolerated your presence, but spoke no further words to you. That, at least, had been preferable to the bile they had been spouting before.

You owed Taehyung so much.

So to see the familiar flicker in his eyes, now, as he watched Yoongi like a bird of prey, it disquieted you. He was angry for Tara’s sake, now. She now held his leash in her perfectly manicured hands.

No-one had responded to his ambiguous statement in the excruciatingly long 3 seconds that had passed since. Luckily, Taehyung didn’t appear to want to stick around to get to know Jungkook any longer. “Let’s catch up another time,” he muttered, barely audible. Then, guiding away an apologetic-looking Tara, he disappeared from view.

“What was that about?” Jungkook sounded aggravated. Now that was a dimension to him that you hadn’t had the pleasure of encountering yet. Certainly, even that was attractive. Everything about him was. When he wrinkled his nose in exasperation, the same impulse to handle him in the way you would your childhood pets when they were being sickeningly cute overcame you. You know, squish his face, pat his head, shower him with kisses—

“I’ve no idea,” you sighed, the both of you still staring after the trail he’d blazed. “Well, I have some idea. I think Yoongi said some off-colour things to Tara and that’s angered him. Don’t take anything he said personally, he seemed off as soon as he came to us. Earlier, he expressed an interest in getting to know you better, so.”

Jungkook’s chest deflated in relief. “Oh, okay. I clearly can’t read the situation as well as you. I thought he was being aggressive with me for some reason.”

“Why would he? He likes you. He suggested you to me, remember.”

He raised his brows in consideration. “True. Still, I know you’re close, and I don’t want him to feel threatened, or anything.”

Wow. Despite his attestations to the opposite, Jungkook was rather perceptive. “I don’t think that’s it,” and you were telling the truth – you’d already settled that with Taehyung earlier. It had been more an insecurity than an actual, manifest feeling. “I think he wanted his introductions to go perfectly, because he likes Tara so much. And Yoongi has kind of soured that, and I really don’t know why,” you cupped your chin, staring into your dwindling drink. “He didn’t even invite her in the first place.”

This was new information to Jungkook. “Oh? Maybe they have some history or something?”

“Nah,” you waved a hand dismissively. “They would be avoiding each other like the plague, if that were the case. It would be hard to keep up that sort of charade. I don’t know, it’s a mystery. Maybe he just took a disliking to her with that people-hating sixth sense of his.”

“I’m going to need you to elaborate,” he chuckled, topping up your glass.

And that is how you spent the next 2 hours. Mostly in the kitchen, where it was easier to converse, swapping stories and informing on your friends. In that time, Hoseok had made Jungkook’s acquaintance, and, mercifully, that had come to pass without any drama. Dare you even say, Hoseok was a little too enthused to meet him, and when he left, the two thumbs up he threw you were only narrowly missed by Jungkook.

The drink flew thick and fast, and before you could blink, you’d finished a bottle and several extra glasses between you. Neither of you were blotto, exactly, but you swayed a little on your feet – to your colossal amusement. Jungkook, on the other hand, was still rather composed, if a little glassy-eyed. You studied him. “You take your drink well. But then, you are built like a brick shit-house, so.”

That fucking witch cackle of his. “I’ve never heard anyone describe me quite like that, but thanks. Hey,” you tripped over his feet when he pulled you close, and you fell into a fit of hiccupping giggles on your way to faceplant the floor. For the second time in a week, he hauled you up like a cumbersome toddler and you slumped against him, your faces close enough to exchange wine-sweetened breath. “Do you want to go and dance?” he gave you a once-over and his mouth twitched into a smirk. “Or are you really that drunk?”

You smiled and made a show of straightening yourself and your dress. “I’m all here. I’m just exaggerating my lack of coordination because I love being pressed up against you. You can’t fault a girl that, can you?”

Your flirting provoked a predatorial glint in his eye. “Then let’s go and dance,” he concluded, his hand out and waiting for its other half.

And it didn’t wait long. Your interweaving fingers fastened perfectly. Examining your hands, it was plain. You were the lock, and he, the key.

He dragged you to the dancefloor, and you claimed him with a boisterous cuddle. A sigh escaped you when you felt the snake of his arms around your waist. They weren’t ones to wander, his hands; he played entirely within invisible, established rules and never faltered, no matter what you threw at him. You respected that. And although the music – which you were sure would have deafened you by the morning – wasn’t the sort to dance slow to, the two of you were far too lost in your own world to give a shit about the drunken thrashing of those around you. Actually, dancing was a stretch. It was more a middle-school prom waddle. Nope, you weren’t too drunk for this.

When he grinned at you, you became shamefully preoccupied with the alluring shape of his mouth – that damnable Cupid’s bow in particular. You buried your face into his shoulder to thwart any unsavoury thoughts. You probably needed to see someone about this weird oral fixation.

But you knew it wouldn’t be long before you had to kiss him. It wasn’t even a case of if, anymore, but when. You had to hold out until date three, though. That was a respectable number, right? Jungkook, the wine – they were plotting your downfall. Dulling your senses, blurring the lines. He was so fucking close, too; his lips a mere few inches to the right, if you turned your head. You must’ve had some sense left, though, because you weren’t even entertaining the thought of grinding all up in his business like you would’ve done in the past.

Okay, you might have been entertaining the thought. But you weren’t going to do it.

If you did, you’d be liable to fuck him in the middle of this damn party. And you absolutely couldn’t do that. Not because you were averse to voyeurism – secretly the idea thrilled you – but because Yoongi would give you hell for dirtying his silk oak flooring.

The gentle sway of your bodies threatened to lull you to sleep, but your tiny bladder – ever the thorn in your side – was preventing that. “I have to use the bathroom a sec,” you grumbled in irritation. When he refused to let you go, you collapsed weakly against him, your pitiful struggles fruitless.

Jungkook, bold as brass, brushed his nose against your ear. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

Shudder. Why did he have to play dirty when nature was calling?

“You want me to pee all over you? Are you into that?” you teased, and that had him releasing you.

A devious, dazzling grin. “Maybe when we get to know each other a little better.”

You left him with a wink, your lone pilgrimage to the bathroom seeing you bumped and jostled to near-injury. Luckily, you got there without much ado, but the line for it was long and you weren’t about to piss yourself in a queue. Glancing around surreptitiously, you made for Yoongi’s bedroom, knowing that no-one would chance using his en-suite. And, as per your calculation, the doorway was suitably vacant of awaiting patrons. Not even thinking to knock in your hazed state, you barged your way in and nearly vomited when your vision landed on the couple. Or, more accurately, the mesh of exposed flesh, obscured hands and open mouths.

That couple.

Taehyung and Tara.

All you could splutter was a horrified “S-sorry,” before you were turning on your heel. But it had been enough. Taehyung had seen you. Seen the way your eyes traitorously welled up. You heard him break away, his voice hoarse as he called after your fleeing figure, but you were already gone and far sober than you had been when you arrived at this fucking party.

God, you needed to get out of here. You needed an escape. The partygoers had merged into one nebulous mass of sweating, drinking bodies and you no longer had the will to make it through them. You were in need of a far more immediate relief.

And then you saw it.

The balcony Yoongi had delighted in showing you.

The pièce de résistance, the feature that had sealed the deal for him. The doors were already open and waiting, and mercifully devoid of people when you finally reached it. The cool air invigorated you, brought you back from the brink, settled your fraying nerves.

You dammed your tears with every enlivening breath and evened out your heartrate. It wasn’t a big deal, of course they did stuff like that. You couldn’t even bring yourself to elaborate past stuff, but yes, they did it, just like he did it with everyone else. Witnessing it in person, though, and in such proximity, was something you hadn’t been able to prepare yourself for. And Taehyung had seen your pathetic reaction. How would you be able to explain it away? Your brain was operating at half-capacity, right now. Far too slow to formulate its way out of such a conundrum.

When the panic abated, a feeling you were far too accustomed to set in. That sad, dull, ache of yearning that permeated everything in the end. Even your fairytale with Jungkook. You just wanted rid of it. You just wanted to be free! To live without fear of provoking it, of being ruled by it.

As if informed by some higher being of your unrest, an angel came to save you. “____?” it called, and you turned to beckon it, to wilfully accept its aid.

“Jungkook,” your smile was watery, weak, and he took your proffered hand the second you extended it. Concern painted his seraphic features but you were quick to smooth it away with your fingertips, a thumb caressing the curve of his brow.

He was still uncertain, calculating your difference in mood. “Noona?”

You steadied your voice. “Kiss me.”

Jungkook’s eyes flew absurdly wide. Clearly, he had not been anticipating this turn of events. “W-What?”

Your gaze, steely in its resolve, beseeched him. “Kiss me,” you repeated.

A lingering second.

And although hesitant at first, he reeled you in by your tethered hands, releasing you when you came to a stop in front of him. The subdued thudding from the party indoors aptly echoed the rhythm your overtaxed heart beat out as he scanned your face for uncertainty.

He found none.

Wetting his parted lips, he formed the most tender of cradles for the back of your skull, his hands soft, dutiful, urging you to relinquish control. To allow him handle you as he liked, to angle you, his face hovering directly, delectably above yours. He mapped the curve of your jaw with a thumb; featherlight, as though he held something precious, invaluable. And all the while, his eyes never wavered from yours. He consumed you, and you, him.

His mouth, suitably glistening with his ample preparation, drew closer, and you would not let anything come in between this. You willed it. This was your moment; you deserved this. For all the hell you’d been through, this was owed to you.

And with a quick swipe of your tongue, you took it. You closed the gap, you banished the air between you. At first, it was the gentle; the slide of unfamiliar lips, a tentative grazing of teeth, a heady exchange of laboured breaths. Then, it deepened, taking root, as did his hands when they buried themselves in your hair, tugging at your scalp. And the two of you grew, organically, around and into each other, eager mouths opening in recipience of one another’s enterprising tongues.

Oxygen fast deserting you, your connection severed only to heave in what you required to stay conscious. With burning lungs you adhered yourself flush to Jungkook, the weight and insistence of your needy body forcing him back into the nearby wall. And although this drove what remained of his air from his lungs, he did not separate from you.

No, he only delved deeper, publicising the full extent of his accumulated adoration for you. Your back bowed under the vehemence of your kiss; it became sloppy, grave in need, and was quickly spiralling out of control. It affected every part of you, leavening you for more. Every measured caress of your tangled tongues intensified the throbbing at your core. The urging of Jungkook’s solidifying cock told you he wanted more, and just as much. Woozy with want, you pawed at the impressive protrusion held captive in his pants and slickened tenfold at the delicious moan it elicited. You tore yourself free, just for a second, to whisper your admiration. “Oh, God, you’re so big,” you panted, and he couldn’t even bare to part from you for that. He possessed your mouth once more, the teeth you were so fixated with scraping your bottom lip as you struggled to surface again, a dire need to voice your desire. “I want you so bad,” you whimpered, and Jungkook groaned as though your words themselves had wound their way around his straining shaft.

“N-Noona,” he puffed out, voice sinfully tremulous. “I wanna fuck you,” and, oh, fuck, if that hadn’t sent a fresh deluge of arousal straight to your trembling pussy. “So much. Look what you’re doing to me.”

You disentangled one of his unwilling hands from your knotted hair and brought it to the hem of your skirt, ushering it into the forbidden, the succulent unknown. His eyes, already so glazed and unfocused you weren’t sure if he was still lucid, darkened precariously upon realisation of what you were doing. “Feel what you’re doing to me,” you murmured against his mouth, watching his giddy reaction. When you felt the tentative traipse of his fingertips along the expanse of your dampening panties, his eyes rolled back in his head. You compounded his findings with relish. “You’re making me so fucking wet.”

The noise he emitted had you clenching your thighs against his ambling fingers. It was pure, unabashed, wantonness. And he was overcome, absent in mind when you tilted his head freely to taste him again. How did he taste so fucking divine? It was like you were sampling the Nectar of the Gods, not the saliva of a guy you had known but three or so weeks. Did his spunk taste like liquid gold?

You weren’t aiming to make Jungkook come in his pants, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from petting his imprisoned length. Fuck, it was glorious. Hot, and turgid, and destined for your unworthy pussy. Every grunt, every mewl Jungkook produced; you greedily devoured it, before it could escape your coupled mouths.

This time, Jungkook was the one to tear himself away. “I-I gotta get you somewhere, and quick,” he panted, lips deliciously ripe and reddened.

You nodded your urgent agreement, but something incredibly important had you halting him. “Only if you promise to bite me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before your sense of decency could catch up.

He grew more wolfish. “I’ll do anything you ask of me,” and you knew that he would.

So, as you led him by the hand, like a succubus tempting some poor soul to his lascivious end, you thought no more about values and perceptions. Concepts so meaningless, so without bearing in the face of such raw, unadultered feeling.

The point of life was to feel something, right?

You wanted both to live, and to feel.

There was no simpler conclusion to come to.

“Oh, you’re out here!” a voice sounded from behind you, its tone raising comically towards the end of its sentence the more its source gleaned from the situation.

Well, it would have been comical had you not been in the middle of something extremely pressing.

Jungkook might as well have been The Flash for all the speed he demonstrated trying to conceal his very obvious boner. He twirled to face the balcony, but by the look on Hoseok’s face, it was already too late.

It was weird to hear him stammer so. “A-Ah, I’m sorry if I interrupted something. Uh, it’s just, T-Taehyung was worried about you, and—“

Wow.

Now he was sending people to ruin your life on his behalf.

“Whatever he wants, I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow,” you snapped, shooting the messenger.

Hoseok looked wounded. “Okay.”

Regaining some sense, you shook your head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Hoseok. I didn’t mean to lash out at you. Just tell Taehyung I’m fine, and I’m going home now, because I’m tired.”

His eyes wandered to your companion. “Tired?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, tired. Drunk, tired, done. The music is giving me a massive fucking headache. Remind me to send Yoongi the bill for the mountains of painkillers I’m gonna have to buy.”

“Sure,” he chuckled warily. “I’ll leave you two to it. Sorry,” he added with a hushed whisper to fully convey – if it hadn’t already been obvious enough – that he was cognizant of what his entrance had interfered with.

You turned back after a few, remorseful seconds to Jungkook, who was already walking towards you. No longer intoxicated by his entire being, you felt embarrassed at having been so red-blooded in such a public place. You dipped your head, but he wasn’t having that, he never was. He tipped you up by the chin and held you there by the will of his simmering eyes. The intensity had ebbed; died down into a flickering warmth. You both knew this dalliance had come to an end.

For now.

“Thank you for tonight, noona,” he whispered, tracing the outline of your swollen lips with a thumb. “I got a little carried away—“

“I think we’re both guilty of that,” you snorted, weary from alcohol and unconsummated lust. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”

Jungkook was very quick to agree. “Me too. I—“ he hesitated, eloquence still difficult. “I really, really can’t wait to see you again. I don’t even know if I can wait, this time,” he smiled. And after everything he’d said, everything he’d done with you tonight, saying this had him blushing.

So sweet. So horny.

“Then take care of it when you get home,” you offered simply, a wry smile rounding your lips. “I know I’ll have to.”

Jungkook’s mouth hung open at the heavy insinuation. No, it wasn’t even insinuation by this point. You no longer danced around it. “I’ll—“

“Mm?” you prompted.

“I’ll be thinking about you.”

You bit your lip. “Likewise.”

Fuck, it took so little for him to get you going. You could already feel the fire in your belly roaring to life anew, eager to be fed, eager to be sated.

And it would be, but not in the way you wanted, tonight.

You allowed him to guide you into one last, lingering kiss. “You go, I have to say goodbye to everyone.”

Jungkook nodded and rubbed your shoulders against the goosebumps forming on your skin. No longer enveloped in the warmth of each other’s arms, you began to feel a chill. “Did you bring my jacket?”

“Yes,” you chuckled, both touched and amused by his concern. “I’ll wear it to my car, don’t worry. Go.”

He couldn’t resist that one last peck on the cheek. And then he was gone, and your smile refused to wane, burning dents into your cheeks.

You shook your head a couple of times to make sure you had control of all your faculties, then re-entered the booming party that still appeared – despite the late hour – to be thriving. You swept around the room with wobbly legs, bidding your goodbyes to those that you knew, and some who you didn’t know that were too drunk to differentiate you from people that they did.

When you entered the kitchen, catching wind of the fresh, tense silence between Yoongi and Hoseok, it became obvious. There were now two people who knew what had transpired on the balcony. You sighed and retrieved Jungkook’s coat from one of the pegs lining the wall. “Look, gossip all you like, I don’t care. Just keep it between yourselves.”

Hoseok coughed, but said nothing. Yoongi, on the other hand, had less trouble voicing the problem. “We would, if that were any use. As it turns out, everyone had an eyeful of your drunken grope session. So,” he shrugged, as though the gesture satisfactorily completed his sentence.

You groaned, rifling through the jacket’s pockets to ensure that your car keys were still present. Yes, it was embarrassing, but you’d done worse in your long, regretful life, and it wasn’t like you knew the majority of the people here.

Plus, who cared? Jungkook was a good man; you were honoured to be seen with him. Yes, perhaps you should have taken issue with the manner in which you were seen with him, but again, you couldn’t find it in you to care. “That’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just need to get home, I’m wrecked.”

“You could have been,” Yoongi had to add. Because, evidently, he was just as insufferable as you when it came to snagging those pun opportunities.

“Yeah, great,” you muttered under your breath before you slung Jungkook’s oversized jacket around your shoulders and gave them both a quick peck goodbye. “Don’t call me early tomorrow, I’m gonna have a monster hangover, I can feel it. The fucking music didn’t help.”

“My pleasure,” the smaller of your two friends grinned. “I’m glad I was able to facilitate a good time for you.”

You exited the kitchen with a roll of your eyes which he couldn’t see, but an extended middle finger that you made damn sure he could. The sound of rollicking laughter followed you.

Rather than look for the origin of many of your woes, you decided to let Hoseok debrief Taehyung of your leaving. Not every night needed to end with him.

But of course it did, because he was slumped, alone – and clearly wasted – against the wall by the front door, and you had no way of avoiding him. So, you approached him, your best mask in place. But it slipped immediately when his eyes rose to regard you with some distant, unidentifiable pain. Did something happen between him and Tara? They’d been getting on a little too well when last you’d seen them.

It occurred to you, then, that he would’ve also been witness to your misbehaviour. But that wouldn’t bother him, would it? In all honesty, he looked far too sloshed to have been feeling anything of substance.

“I’m going home, now. Night, Tae,” you made no move to embrace him, and nor did he.

He eyed the jacket dwarfing your body, his eyebrows pulled tight together. “Good night, noona,” and that was all he uttered before you slammed the door behind you, existence becoming more palatable with each step you took away from the incessantly pounding bass. 

And from him.

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Next: 07 || WYLEI Masterlist

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook #jungkook smut #taehyung scenarios #taehyung #taehyung smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook #kim taehyung #jungkook angst #taehyung angst #bts v #v smut #v scenarios #fic: when you least expect it #wylei