#(a COMPANY march too. not even like...a free parade) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

allmoshnobrain · 2 months

Text

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫: 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 04 of 06 | masterpost

word count: 7,2k | ao3 link | fic's playlist

I felt full, something I hadn't experienced since he’d walked out on me all those years ago. In the end, it was him — only him — that I needed in my life, his presence washing away any lingering pain I may carry. In that moment, I realized I was utterly lost; like Eve after taking a bite of the apple, I knew I could never be the same again after falling for Dave Mustaine.

✦ on this chapter: NSFW!!!, dave mustaine x female!oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, mxf sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, drug issues mentioned, recreational drug use, drinking

✦ a/n: Hey everyone, I'm back! Sorry for the longer wait this time, buuuut check it out — this part right here is the longest I've ever written for this fic, lol. It's all about Dave and Nore this time, but don't worry, James will be back in the next one. Hope you enjoy the read, and feel free to give me any feedback! ❤

✧ All along I believed I would find you / Time has brought your heart to me / I have loved you for a thousand years / I'll love you for a thousand more ✧

March 20, 1992

The weeks that followed were a crazy rollercoaster ride of emotions, swinging back and forth between moments of sheer joy and heart-wrenching pain.

The heartache was all because of James and his stubborn determination to shut me out. No matter how hard I tried to reach him, he just kept slipping through my fingers, ignoring my calls and voicemails like they were yesterday's news. I knew he always needed some space after our blowouts, but his radio silence only made me feel even more miserable. All I wanted was for him to understand how crucial it was for me to patch things up with Dave, but getting that across to James felt like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube in the dark. And with each passing year, it seemed like he was building higher walls around himself, burying himself deeper in his anger and his grief, leaving me feeling utterly lost.

Amidst all the drama with James, there was a shining beacon of hope in my days: Dave. Since our reunion, he'd become a constant presence in my life once again. There were few grievances that could resist nearly a decade of longing; as we reconnected, the pain and uncertainty of our past faded into the background, replaced by a feeling of warmth and contentment. Losing Dave had left a gaping hole in my heart, but finding him again reminded me that I wasn't alone in my struggles. He, too, had gone through his own share of tough times while we were apart. Together, we found comfort in each other's company, and our bond just kept getting stronger with each passing day.

After that first kiss, I couldn't help but keep gravitating back into his arms. We fell into a routine of seeing each other practically every day, squeezing in time between my acting gigs and Dave's life as a musician. If Dave was already sweet when we were younger, now that he was rolling in money from his music career, my place turned into a constant shrine of his love. Every day, there'd be a new batch of flowers — chrysanthemums, roses, sunflowers, tulips, lavenders — each carefully chosen to brighten up my place. It was like living in a fragrant dream, like my heart had decided to blossom right there in his presence.

But his affection wasn't just about the gifts. Almost every night, I'd find myself welcoming him into my home or heading over to his apartment. We weren't big on going out, preferring to just chill together, maybe have dinner or simply chat, lounging on the couch with our fingers intertwined and my head nestled against his shoulder. Whatever was brewing between us felt so special, so fresh, that we kind of wanted to keep it all to ourselves. I mean, I knew once we started parading around in public, everyone would catch on to the fact that we were together, and honestly, I wasn't quite ready for that. Dave felt the same way. We both agreed to keep our little love bubble just between us for just a little while longer.

Of course, there was this undeniable desire bubbling between us. It lingered in the long, passionate kisses we shared, in how he always reached out to touch me whenever we were together, in the little sighs that escaped me when his lips trailed from mine to my neck, in the fire I saw burning with increasing intensity in his hazel eyes.

But, even as the fire inside me burned hotter and hotter, I couldn't shake this newfound shyness. I mean, as an actress pushing 30, I'd say I'd mostly outgrown my shy phase from back in the day. But whenever he was around, it was like that bashful girl came roaring back to life, leaving me blushing and hesitant every time his body pressed against mine.

Dave was patient, as he had always been; now that everything between us was crystal clear, he was practically glued to my side, wearing this grin that mirrored my own happiness. The more we hung out, the more it solidified in my mind: I still loved him. And the fact that he seemed to feel the same felt like a little miracle, a light of joy and certainty amidst all the chaos in my life.

That Friday night played out just like the ones before it: Dave rolled up to my place right on the dot at 8 p.m., holding a gorgeous bunch of violets and daisies. But this time, he came bearing even more goodies — a pizza box in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, which had me scrambling to help before he dropped something and disaster struck.

"Hey," I greeted him with a smile, taking the pizza box from him. With his hand free, he slipped it around my waist, pulling me in close and planting a kiss on my lips that sent me giggling, my cheeks flushing with warmth.

"Hey," he whispered against my lips, his smile melting into mine. "I've got some movies rented for us. And I brought some joints too, they're out in the car."

"So, you've got our evening all planned out?" I teased, and he chuckled, his hazel eyes twinkling as he kissed my temple. "Well, don't just stand there, come on in."

I headed to the kitchen and set the pizza box down on the table. Dave trailed behind me, and I gave him a hand with the wine bottle before he handed over the bouquet.

"I brought you some different flowers this time," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. I took a whiff, smiling at the sweet scent of the bouquet. Dave reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “You like them?"

"I absolutely adored them, Dave. Thanks," I answered, letting out a surprised gasp as he pulled me in by the waist, cradling my chin gently in his hand before kissing me. His tongue pressed against my lips, coaxing them to part, and I couldn't help but surrender to his kiss with a contented sigh.

I shut my eyes, relishing the familiar scent of him and the warmth of his body pressed against mine. He set the bouquet down on the table without breaking our kiss, then drew me in close again, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. Dave's presence stirred something inside us both, a slow-burning fire that we couldn't ignore, an undeniable longing to be close to each other. And oh, how I craved him, with a passion that felt almost overwhelming, leaving me utterly breathless.

He trailed kisses down to my neck, mixing in little nips that sent shivers down my spine. I tangled my fingers in his hair, closing my eyes and melting into his embrace as I tilted my head back. He held me closer, his hands firm on my hips, and a low, breathy moan escaped my lips. He chuckled softly against my skin, planting a tender kiss on my lips before pulling away.

"I should probably grab the stuff from the car," he murmured, stepping back. I blinked, feeling a bit confused, my heart still racing, my skin tingling with warmth, trying to push aside the unexpected twinge of insecurity creeping in.

"Here," Dave returned, lugging a stack of movies. "I grabbed Star Wars 'cause you said you liked it. And the other one... Hey, you okay?" I blinked up at him, snapping out of my reverie, my brow furrowed as I stared at the flowers on the table. Dave came closer, brushing his fingers against my cheek. "Did I mess up the kiss or something?"

"Of course not," I reassured him with a soft smile.

"Then tell me," he whispered, his lips so close to mine, his breath tickling my cheek. "Hey. Let's not keep stuff bottled up, alright? I don't want us drifting apart again over this."

"It's just... Do you not wanna... y'know, fuck me?" I blurted out, feeling my cheeks flush as I saw Dave's eyes widen a bit in surprise. I glanced away, feeling embarrassed, and he let out a soft chuckle.

"Sweetheart, where'd you get that idea?" he asked, running his fingers through my hair before gently tilting my chin up, making me meet his gaze.

"We were kissing, and then you bailed. I just... thought..." I trailed off as Dave grinned, shaking his head.

"Do you really think I wouldn't want you?" he murmured, his voice low and husky, his fingers trailing down my neck to my collarbone, moving with a gentle touch. "Do you think I don't wake up every day feeling like I'm living a dream now that you're back? I want you. But this is all new territory for me too..." He paused, letting out a sigh as I cupped his face in my hands, running my fingers over his features, captivated by how his expression softened under my touch. "I've had some rough relationship experiences, you know?" he continued. "And I don't wanna risk messing things up with you, babe. I don't wanna rush into anything."

"Some relationships?" I queried, intrigued by the plural. It was kind of weird to think about it, but of course, over all those years, Dave must've been with other people. I blinked, feeling an unexpected pang of jealousy creeping into my chest.

"Getting a bit jealous, huh?" he teased, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. I huffed, rolling my eyes, and he chuckled. "I can tell you about them if you're curious... But can we eat first? I'm starving."

"Sure thing, let's chow down," I chuckled, snagging the flowers Dave had left on the table to put in a vase. "Just gotta give these babies a home first, right?"

After fixing up my new bouquet on the windowsill, I joined Dave at the table, and we both tucked into some pizza. Dave let out a satisfied sigh, closing his eyes as he savored the first bite.

"Someone's starving," I teased, shooting him a grin. He chuckled.

"Well, I've been stuck in the studio all day. Builds up an appetite, you know?"

"Well, spill the beans. Any other lucky ladies in your life?" I grinned, and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"You really dying to know that?"

"If you're up for sharing. Just curious," I shrugged. He smiled, letting out a soft sigh as he reclined in his chair.

"Alright, let's hear it. Where do I begin? So many lovers, I'm lost," he chuckled, a playful tone lacing his words, and I huffed, which earned a soft laugh from him. "Just teasing, babe. Alright, let's see, after we split… I had a thing for a couple months with that chick James used to hang out with from the record store, remember the blonde one?"

"Wait a sec," I interjected, eyebrows knit in confusion. "You're not talking about Pat, are you?"

"You remember her?" he asked, sounding surprised. I rolled my eyes, caught off guard.

"Of course I remember! That whole mess between us might've been avoided if she hadn't decided to feed you a load of crap," I remarked, giving him a puzzled look. "I had no clue you two were together at some point."

"Together is generous. It was more like just fucking. Ended when I found out she was messing around with my guitarist as well. So, naturally, I had to give him the boot... It was a whole thing," Dave explained, nonchalantly. He smirked a little at my incredulous face. "I mean, she was pissed at you and James, and I was too. Seemed like a good idea at the time, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, what a brilliant idea. Already regretting asking," I grumbled, and he chuckled, squeezing my hand, his fingers lacing with mine.

"You mad at me?" he grinned softly, though there was a glint of worry in his eyes.

"Course not. But if this is how your love life kicked off after we split, I don't even wanna picture the rest," I muttered, and he burst into laughter.

"Well, it got a bit better after that... I think. I mean, then I met Diana. We were together a few years. Actually thought I was gonna marry her," he confided, then smiled softly at my intrigued expression.

"And why didn't you?" I asked.

"She wasn't you," he said simply, and I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks. He chuckled, raking a hand through his hair. "And truth be told, we weren't the best match. I... I cheated on her. A lot. And she wasn't exactly faithful either. After we split, I dated around, but nothing ever got serious," he confessed, meeting my eyes with a faint smile. "Enough to quench your curiosity?"

"Guess so," I mumbled, staring at my hands. Dave's romantic history over the past few years sounded oddly similar to mine, a series of dead-end relationships and heartaches. I chewed on my lip, a rush of insecurity washing over me, but realizing why he wanted to take things slow between us; as happy as we were to find each other again, we both had our own baggage to unpack.

"And what about you?" he asked, pulling me back from my thoughts. I glanced up, meeting his inquisitive gaze. "You mentioned you and James split... When did that go down?"

I sighed, nibbling on my lip. Discussing my thing with James had become a touchy subject lately. Dealing with the growing distance between us wasn't easy, but I knew exactly where it all had begun.

"We didn't make it long after Cliff... passed," I admitted. Dave reached over to grab my hand again, giving it a comforting stroke. "It tore us apart, all of us. But it was tough 'cause... James has always been a big part of my life. We gave getting back together a shot a few times, but it never stuck," I said with a faint smile, shaking my head. "Didn't have any epic romances after that. Just some short flings and a bunch of casual stuff that left me feeling like love wasn't worth the hassle. And then..." I looked up, locking eyes with Dave, who was studying my face intently.

"And then?" he asked softly. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, a small smile playing on my lips.

"Then you found me," I finished, and Dave's smile widened, his eyes softening with a warmth that melted my heart.

"I'm glad I did," he murmured, rising from the table and gently running his fingers through my hair before leaning in to plant a kiss on my forehead. I let out a soft chuckle, holding his face in my hands and giving him a light peck on the lips. Dave wrinkled his nose, a grin spreading across his face, clearly pleased. "Your kiss tastes like pizza," he teased, and I rolled my eyes in mock annoyance.

"Shut it, Mustaine," I shot back, and he chuckled before stepping away to gather the plates from the table and wash them. I got up to help him tidy the table. "Still up for that movie?”

"Sure. You wanna pick?" he said, passing me the stack of videotapes. I glanced over the movies Dave had brought: Star Wars, like he’d said, plus a couple of action flicks, and one I was pretty familiar with.

"Hey, remember when we caught this on my birthday once?" I grinned, holding up the cover of one of Indiana Jones’ movies. Dave smiled back, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Course, I remember. How could I forget? Your folks gave you that badass motorcycle, right? And I got you a necklace as a gift."

"I still have it," I admitted, grinning. "Kept safe in my jewelry box."

"I didn't think you'd hold onto it," Dave replied, softly. I smiled, stepping closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, and planting a gentle kiss on his jawline.

"Did you think I'd toss away the only thing I had left from you?" I whispered, and he let out a soft sigh, his eyes locking onto mine with intensity as he cupped my face in his hand.

"We better dive into this movie before I change my mind about taking things slow," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips, and I let out a gentle laugh.

The rest of the night sailed by smoothly; we cozied up to watch the movie, sipping on wine and enjoying a few of the joints Dave had brought along. As the movie neared its end and our stomachs started rumbling again, we seized the chance to polish off a bit more of the pizza.

As the credits started rolling, I felt my eyelids drooping, more relaxed and at ease than I had been in ages as I nestled into Dave's lap, my head resting on his shoulder while he held onto my waist tight.

"I gotta head out," he finally murmured, and I grumbled softly, burying my face in his chest.

"You don't have to," I replied, and he laughed tenderly. I pulled back, meeting his hazel eyes, mirroring the unease I felt: we both knew that staying apart was way harder now that we'd finally found each other again. "Can't you crash here?"

"Wish I could, but you know I got that flight tomorrow, right?" he asked gently, and I let out a sigh. Of course, I remembered; Dave was jetting off the next day for a string of shows that'd keep him busy for two weeks. It was a quick tour, but I was already feeling his absence. Dave seemed to sense the same because he lifted my chin, nudging it up a bit so I'd meet his eyes. "Why don't you come along? I'm sure we can sort something out."

"I can't. Got a shareholders' powwow at my folks' company this weekend... Plus, I'm gearing up to start filming that TV series. Gonna be one hell of a week," I sighed, then flashed a soft smile. "But it'll be alright. You'll ring me, yeah?"

"Of course, babe. Every day. I swear," he promised.

April 3rd, 1992

The next few days zipped by with all my stuff going on. Things stayed pretty much the same; James and I still weren't talking, and it was really getting to me. Dave stayed true to his word and called me; even though we didn't have much time to chat with everything going on, we managed to touch base at least a bit every day, which put a smile on my face as I tackled my busy schedule.

Despite my worries about James, Dave being around made me feel a bit better, a subtle kind of happiness that brightened up my days like the sun on a spring morning. Then, the weekend before Dave's return started creeping closer. I had just arrived home, completely wiped out after a long day of shooting before finally getting a few days off, when I heard my phone start ringing. I grinned, eager to chat with Dave and hear about his day, but it wasn't his voice on the other end that greeted me when I answered the call.

"Hello? Can I speak with Nore Burton, please?" came a hesitant voice through the line. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Hey, it's me. Who's that?" I replied.

"Oh, hey. Marty here, Marty Friedman," the voice introduced itself, though it didn't ring any immediate bells. "I jam with Dave in Megadeth..."

"Oh. Is everything alright with him? Did something go down?" I asked, a hint of worry creeping into my tone. The past couple of weeks had seen Dave and I settle into a rhythm, one that hadn't been disturbed until this moment. It wasn't like him to miss a call, let alone have one of his bandmates reach out instead. I wasn't exactly fond of receiving bad news over the phone, but I attempted to soothe my nerves; perhaps it wasn't anything that serious. Maybe he was just tied up and didn't want to leave me hanging without updates.

"Uh, yeah, he’s doing okay,” Marty chimed in, eager to ease my mind. "But things have been kinda rough for him... He slipped up yesterday, and he's been mentioning you so much that our producer thought it might be cool to reach out, see if you'd be up for spending the weekend with him..."

"Wait a sec. What do you mean, he slipped up?" I interjected, feeling a bit puzzled.

"Oh, shit. He didn't clue you in, huh?" Marty's tone shifted, a touch of tension creeping in. "Well, he just got out of rehab not too long ago. And you know, the whole touring grind can be brutal. I guess he was really missing you, and it kinda got to him."

I blinked, caught off guard. Dave hadn't breathed a word about hitting rehab, let alone wrestling with any sort of substance issue. I flashed back to our last hangout, where we'd shared a drink and a smoke, nothing too wild. Maybe Marty was hinting at something more hardcore than just booze or weed, but I brushed it off; Dave needed me, plain and simple. I couldn't stand the thought of not being there for him.

"Marty," I said, firmly. "Where are you guys crashing this weekend?"

April 4th, 1992

I showed up early at the gig spot where Megadeth was set to rock out, a massive concert hall, a far cry from the dingy dives we used to hang at back in the day. I was feeling a bit worn out from the last-minute flight, but as the moment to see Dave drew nearer, my exhaustion morphed into an excitement that made it tough to focus on anything else.

I linked up with Marty at the venue entrance, about an hour before showtime. It was cool finally putting a face to the voice: Marty turned out to be shorter than I'd pictured, sporting a wild mane of curls cascading down his back and a warm grin.

"Hey there. You must be Nore," he greeted with a friendly grin, and I returned it as we shook hands. "How was the flight?"

"Hey, Marty," I smiled back. "It was smooth, thanks. So, where's Dave?"

"Oh, he's buzzing around, getting stuff sorted for the gig. He's clueless you're here," Marty chuckled, and I joined in softly. Keeping my arrival under wraps from Dave had been my little scheme. I didn't want him stressing about it, but I was also itching to see the look on his face when he found out. "Come on, let's go surprise him."

We navigated through the backstage area, which was pure pandemonium, just as I expected with less than an hour to showtime. Roadies hustled, instruments and equipment being shuffled around everywhere. In the midst of the chaos, I couldn't help but notice a gaggle of girls who clearly weren't part of the crew. They stood on the sidelines, watching the frenzy with giggles and hushed chatter. Groupies weren't anything new on the Metallica tours I used to attend, and I was used to their presence, but I couldn't help but furrow my brow when I caught them exchanging glances and whispers as soon as they spotted me, their excitement morphing into something more cautious.

"What's with all the hush-hush?" I inquired, more intrigued than worried, directing my question to Marty. He glanced around, momentarily puzzled, before catching onto the girls' gossip and bursting into a hearty laugh.

"Ah, they're a bit miffed 'cause Dave's been giving zero attention to any of the ladies on this tour. Now he's always talking about you; reckon some of them are feeling a tad put out."

"Oh," I murmured, feeling a flush creeping up my cheeks. I hadn't even considered the presence of other girls on Dave's tours, but Marty's tidbit had my stomach doing somersaults, a newfound sense of assurance spreading through me.

We finally reached a quieter backstage area, a secluded corridor lined with closed doors. Marty and I made our way to one of them; upon stepping inside, I found myself in one of the dressing rooms, complete with a stocked fridge and cozy sofas strewn about. A guy, clutching a pair of drumsticks and sporting a ponytail of dark, flowing locks, rose from his seat at the sight of us.

"Hey, Marty! Who's the hottie?" he greeted, flashing me a smile as soon as he caught sight of me. I felt my cheeks heat up, instinctively taking a step back, but Marty swiftly positioned himself between us.

"Pipe down, Nick. This is Dave's lady," Marty retorted, and Nick's eyebrows shot up, his demeanor instantly turning guarded. Marty let out a sigh, turning to me. "Nore, meet Nick, our drummer. He's always a bit like this, don't pay him no mind."

"Hey," Nick called out from a distance, and I returned his greeting with a slight smile. "Sorry 'bout the 'hot' comment. Please don't tell Dave, I don’t want him to kick me in the nuts," he added, looking genuinely worried, which almost made me laugh.

Before I could answer Nick, the dressing room door swung open, drawing our attention. I couldn't help but smile as Dave strolled in, deep in conversation with a familiar face: David Ellefson, whom I'd crossed paths with years ago in Los Angeles.

"I don’t give a shit if he thinks we're idiots, I just… Nore?" Dave's voice trailed off abruptly as he caught sight of me, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. I offered a nervous but hopeful smile, my heart thumping in my chest as our gazes locked. He made his way over to me in quick strides, seeming unsure how to react. "Holy crap, what are you doing here?”

"I came to see you," I murmured softly. Dave's expression lit up with delight, and without a moment's hesitation, he pulled me into a kiss, his hands cradling my face tenderly. A surprised gasp escaped me as he drew me closer, wrapping me in a tight embrace before eventually releasing me. Stepping back, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and my breath coming in uneven bursts. "Dave!" I exclaimed, my heart still racing as I glanced around, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. But Marty, David, and Nick all seemed to be suddenly engrossed in anything but our interaction. Dave chuckled.

"Sorry 'bout that. Couldn't help it," he murmured, gently running his fingers through my hair, and I couldn't help but smile back.

The show kicked off before I knew it; I found myself perched near the stage, snagging a spot where I could catch all the action without getting underfoot. Watching Dave do his thing was mesmerizing; sure, I knew one or two Megadeth songs, but I'd never mustered the guts to catch 'em live. Dave upstage had this magnetic energy all his own, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I was genuinely pumped to be at a gig.

After the show wrapped up, the whole team congregated backstage to toast to a job well done, while the guys took the chance to rinse off and swap out their sweaty gear. I thought about snagging a beer, though I didn't intend on throwing back too many; my main goal was to keep Dave's spirits up, not to get plastered myself. As I made my way toward one of the coolers stocked with drinks, I accidentally collided with someone. I jumped, nearly losing my footing, but the person caught me just in time.

"Whoops, my bad," the guy flashed me a grin, and I recognized him as one of the sound techs, a dude a few years younger than me with dark hair, a set of dimples and dark eyes that practically screamed interest when he spotted me. "Hey there, I don't think we've met. I'm Brad. You new around here?"

"Uh, well..." I started, but before I could get another word out, I felt a reassuring weight on my shoulder. Glancing up, I spotted Dave, who had slung an arm around me, drawing me into a protective hug.

"Hey babe," Dave greeted, though his focus seemed locked onto Brad, who appeared to shrink a bit under his gaze. "Everything cool over here? You need anything?"

"Uh, I... I was just grabbing a beer, Dave. It's all good," I responded, feeling a slight flush creeping into my cheeks.

"Hey, Brad. Grab my girlfriend a beer, would you?" Dave's voice took on a hint of authority as he addressed Brad, his eyes still fixed on the younger man's face, a small smile playing at his lips. My stomach fluttered with a whirlwind of emotions, my heart racing. Even though we'd been seeing each other for weeks, it was the first time Dave had called me that.

"Ah... Sure thing, boss," Brad stuttered, swiftly turning to fetch a couple of beers. He handed them over to me and Dave before making a quick exit. I glanced up at Dave, who watched Brad go with a furrowed brow and tight lips.

"You alright?" I inquired softly. Finally, he turned his attention to me, his expression softening as he offered a smile.

"Yeah, I'm good. How 'bout you? Enjoy the show?" he asked, and I nodded, returning his smile. "Let's grab a seat, I'm fucking beat."

The next few hours breezed by; I was content snuggling up on the couch beside Dave, his hand never straying far from my hip or finding its way to my thigh as he bantered and laughed with the crew and the band.

It had been ages since I'd hung out backstage at a gig; soon enough, the party vibe started ramping up. But I could sense Dave growing uneasy, his eyes darting around anxiously when one of his roadies rolled in with some blow to pass around. I decided I'd had my fill; with Dave's recent slip-up in mind, I wasn't about to stick around in an environment that would put him on edge.

"Dave," I murmured, squeezing his hand softly, the buzz from the beer warming my cheeks but not quite enough to cloud my senses. "I'm tired... Can we bail?"

"Sure thing, babe." He jumped up without hesitation, indicating he was more than ready to split. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Where to?"

"I just wanna head back to the hotel. Maybe take a hot shower and grab a bite. Sounds good?" I suggested.

"Sounds perfect to me," he grinned.

Dave didn't seem surprised when he realized we were both crashing at the same hotel. He walked me to my floor, our hands linked, fingers intertwined, until we reached my room. I swung the door open and let him in. Turning to face him, I paused for a beat. He was right there, so close, his hazel eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine — a longing I hadn't quite picked up on until we were alone.

"I'm so glad you're here," he whispered hoarsely, planting a gentle kiss on my lips before drawing back slightly. I gazed at him, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through me, my desire for him growing stronger by the second. With one hand, I slowly caressed his chest, drawing my mouth closer to his once more.

He let out a sigh as I kissed him, starting off slow but quickly heating up into a passionate kiss, our tongues dancing in perfect harmony as he drew me even closer. With a gentle push, he guided me backward into the room, the kiss unbroken. I vaguely registered the sound of the door closing behind us as his hands roamed my body with growing hunger.

"What happened to taking it slow?" I teased, and he let out a scoff, laughing.

"You want me to dial it back, Burton? 'Cause I can always head back to my room if that's what you're after," he joked, and I chuckled softly, pulling him in for another kiss.

"You talk too much, Mustaine," I murmured, a grin playing on my lips, and he laughed, taking off my shirt before diving back into our kiss.

I guided him down, settling him onto the bed before straddling his lap, my knees nestled around his hips. He let out a contented sigh as I peppered his neck with kisses, leisurely unbuttoning his shirt. A soft moan escaped my lips when his hand trailed up my thigh, slipping under my skirt and gripping my ass. With a gasp of surprise, I found myself lifted effortlessly, gently laid back onto the bed as he pressed his body against mine. My hands roamed down his muscular arms as I finished taking off his shirt.

A soft moan escaped me as he trailed kisses along the sensitive skin of my neck, working his way down to my collarbone. His hand found its way to my back, skillfully unclasping my bra. I tangled my fingers in his hair, trembling as he took one of my breasts into his mouth, his tongue circling my nipple deliberately while his other hand cupped my other breast. It was everything I'd been craving; every touch set my skin ablaze, as if my body just wanted him closer and closer, until there was nothing in the world but the two of us.

He kept on sucking at my breasts so tenderly that my whole body was tingling, sending shivers down my spine and making me ache for more. My arousal surged, the wetness between my legs throbbing with desire. Then, he went lower, lifting my skirt until it pooled around my waist, parting my legs gently. His breath felt hot against the damp fabric of my panties as he looked up at me, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"You want me to fuck you that much?" he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. I let out a sigh, my body trembling as I felt his warm breath against my skin. "You're fucking drenched," he murmured, and I gasped in response, earning a soft chuckle from him.

He planted slow kisses along the inside of my thigh, giving it a light nip before slowly sucking on the tender skin, leaving behind a mark that I knew would linger after he was gone. I whimpered, my clit pulsing with anticipation, craving his touch, but he seemed determined to savor every moment. Pulling back, he pressed a gentle kiss to my skin before moving to another spot, and then another, teasing and nibbling while his thumbs traced soothing circles on my thighs.

"Dave..." I sighed, pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes as I felt my entire body tense with desire. It was overwhelming; his touch was driving me wild, slow and deliberate, and I couldn't help but feel like I was on the brink of ecstasy, completely consumed by the moment.

I whimpered with pleasure as I felt his warm breath against my core, a tear or two slipping down my cheeks as I arched my back. Dave grunted softly as he peeled off my panties, then stripped away my skirt, leaving me completely exposed. He parted my swollen lips, his tongue teasing my clit.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered, pressing gentle kisses against my sensitive flesh. I nodded eagerly, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I tangled my fingers in his hair. He chuckled softly. "Just had to mark you first... Let everyone know you're mine now."

The way he said it sent a jolt through my whole body, a sharp moan escaping my lips. I knew I was on the edge, his touch pushing me closer and closer to the brink. And when he finally started to eat me out, his tongue swirling in slow circles, I couldn't hold back any longer. My whole body tensed, my heart racing, as I curled my toes and pulled him closer, consumed by a hunger that made him groan.

He gripped my thigh firmly, his hand gently clasping mine, our fingers laced together as I shut my eyes. Tears welled up at the corners of my eyes, mingling with the pleasure coursing through me. With my eyes closed, it was just him and me — his warm breath, the leisurely flicks of his tongue, his soft kisses, the gentle pressure of his fingers against my skin. His other hand held mine, tracing slow caresses along my flesh and it felt so, so good, that I never wanted him to stop.

"D-Dave..." I murmured as the tension in my belly mounted, opening my eyes to meet his intense gaze, seemingly captivated by my reactions. "Dave, I'm gonna... Oh!" I gasped as he released my hand, slipping two fingers inside me and curling them just right, setting off a wave of intense contractions that mingled with my growing moans, each one louder than the last.

I was pretty sure anyone walking by in the hallway could hear me, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Not when my orgasm surged through me, his fingers working tirelessly inside me as I arched my back, lost in the ecstasy washing over me again, and again, and again.

When he finally eased off, I was completely spent, my body feeling like lead as I struggled to catch my breath. He chuckled softly, wiping his chin with one hand before settling back down on top of me, planting slow kisses on my cheek as he shed the rest of his clothes. I let out a soft moan as he slid inside me, still sensitive from my climax, and I felt my body clench around him as I adjusted to his size. He groaned softly, nuzzling into my neck.

"I love you," he whispered, and I moaned softly as he pressed his body against mine, fully inside me before slowly pulling back, his gaze locked with mine. "I love you," he murmured again, easing back into me with a slow, steady rhythm that elicited more moans from me, my nails digging into the flesh of his arms. "Say you love me too... I know you do."

"I-I love you too, Dave, oh..." I replied, my voice teary as he thrust deeper inside me. He grunted, one hand tangling in my hair while the other braced against the bed. Leaning in, his lips crashed against mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and I clung to him, wrapping my legs around his hips.

"I missed you for so, so long," he murmured against my mouth, a blend of anguish and pleasure evident in his voice. I brought one of my hands up to his face, gently stroking it as I pulled back slightly to look at him. "Can’t fucking live without you. Not if you aren’t with me."

"I'm here now," I said softly, and he nodded before kissing me again. I sighed, feeling the heat building in my body as he moved inside me, his movements growing more erratic with each thrust. "I'm here, Dave. I'm not going anywhere."

"No matter how far you go, I will always find my way back to you. Okay?" he murmured against my ear, and I nodded, letting out a soft moan. "Always," he groaned, his voice rough, as he held me tightly against him. "I promise. I promise..."

I let out a loud moan as my second orgasm washed over me, my body trembling in waves as I buried my face in his hair, clinging to him as if I never wanted to let go. He grunted, his movements growing rougher and more erratic before he also reached his climax, his warmth flooding into me before his body collapsed. Our sweat and tears of pleasure mingled together as he peppered my lips with a million little kisses. I chuckled softly, my heart racing, my body still ablaze as he pulled away from me, lying down next to me with a contented sigh.

We lay there for a bit, cuddled up as we caught our breath, Dave running his fingers softly through my hair. I nestled my head against his chest, listening to the quick rhythm of his heartbeat as he kept me tight.

"Dave?" I finally spoke up, feeling a bit unsure, my mind drifting back to why I had come to see him in the first place.

"Hmm?" he replied groggily. I shifted, sitting up a bit and leaning on my arm to look at him. His gaze seemed distant as he traced his thumb along my lower lip in a gentle touch.

"Why... Why didn't you tell me about rehab?" I questioned softly. Dave blinked, caught off guard, his expression shifting from surprise to a familiar pain.

"Is that why you're here? Who told you that?" he inquired, his voice rough and low. I nodded, uncertainly.

"Marty did. But it seems like it was your producer's bright idea... He claimed the tour was taking its toll on you. Said you had a slip-up."

"Did he now?" Dave's tone was laced with bitterness.

"Dave, I’m sure he meant well," I reassured him, running my fingers lightly over his chest. "And besides, Marty made me swear not to let you chew him out for telling me," I added, earning a chuckle from him, the tension easing a bit.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, cupping my face in his hand, his thumb tracing circles on my cheek. "It's been rough dealing with all this. I didn't want you to see me as a screw-up."

"I'd never see you that way," I reassured him softly.

"I just felt like crap after slipping up. I was making progress, but the road life, man, it's fucking draining. And missing you... It hit me harder than I thought," he admitted.

"Babe, it's all right. You're not a failure for this. What counts is that you're putting in the effort," I reassured him, and he let out a soft sigh.

"You make me want to be better," he murmured. "It's always been that way; I never quite got why you liked me, but I wanted to be better. For you," he said, holding my hand in his, pressing gentle kisses on my fingertips. "I love you. But you don't have to save me."

"I know. But I want to help," I said, and kissed him softly. "Please, just let me."

"You're already doing wonders," he smiled, and I returned the smile, nuzzling into his embrace as he held me close.

"I love you, Dave," I whispered, relishing his closeness, his fingers tenderly running through my hair. He mumbled in response, a satisfied sound.

"I love you too," he murmured back, his voice gravelly, before letting out a sigh. "Thanks... for letting me."

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777 @whatsupvic @70srogah @genswine9 @twice360noscope @ilovepapahet @decemberm0on

37 notes · View notes

noxtms · 3 years

Photo

MARCH 15TH, 2021. it’s two days before the planned st patrick’s day parade ( and evening celebrations ), and the spring festival is in full swing. the joint events have been as huge a success as they always have been : local business has boomed, and to those that care, it’s a pity that arcanum wasn’t back up and running in time to cash in like so many other stores had.

the building that had once been both life’s work & ancestral home of the trelawney’s had lay empty for the best part of two decades, and unfortunately, it showed. structurally sound though it was, near everything within required replacing - be it from water damage caused by several large holes found in the roof or destruction that had been caused by the innumerous break-ins over the years. magic could only go so far, especially when one was working alone. since the purchase of the building had gone through the month before, sybill had taken to apparating to london each weekend, working room by room. a vinyl of celestina warbeck’s greatest hits played loudly from a vintage turntable was her only company as she bustled throughout the building, early morning to darkest evening. it was slow going, and the work had grown monotonous, over time - but she had never expected anything else.

the fifth floor - containing two mirrored bedrooms sybill intended to invite cassia & oriana to personalize - was the first finished. she was making her way top to bottom, slowed even more by the onslaught that was memory. this was the birthplace of cassandra trelawney, the originator of their family status. this was where sybill had spent formative years, walking thin corridors, climbing spindly stairs, learning to read tea leaves at a shaky table in a now dusty kitchen, recording her dreams in a leather bound notebook she had kept on bedside cabinet in the room she had now reclaimed. this was home, and she had been gone from it for far too long.

the lower shop level would be the last to be tackled, working as she was, and so, the bell above the main entrance remained broken. this would join the long list of things to be blamed for why sybill did not hear anyone approaching - scrawled somewhere between the loud record that they’ll find scratching at it’s end & the happy crowd beyond grubby windows that did not remain so, for long. the truth is that when the ministry finds sybill, they’ll only be able to make a guess at what truly happened.

they will theorize that it was unlikely she had any forewarning ( a uniquely ironic phrase, given the woman’s status as a debated seer ). she probably knew her attacker, though it’s hard to say - there is no sign of struggle, and the killing curse does not leave a mark. even if she had realized in time to have a defensive instinct, her wand - nine and a half inch hazel, with a unicorn tail hair core - was found on the floor above her, resting on a rickety coffee table and so very far from reach. they will say she died before it happened, and there’s no reason to think that she felt any pain, or that the situations were connected.

the formal report will lodged by overworked aurors some hours later will not have certain details. there is no witness to the woman with wild hair & hooded eyes, nor her two companions, who apparated into the lane behind the building and entered through unlocked door. no one saw her look of fear, when throat cleared behind her & she turned on heel to see them looming in the doorway. there was no need for a silencing charm. sybill, unable to understand the position she was in, never called for help. bellatrix wasn’t there to interrogate her, and thus, didn’t give her much of a chance, anyway. their time together was short & sweet. the green light went unnoticed, and the loose cannon that was a seer with potential to urge foes in right direction against them was taken off of the playing field, with ease. conspiracy theorists in the future, inclined to look that bit deeper, may get a closer approximation of the truth than those aurors ever did.

but then again : it wasn’t their first priority.

it was such a lovely day. the sun, not quite beating down upon the heads of everyone bustling through the alley, still shone with more strength than it had all winter. the lack of brisk breeze made even the long shadows cast by mismatched buildings almost warm. the wwn predicted rain later that evening, and mothers ushering their children along stole glances every now and again towards the sky, waiting to see the telltale sign of dark clouds rolling in.

the first indication that anyone has to something being truly amiss was actually the sharp drop to the temperature, and the rolling fog that fell over them all, thick enough to hide anyone - and anything - more than a few feet away. thick enough to blot out the sun. the shadows grew longer. they stretched outwards. when the first scream pierces the air, only those nearest are able to see what’s causing those notes of fear.

it doesn’t take more than a moment for everyone else to realize. as the alley explodes into pandemonium, the dementors descend onto them all.

ROUNDUP OF INITIAL FATALITIES & INJURIES ( AS OF THIS DROP ):

sybill trelawney is very, very dead. as brutal as this’ll sound - that isn’t very relevant to this plot drop as a whole, so don’t worry about it ! she’s not.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

rather than transition the on dash event threads towards this plot drop, we’re going to do things a little differently with everyone’s current needs in mind. on dash will remain the period of time that is the start of the month through to the 15th ( which will make things a little less intensive as we begin the next part of the ooc noxtms ~ celebrations ~ ). off dash, and on the discord, several channels covering a number of businesses have been established. they each have a character cap of seven to make things less confusing, and can be used for plot drop rping !

as always with a plot drop of this nature, the discord announcement will include the allowance for injurys. there’s a smaller cap on these than usual, since the dementors themselves are sort of .... 0 - 100, and the injuries themselves will have to be discussed as happening in the chaos rather than from the dementors. that is, unless you uhhh ... really want your character to get a little kiss kiss ! that can be arranged !

the galleon system list has also been updated and now includes a reward of 250 galleons ( per character it’s completed for ) for a 250 word minimum drabble / self para, written with the patronus charm & it’s much-needed usage during this plot drop in mind. if this were english class, the prompt would probably be something to the effect of : write a detailed description of your characters happy memory, or what their experience is about to be, conjuring their patronus in this specific situation. you have a LOT of freedom on it, and can write it in any way you see fit. please feel free to use the tag nox.task on any posted to the dash !

there was never any intention of having a st patrick’s parade / party event. sorry for bamboozling you all, but i think it’s safe to say that after this disastrous ides of march, those events will have been cancelled ! once you’ve read this post, please give it a little like !

#nox.plotdrop009 #nox.important #nox.event013 #hehe #i mean.#rip!

13 notes · View notes

apothecarinomicon · 3 years

Text

Spring week 1 part 3

I wasn’t sure how often I’d have patients, so I spent much of the rest of the week cleaning up around the property and sweeping the cobwebs out of the cottage. As much as I was willing to be friendly, I was not about to run right to the blacksmith and ask for a favor the same day I met him.

Or for several days after.

I think the golem might have used the last of its existing power getting here, because it didn’t move at all the entire time I was working on the property. If I ever locate my predecessor, I must remember to pick her brain on the finer details of how she made it. I assume it was her that made it, though it could really have been any of the previous owners of the cottage. I’m still not entirely comfortable thinking of myself as its owner, honestly—I feel more like a guest, or perhaps a tenant.

As I worked, my thoughts turned to the Bankhead family. Evander introduced himself as Aidan’s husband, just like that, plain and in public. The ease of it ran so counter to my own experience growing up in Huntsmanland that I hadn’t even processed it in the moment, automatically eliding it so that it could surface for real in my mind at a later time.

Is this the norm in High Rannoc? Is it only in Greenmoor? Or are the Bankheads perhaps rebellious activists? Is this a place where I might be free from the whispers and rumors and derision that followed me for my entire youth?

I suppose further observation is required.

I stopped working after a few hours, sweaty and tired. I was hoping to potentially find some easy reagents in the overgrowth and piles of stones, but no such luck befell me. The job’s not nearly complete, though, and I may be lucky yet.

I’m going to wash off and then head into town, to see if I can find any dishes or cutlery, or at least a few glass bottles. Maybe some lunch, too.

────⊱⁜⊰────

My trip into town did not go as I’d hoped. My mind is racing a bit at the moment but I’ll try to get this down in order.

The town’s tavern is called The Copper Fox. It sits right next to the inn, and by comparison looks almost comically squat. It was busy when I walked in—looked like more than half of the adults in the town were there. I walked to the bar, intending to ask what food was available. The man working behind the bar met me as I reached it and slid a stein into my hands, cutting off my question by saying “on the house.” He was about as squat as the building he worked in, balding and with a thick mustache and thin beard. He held my gaze for a long moment, with a meaning that I couldn’t quite comprehend. A request, perhaps, or an admonishment.

Or perhaps a warning.

There was a bard standing near one wall, singing and playing guitar. She was finishing a song as I walked in, but as the last chord faded I heard a couple voices from the crowd cry “again! again!”

Gleefully, she started up playing again to a round of cheers and the scattered clinking of silver. It was an old ballad I’d heard a few times before, a bit grisly for my taste. There are a few different variations, but the one she sang goes like this:

The taxman came to collect tax and roused Jack out of bed And Jack, alack, he took an axe and struck him o’er the head The taxman, he fell to the ground and writhed and moaned and bled And Jack, alack, he swung and swung to ensure he was dead

Hey nonny hey What a day what a day Hey nonny hey Stay away stay away

Jack dragged the corpse into town square and loud and bold he said “He came and tried to take what’s mine and now his debt is paid” The townsfolk, they all gathered ‘round, and not a bit afraid All the townsfolk laughed and leaped and threw him a parade

Hey nonny hey What a day what a day Hey nonny hey Stay away stay away

They all marched to the edge of town and facing the frontier They set the corpse down by the road, held upright on a bier With this grisly sculpture the town made its message clear: “Take your bullshit somewhere else. You are not welcome here!”

Hey nonny hey What a day what a day Hey nonny hey Stay away stay away

As I said, it's terribly grim. Still, it’s better than the version where an army comes to massacre the town as revenge for the tax collector.

It was halfway through the second chorus that I began to feel eyes on my back. I glanced around and caught several people quickly averting their eyes. I found this unnerving, to say the least, and it only got worse when I started to hear people whispering. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I recognized the tone. It was one that had followed me my entire childhood, one that made my outsider status clear. I was the other, worthy of derision, of sanction.

Of violence?

I got up and left quickly, without finishing my beer.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I decided to visit the bakery instead. Aidan and Evander had been nothing but kind to me. It turned out to be a good call. They had me come in and upstairs to their apartment, where they were eating what they hadn’t sold that day with their son MacKay. They shared their food with me. They made me feel welcome.

I asked how Aidan’s thumb was doing. He showed me the bandages and how he could squeeze it without pain. He touched it to his fork, and when he lifted his hand the fork didn’t come with it. All was well on that front, it seemed.

I asked after dishes and cutlery, mentioning that there didn’t seem to be any in the cottage. Aidan stood and said that when my predecessor vanished, they were the ones she gifted her kitchenware to. Since they already had a set, Aidan said it seemed only right that it go to the new resident of the cottage, and Evander agreed. I offered to pay but they said there was no need—it was a gift. I took what was offered and thanked them for it.

With a slight sense of belatedness, Evander asked to what they owed the pleasure. I hesitated, not wanting to dampen the mood or be too vulnerable or in any way risk losing what I was quickly beginning to think of as an oasis.

But then again, maybe there was some clarity to be gained here. I started explaining about going to The Copper Fox, and the bard performing the ballad. I hadn’t even gotten past explaining the content of the lyrics when MacKay preempted me, mumbling something along the lines of “yeah, I bet that made you uncomfortable.”

It was clearly meant to be a private comment to himself in the way of adolescents, but we could all make it out. Aidan said MacKay’s name sharply, in warning or reprimand, but I was already spider-webbing through the potential implications of his statement in my head. I asked them what that meant.

Aidan and Evander shared a glance, and seemed to silently come to an agreement.

I can’t usually remember well enough to give exact quotes, but Evander was picking his words so carefully that I recall them clearly. He said “there’s a rumor going around that you’re a... spy for the Government.”

I thought he meant people were saying I was working for the mayor, and I protested that that didn’t make any sense. I’d only met her once and wasn’t familiar enough to get any more than surface information.

“No,” he clarified. “Capital ‘G’ Government. Not the local one.” He said most of the townsfolks’ interaction with any governing body larger than the local government was when tax collectors did in fact come to town, or when some new ordinance was decreed that required public observance. It was all very mysterious to them and seemed unaware of and uninterested in their actual needs—and that bred suspicion and contempt. Any outsider became a potential threat.

However, Aidan added with a pointed look at MacKay, not everyone in town was foolish enough to buy into the rumors. MacKay protested that he didn’t believe them, that it was just a bit of hazing that every new person to the town had to undergo. He rattled off a couple of names I didn’t recognize before Evander cut him off by saying that just because it had been done before didn’t make it right to do again. MacKay countered that it wasn’t his idea, and that reprimanding him wouldn’t keep me safe from the adults who might take the rumors more seriously.

I asked what that meant—was I unsafe here? Evander and Aidan agreed that I absolutely was not. For the entire time they’d lived here (and for Aidan, that was his entire life), there had never been a case of significant violence between townsfolk. It would not come to that, they assured me.

Still, it’s all very nerve-wracking.

────⊱⁜⊰────

It’s the middle of the night and I’ve just thought of something. Clearly the bartender did think I was a Government agent there to suss out illegal activity, as Evander said.

Because if he didn’t, he would have had no reason to try and bribe me.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I decided perhaps it was best if I wasn’t around in town too much—they can’t call me a spy if I’m not spying, right? So, I decided to spend some of my down time exploring the wilderness around Greenmoor without the pressure of a patient waiting on me.

The two major remaining areas that seem reasonably safe to traverse with what resources I have currently are Glimmerwood Grove and Hero’s Hollow. I wasn’t much in the mood to deal with a dungeon today—nor the denizens and adventurers therein—so the choice was fairly clear. I brought Ailean with me, so I could better attune with her, and so she might help with the secondary reason for my outing.

In addition to just wanting to be out of town, I went to the grove to see if I could find a princess toad, which one of my predecessor’s notes mentioned lived in the tangled undergrowth. Not only are several of their byproducts useful reagents, but I thought it might be nice to give Ailean some company—or at least show her where she could find it if she ever grew bored.

Glimmerwood Grove is genuinely beautiful, a forest in full Spring bloom. The undergrowth is dense, and seems reluctant to accept any human attempts to create walking paths—it encroaches upon or obscures even those close to the edge of the wood. Despite the near-total cover of the canopy, the entire place is kept well-lit by some means invisible to me (hence, I suppose, ‘Glimmerwood’). The whole place has an air of magic to it.

As I walked further into the grove, I found (as predicted) less and less path to follow. The patches that were bare of undergrowth this deep were blanketed by healthy colonies of moss. The sound of bells came faintly, from where I couldn’t tell.

I was staring off to my left—I thought I’d seen movement in between the trees and was looking to see if I could catch more—when Ailean made a noise that brought my attention to the ground in front of me. There, I saw a clutter of small pellets. Having lived with Ailean for nearly a week, I could recognize the size and shape as those of toad droppings, but the color was a strange lavender.

Well, I may not have found the toad itself, but these droppings were a useful reagent all their own. I used a small scoop (I brought it with me on my journey from Edith’s) and gathered enough for one use. There wasn’t enough for two, and despite its color the smell was enough to dissuade me from storing any more than I needed.

I got what I needed onto the scoop and stood, and that’s when I saw it.

Standing a few meters down the path was a pure white horse with a horn coming out of its forehead. It was looking directly at me, standing stock still. Sitting here writing this, I’m still shaken. Unicorns are of the domain of bedtime stories, fairy legends, explorers’ tales. They aren’t real.

And yet.

I went to take a step towards it and it immediately turned and trotted away into the woods. I could have sworn it grew translucent before it disappeared among the trees.

My first week here has been… fucking hell, it’s been a lot. That was just the cherry on top.

An enormous, unheard of, vaguely portentous cherry.

I’m going to bed.

⇦●〇●⇨

#writing #writeblr #writblr #fantasy #amwriting #writers on tumblr #original writing #apothecaria #entry #creative writing #fiction #rpg #roleplaying game #high rannoc #writeblr community #writers

4 notes · View notes

lockefanfic · 4 years

Text

Business Trip - Part 5: Negotiations

“Sit up on the edge of the tub,” she says softly, and you make eye contact with her to find her cute features flushed, her eyes heady with pleasure and lust.

Seolhyun lifts her body off your lap and you raise your body above the waterline, shuddering slightly as the cool night air hits your naked shaft. Seolhyun’s gaze lingers on your cock for a long moment, and a look of satisfaction appears on her face. She locks eyes with you again and bites her lip as you sit down on the tub’s edge. She draws closer, kneeling on the underwater seating ledge, and thinking you are about to kiss again, you lean forward - only for Seolhyun to dodge your face altogether and sink her face between your legs.

In a moment, you go from expecting another passionate kiss to having her lips, tongue, and mouth wrapped around your shaft - and it is an amazing feeling, as Seolhyun wastes no time with delicate foreplay or slow build up. Almost immediately she is bobbing her head up and down, and it is all you can do to grip the edge of the tub with one hand and the back of her ponytailed head with the other as Kim Seolhyun takes your cock in and out of her hot, slick mouth.

“We’d be idiots to not acquire this company,” Hirai Momo says in a serious, business-like tone, “if we don’t buy them, some other company will, and then we’ll wish we had.”

“I agree,” Park Choa says with a small nod, “their tech is legit. Their logistics and resourcing could use some restructuring, but with our capital behind their team that won’t be an issue. Their personnel and their tech have a lot of potential.”

“You’re both right. I don’t even think we need to consult with the boss on this one. I say we move forward and submit a proposal for acquisition,” you finish.

Momo and Choa respond with affirmative nods. Their faces are weary after two days of long hours spent in presentations, meeting with company executives, and reviewing company data. They are both happy to have come to a decision about the company, and both glad that the three of you were in agreement.

“Choa, have legal back home start up the paperwork. Momo, the boss will want a full summary report including all their presentations and the data they gave us on their tech. He’ll want to know everything about what he’s buying. I’ll meet with their management and start on a framework for the acquisition terms, and perhaps get started on financial negotiations.”

“Roger that, sir,” Momo says with a mock salute as if she were speaking to a superior military officer, “I’ll get on it right away, Captain. But first, sleep! To the hotel!”

Momo turns on her heel and pretends to march out of the meeting room, her long legs straight as they march in exaggerated fashion like a soldier on parade, her tablet held against her shoulder like a rifle.

Choa giggles as the younger woman leaves the room, then turns to you and whispers softly:

“Maybe it’ll be my turn to call you sir before this trip is over?”

“Maybe,” you say softly in reply, your lips widening into a smile that is returned on hers.

“I’ll make that call to legal in the morning, but first I think I’m gonna go PTFO,” Choa says with a smile, before she too turns and starts to gather her belongings from the boardroom table. “You wanna share a cab back to the hotel?”

“Thanks, but I need to finish up a couple of things here before I call it a day. I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Choa says, managing to smile kindly at you despite the fatigue wearing at her cute features. With one last wave, she throws her backpack over her shoulder and heads out of the office.

Finally alone in the moderately sized boardroom atop a tall office tower in downtown Seoul, you sigh deeply as you recline in your expensive looking leather chair. It has indeed been a long couple of days of work following a long haul flight, and the weariness in your body was proof of it. The sun has begun to set, and you glance idly out the window as it begins to paint South Korea’s capital in tones of orange and red. You search for a moment of respite for your mind after days of hard work amidst tall towers of glass and steel.

The floor to ceiling glass window gives you an excellent view of downtown Seoul. The entire office itself was like something out of a hipster interior designer’s sketchbook, all glass and hardwood and exposed brick. It was a gorgeous space, and you could see why it attracted a talented crowd of young professional employees.

“Ahem.”

A female’s exaggerated cough interrupts your reverie, and you turn to find the form of a young woman leaning into the entrance of the boardroom. You are struck for a moment by her beauty as the sun throws a splash of orange on her features. It is Kim Seolhyun, the Director of Marketing and Communications of the company. She gives you a short bow with her head as you make eye contact, a polite smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry, I left my notepad in here,” she says in only lightly accented English, stepping cautiously into the room, “I hope I’m not interrupting or disturbing you.”

“No, not at all,” you say quickly, “I was just taking a breather after meeting with my colleagues.”

“I see. Well if you’d like some water or tea or anything else, I can grab it for you,” Seolhyun says, gathering up the blue notebook on the other side of the table.

“Actually, some water would be great,” you answer, “although I think a stretch and a walk might do just as good.”

You are happy to find that a wide smile has appeared on Seolhyun’s face, and you are stunned for a moment at how lovely she looked when she smiled - her face was round and small, walking the thin line between attractively cute and dangerously hot. Her body was tall and slim, model-like in its proportions. As if that weren’t enough, she was extremely charismatic and was an excellent public speaker, handling the majority of the presentations you had listened to over the past couple of days. There was a reason she had risen to become the Director level, and it was obvious in the way she spoke.

Gorgeous, intelligent, and charismatic. This young woman won the genetic lottery, and she knew it.

“Great, follow me!” she says, turning to exit the room with a flourish. A smile on your lips, you get up from your chair and follow her out the door, the fatigue that was settling into your body suddenly held at bay by the prospect of spending time with a beautiful young woman.

---

“I lived overseas until I was ten, and when we moved back here my parents put me into an international school,” Seolhyun says, “my dad was away on business overseas a lot, so he knew how important it was that I know how to speak English.”

You nod in understanding as Seolhyun answers your question regarding her linguistic abilities, taking a sip from the cool glass of water she filled for you. You are both sitting in the spacious, modern, and quite well equipped cafeteria, empty at the moment aside from the two of you.

“Anyway,” she continues, “how do you like Seoul?”

“It’s gorgeous,” you answer, “I haven’t had a chance to see much of it, obviously, but now that we’ve come to a decision I hope we’ll have more free time to go explore it.”

Seolhyun nods apprehensively.

“So… you guys have made a decision about whether or not to acquire us?”

“...Yes,” you answer, realizing too late that you had spilled the beans. The need to engage in conversation with the beautiful young woman in front of you had caused you to forget that the deal still hadn’t been finalized.

“And…?” Seolhyun asks, her large eyes searching for the answer in yours. For another moment - and you noticed that these moments were happening quite often around her - you are stunned by her beauty. At the moment her face is inquisitive and ridiculously cute; she had the puppy dog eyes going on, and it was working.

“And… I think we’re going to put forward a proposal of acquisition.”

“Yes!” Seolhyun exclaims, her sudden outburst surprising you as she rises from her seat, pumping a fist in the air.

“Whoa, whoa,” you say, waving your hands in front of you in a “calm down” motion, “It’s not for sure yet. We still have to get our ducks in a row with regards to your data and tech, and then it has to go through our president before we can make a formal movement for acquisition.”

“But you’re intending to buy us, right?” Seolhyun says, her eyes wide and bright with enthusiasm, “that’s all that matters! All the details will work themselves out later.”

“Well, yes,” you say, realizing that a wide smile had appeared on your own lips - her enthusiasm was infectious.

“Oh, that’s awesome,” Seolhyun says as she plops herself back down in her chair, “that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You have no idea what this means for our company. The founders are gonna be ecstatic! With more capital behind our tech I think we could really do some amazing things.”

“I agree; your stuff looks good. I think our companies can accomplish a lot together. You did a good job of selling what your company is all about in your presentations over the past couple of days.”

Seolhyun’s face is the very picture of happiness, her lips wide in a toothy smile. The girl had a magnetic, charismatic charm that was irresistable.

“I guess I’m pretty awesome,” she says smugly.

“You are,” you reply with a smile.

Seolhyun holds your gaze for a moment, a split second, before leaning forward slightly.

“This calls for a celebration, mister.”

“I’m tempted,” you say wearily, “but I’m honestly wiped out, and we have a couple more days of work ahead of us. Maybe towards the end of the week we can-”

“I have the perfect idea,” Seolhyun says, interrupting you mid sentence.

“What-”

“Shut up and come with me,” the young woman says, grabbing you by the wrist and leading you to elevator.

---

“You guys have a hot tub on your roof?”

“Yep!” Kim Seolhyun answers with an enthusiastic smile on her face, “We did really well last quarter so the management got it installed as reward. We work late a lot, so it’s nice to kick back and relax a bit after a long day’s work.”

It takes you a moment to realize what Seolhyun’s intentions were in bringing you up here.

“And you’re suggesting we use it?”

“Yes, Sherlock, yes I am,” the young woman answers sarcastically.

“Well I’d love to, but I don’t happen to have a pair of swimming trunks in my briefcase.”

Seolhyun considers the predicament for a moment. She gives you an appraising look up and down, exaggerating the head to toe scan she gives you.

“I guess you’ll have to go in naked,” she says with a wry smile on her lips, “the locker room is that way. See you in a bit.”

With that the young woman gives you one last suggestive look, her eyes suddenly seductive. She steps away, and in what was probably the most arousing thing she could have done at that moment, she bites her bottom lip. Sure that you noticed it, she turns and heads towards what you presumed were the women’s changing rooms.

You sigh to yourself, before smiling and making your way to the locker room.

---

Seolhyun was right - the hot tub was just the perfect respite after a long day of hard work, the warm waters soothing the aches of your body as you lift your arms to rest along the edge of the tub and let your head fall backward until you are facing the quickly darkening Seoul sky. The roof had LED lanterns hung up along a wooden fence that provided some privacy and a little light. To one corner stood an expensive looking outdoor barbeque and a couple of picnic tables atop a large rug of artificial grass. It was a gorgeous space, and had you worked in the building you could see yourself spending a lot of time here.

The opening door to your right captures your attention, and as Seolhyun steps out of the women’s changing room, your breath catches in your throat.

To say she was gorgeous fully clothed was a bit of an understatement, with her long, tall, slim body and her long dark hair that fell perfectly around her shoulders. In a white bikini, she was nothing short of breathtaking. It wasn’t even like it was a skimpy bikini - it was your run-of-the-mill swimsuit, but it did well to draw attention to her round, perfectly sized breasts, pushing them together slightly and creating a delicious looking cleavage. The lower half of the ensemble was tied loosely around her full hips, tied at each side of her waist with cute bows. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, accentuating her long neck and seductive shoulders. She had the body of a model with the face of the girl next door; a dangerous combination.

You are suddenly ridiculously aware of the fact that you were naked beneath the water, and as Seolhyun reaches the hot tub and climbs the steps (giving you an enticing view of her cleavage as she bends to drop into the water), you give thanks for the fact that she couldn’t see the evidence of your arousal beginning to take shape between your legs. She takes a seat opposite you in the small tub.

“Pretty sweet view from up here, huh?” the young woman says with a smile, and for a moment you are unable to understand that she is speaking, so enraptured are you by her beauty as she sinks into the hot water.

“It’s… pretty,” you answer, immediately cursing yourself for not being able to come up with a better descriptive word.

“Yeah, I’ve spent a lot of nights up here, after everyone else has gone home,” Seolhyun answers, “it’s a good way to burn off some steam.”

Unable to say anything clever or witty, you resign yourself to simply nod in agreement.

“So! Tell me about yourself. I don’t really know anything about you aside from your name and what you do with your company.”

“I’m nothing special,” you say, your humility coming from honesty and not from pride, “I’m just a guy doing a job he loves to do that happens to send him on business trips to awesome places.”

“Ahh,” the young woman replies, “interesting. Girlfriend? Wife?”

“No,” you answer, “not yet.”

Seolhyun takes a moment to consider your answer, her slim smile hiding the questions she was surely formulating in her head.

“So you work closely with Hirai Momo, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“And… is there anything going on between you two?”

“No,” you answer quicker than you would have thought, “We’re just friends. Why does everyone think that we’re more than that?”

Seolhyun shrugs. “Maybe because it’s the way she looks at you. I noticed it in the meetings we were in whenever you spoke. That’s not the way a girl looks while listening to her colleague. That’s the way a girl looks at a guy when she wants more than friendship.”

You consider Seolhyun’s answer for a moment. It wasn’t as if you didn’t harbor any feelings for Momo at all; but you weren’t madly in love with her, either. She was certainly a large part of your life and you had feelings for her on some level, but you didn’t quite know what they were… yet..

The silence lingers for a moment between you and Seolhyun, and for a minute the only sound you can both hear is the soft hum of the hot tub’s water jets.

“What about you? Attached?” you ask, eager to steer the conversation away from the topic of Momo.

“No, I’m single,” Seolhyun answers, “I’m not really looking for anyone, either. Too busy with work at the moment. You know how it is.”

“I do,” you reply, and you find an understanding in her eyes.

“So I guess if you guys acquire our company, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” Seolhyun says, that flirty smile once again on her lips.

“Maybe. Or maybe we’ll take your tech and run away,” you say with a smile, ensuring she knew it was a joke.

Seolhyun feigns surprise at the notion.

“You could run away,” she begins, “but I will find you. And I will kill you,” she finishes, doing her best Liam Neeson impression. It’s so terrible you laugh out loud.

“That might be the worst Liam Neeson I’ve ever heard.”

In response, Seolhyun splashes water at your face; clearly she overestimated the strength of her splash, she ends up getting most of your face and hair drenched. The shock is apparent on her face as she realizes what she’s done.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-”

Seolhyun’s sentence is cut off as she receives a faceful of water.

“Don’t start a war you can’t win, Ms. Kim,” you say in your best cartoon supervillain voice.

Seolhyun’s smile turns into a naughty one, and she quickly crosses the hot tub, splashing more water at you as she does so - she gets one good splash in before you catch her wrists while she is going for a second one. She struggles playfully in your grasp, until she finally relents and comes to rest on your lap. You are both suddenly aware of your proximity, and the playfulness of the moment washes away and is suddenly replaced with a healthy amount of sexual tension.

“I guess you’ve got me,” she says, her eyes glancing at her wrists, still captive in your hands, “what will you do with me?”

Her eyes have taken a look freighted with lust, her eyelids half closed, and you take that as permission to proceed.

“I’ll find something to do to you,” you say, and with that you move your face forward to hers. She meets you halfway, and in a sudden moment of passion your lips crash into one another. You release her wrists from your grip and her arms immediately snake softly around your neck, your own arms wrapping around her torso as she shifts around on your lap and is now sitting with her knees on either side of your waist.

You’ve been in the situation enough times to know what this was. You knew what that first rush of passion meant, knew what would likely soon transpire. You knew that you were both young professionals looking to blow off some steam after a hard day’s work, and that this likely meant nothing more than that. Both of you were perhaps a little high off of the recent decision to acquire her company, and this was just a small way to celebrate.

Seolhyun breaks the kiss to look into your eyes, as if searching for permission, for some sort of indication that you wanted the same thing as her.

“Seolhyun,” you say, eager to ensure there were no misunderstandings, “you don’t have to do this to seal the deal or anything. I don’t want you to do something you might regret.”

“It’s sweet of you, but I want this,” Seolhyun says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I want you.”

With that your lips crash together again, and you are surprised to find Seolhyun’s tongue darting into your mouth, searching for and finding its counterpart, your mouths duelling as your hands roam each others’ bodies, exploring new flesh for the first time. You caress the firm, tight muscles of her back as you break the kiss and dive into her neck, unsatisfied with just her lips and eager to sample more of this young woman’s body, hands roaming freely over wet, soft skin.

Seolhyun lets out a soft moan as she raises her head to allow you access to her neck. You take your time, dipping your head to lick her collarbone before planting kisses upward, loving the feel of her wet, soft, unblemished skin on your lips, tracing your tongue lightly across her neck. You reach her ear and give it a soft nibble before moving back to her lips, which are ready and eager to receive you - this time it is your tongue that enters her mouth, eager to reciprocate her earlier advances.

Seolhyun breaks the kiss and draws away from you slightly, and for a moment you are afraid that you’ve gone too far and she wants to end things - but she puts your fears to rest as she raises her body slightly so that her upper torso is well above the water. With her eyes locked on yours, she reaches behind her back and undoes the simple knot that holds her bikini top to her body. Quickly, she grasps the garment and pulls it over her head before tossing it out of the hot tub, forgotten for the rest of the night.

Your eyes have been locked with hers the whole time, but you finally move your gaze downward to rest on her breasts. They are small, but like the rest of her body they are well shaped and with a delightful curve, her nipples enticing and already erect. The water dripping down her torso makes her even sexier than any woman has a right to be.

In that moment you wonder what you’ve done to deserve the run of luck you’ve been having with gorgeous women.

Satisfied that your eyes have taken their fill of her breasts, Seolhyun leans forward to allow your mouth to take their share of her body, and you oblige her, moving both your hands to her mounds and giving them a soft squeeze before taking her left breast in your mouth, your tongue playing random patterns around her hardened nipple. Meanwhile your left hand cups her free breast softly, squeezing and palming the soft flesh before taking her hard bud in your fingers and teasing it playfully with the pad of your thumb.

The young woman lets out a soft moan, the loudest yet, and her hips drive forward, making contact for the first time with your erect penis beneath the water. At the initial contact Seolhyun gasps, the only barrier between your intimate parts the thin layer of cotton of her bikini bottom. But she soon moves her hips forward again, and before you know it she is grinding against your shaft, the thin, wet cotton creating a delicious friction against the underside your cock.

Regretfully tearing her breasts from your mouth, she leans down until her mouth is next to your ear.

“Sit up on the edge of the tub,” she says softly, and you make eye contact with her to find her cute features flushed, her eyes heady with pleasure and lust.

Yet again you find yourself letting your head drop back in pleasure as the young woman between your legs works her magic with her mouth. Every entrance and exit of your shaft from her lips is a shock of pleasure that you feel in your entire body. You eventually gather the wherewithal to look down as Seolhyun’s head bobs up and down, her naked back glistening with sweat and water from the hot tub, the setting Seoul sun painting it with tones of orange, the toned muscles of her back working to pleasure you.

You do your best to fight it, to keep the pleasure at bay, and for a few minutes you succeed as you savor the pleasure, the simple pleasure of knowing you were in a rooftop hot tub getting a blowjob from one of the most gorgeous girls you’d ever met. But as it so often does, the feeling of impending orgasm began to come all at once.

“Seolhyun… fuck that’s amazing. Fuck. I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” you say, although even as the words leave your mouth you know you want to do exactly that - cum in this gorgeous young woman’s mouth.

In response, Seolhyun gives your cock a hard suck, starting from the base of your shaft, climbing up inch by inch, her lips wrapped tightly around you and her tongue pressed hard against its underside, until finally, your head pops out from between her lips. Wasting no time, she locks eyes with you and whispers.

“Cum in my mouth... But later I want your cum in my pussy.”

Normally, with other women, you’d have declined her offer - cumming in a woman’s mouth was wonderful, indeed, but it compared poorly to driving yourself inside a woman’s pussy and cumming inside her. But there is a heaviness, a strength in Seolhyun’s demands, in her tone of voice, that made her impossible to resist. With Momo, Sana, or Choa, you could have stopped her from proceeding, turned her around and started fucking her on the edge of the hot tub - with Seolhyun, you were powerless to do anything except follow her demands. This was a girl who demanded and got what she wanted, and you were unable to resist.

As she returns her mouth to your shaft, you realise that it was a pleasant problem to have.

Your eyes remain locked forward, because if you’d looked down to witness Kim Seolhyun taking your shaft in her mouth once more you think that it might be too much, and you’d cum almost immediately. And so in an effort so stave off that wonderful bliss for as long as possible, you gaze out at Seoul’s rapidly darkening sky.

Seolhyun, working between your legs, bears no such desire to prolong your pleasure, and you notice that one of her hands has joined your mouth, working the base of your shaft in a corkscrew motion - together with her hot tongue, gliding along the base of your cock and around the underside of the head, you quickly find yourself on the brink of orgasm.

“Fuck. Fuck, Seolhyun. I’m gonna cum.”

If she heard you say it, she must have ignored it. Seolhyun’s head continues to bob up and down on your shaft, and before you know it, your orgasm rocks your body from head to toe, your hands almost immediately gripping the back of the young woman’s head as your shaft erupts, sending hot, warm semen into the young woman’s willing mouth and throat.

You stay locked in that position for long moments, your body shivering in pleasure as the throes of orgasm rock your body, Seolhyun’s mouth wrapped tightly around your pulsating shaft as it empties hot, thick semen into her mouth. Finally, mercifully, your orgasm winds down, and Seolhyun takes your weakening grip on the back of her head as a sign that it has finally ended. She lifts her head from between your quivering legs, and, sure that your eyes are locked on her, she opens her mouth reveal a tongue and mouth painted in glistening white cum.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she closes her mouth and she swallows it all in two gulps, and she tilts her head back slightly to let you watch as her throat pushes the semen down and into her body. She opens her mouth again for you to see, and her pink tongue is all the evidence you need that she has swallowed it all.

She doesn’t speak a word - there is only that sultry, seductive smile playing once again on her lips, as she slowly, carefully rises from the hot tub, the warm water dripping down her sexy, topless frame, curving around her naked breasts and down her toned midsection. She rises and swings a long leg, then both, over the edge of the hot tub, before making her way to the women’s change room. When she is halfway there, she turns her upper body midway, her ass still facing you as she raises a hand in beckoning motion. Her lips still curved in that lusty smile, she continues into the women’s change room, closing the door behind her.

---

It takes you a few minutes to gather your senses and recover from the ridiculously pleasurable blowjob - Momo and Sana gave amazing head, and Choa was no slouch, but Seolhyun was probably on par with Momo for the most skilled at the task. Eventually you make your way to the door of the women’s change room, hesitating for just a moment at the fact that you were entering a room normally forbidden to men.

But this wasn’t a normal moment in time, after all, and you soon found yourself turning the knob and entering the dimly lit changing room. Like the rest of the office, it sported a classy, modern design. Two long rows of lockers lined one side of the room, while to the right, immediately after the door, was an open space with two showers - one of which was running.

Turning the corner to look into the shower stall, you find Kim Seolhyun leaning with her back against the shower wall, the shower head spraying her body making her somehow even hotter than she already was. Hair hair has been undone from its ponytail to fall around her shoulders, strands of black glued to her face and neck by the water. You take a long moment to fully admire her near-naked body; earlier you had resigned yourself to stealing glances at her beneath a veneer of gentlemanly consideration. Now, with any pretense of propriety banished by lust, you had no such reservations about admiring her gentle curves, her soft, unblemished skin, and her gorgeous face, lust and want written all over her small, delicate features.

Most alluring of all, however, is the fact that her right hand is at her crotch, working between her legs underneath the drenched, thin cotton of her bikini bottoms. The fabric is so wet, so thin, that you can easily make out the outline of her knuckles as they move her fingers in swirling patterns around her intimate areas, her face contorting to a heady mix of pleasure emanating from between her legs.

“Took you… long enough,” Seolhyun says softly, her words soft, her tone wavering, no doubt thanks to the pleasure she was eliciting from her own body.

“I had to recover from what you did to me,” you answer, and you were fully recovered indeed - the sight of the almost naked, wet young woman in front of you, pleasuring herself, had brought your shaft back to full attention. You reach a hand out to lean yourself against the shower wall; it is an almost cocky gesture, given the wanton young woman in front of you, but you want to keep her waiting.

“Good. Then you can stop staring at me and start fucking me.”

You smile slyly at the young woman.

“You seem to be doing a good job of fucking yourself.”

Seolhyun smirks at you, before licking her lips, her pink tongue, covered only moments before in your cum, licking her lips. She bites her lower lip again, the action almost unbearably sexy given the circumstances.

Without a further word she withdraws her hand from her bikini bottom, and with swift fingers she undoes the knots keeping the slim garment attached to her body. She tosses the drenched article away from her to land between the both of you. She is shaved clean between her legs, and the water flowing down her body from the shower head only serves to draw your attention to that wonderful space between her legs as it flows downwards towards her crotch.

“I’m so fucking wet. I want it so bad. And I want it hard.”

Seolhyun turns around so she is facing the shower wall, her round, perfectly shaped ass facing you, the delightful curve of her slim thighs creating a delicious looking gap directly below the soft lips of her pussy.

You had grown used to soft, pleasureable sex over the past couple of months, with elaborate foreplay and delicate, soft touches, ensuring that the woman orgasmed before you did - but here was a woman who said, straight up, that she wanted hard, fast sex. Who were you to resist?

No force in the world could have kept you from stepping forward, your eyes glued to her backside as you reach out your hands, placing them on her hips. She moans softly as you press your torso against hers, your wet skin meshing against each other. You bring your tongue to her ear and lick it softly as you breathe in the soft, sweet aroma of her hair, plastered against her scalp. Your mouth opens involuntarily in pleasure as your shaft rubs against the small of her back, the soft, wet skin creating a delicious friction against the underside of your cock.

“Don’t waste my time. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.” Seolhyun says, her words tinged with desperation, “I want it hard. Now.”

With other girls, you were able to restrain yourself, able to postpone sex until they were practically begging for it. With any other girl you would have teased her more, played with her breasts and ass and pussy and made her beg for you to penetrate her. But with Seolhyun, you were almost powerless, as though every order and demand she made was something to be done immediately.

And so you found yourself taking half a step back as Seolhyun bends slightly at the waist, lining up your most intimate parts. Taking your shaft in your right hand, and admiring for a second the sight of the gorgeous young woman’s body bent over for you, you bring your cock to her pussy and penetrate her in one, smooth stroke.

Every woman was unique, and Seolhyun was no exception, her pussy wet and slick, incredibly tight at her entrance but more comfortably soft further inside. You had grown used to Momo or Choa’s wetness, and Sana’s almost unbearably tight pussy, but Seolhyun’s body was new, wonderful territory - and as you bury your cock to the hilt inside of it, you allow yourself a moment to savor the tightness of her entrance, as though she were squeezing a hard ring of flesh around the base of your cock and massaging the rest of it with soft, warm flesh.

Your initial thrust has forced Seolhyun into a more bent position, her body leaning at an almost 45 degree angle forward. From this angle the shower head is pointed at her toned back, and you watch as the water cascades down her shoulder blades, along her spine, and down the firm, rounded cheeks of her ass. A wordless, soft gasp of pleasure escapes her lips, her eyes shutting involuntarily as the feeling of first penetration, and the sudden fullness between her legs brings with it a hot rush of heat throughout her body.

“Fuck. Fuck that feels good!”

You respond by withdrawing your cock, relishing in the feel of her ridiculously tight pussy lips of her entrance wrapped tightly around your shaft as it leaves her body, only for it to welcome it back in as you drive yourself forward, quickly establishing a hard pace as you thrust in and out, in and out, in and out of Kim Seolhyun’s pussy.

For long, pleasurable minutes, you fuck the young woman in the shower stall with hard, swift strokes into her willing pussy; this is not some soft lovemaking session, or even the rough, wild nights you sometimes shared with Momo - this was hard fucking with a single intent: to cum as fast as possible.

You are happy with your pace, happy to relish the feel of her tight, wet body, the sight of the shower water hitting the toned muscles of her slim back, happy to watch her grip the shower head desperately with one hand, the other hand pressed against the tiles of the shower wall, searching, in vain, for something to hold on to. You are happy to listen to the young woman’s gasps and moans, each sound heavily laden with pleasure. You are happy with all of these things, but Seolhyun wanted more, and you were all too ready to oblige.

“Fuck… harder! Fuck me harder! Spank my ass!”

You are taken aback by her commands, taken aback by a woman who was so demanding during sex. You had had sessions with Momo that you could both consider rough, but she never demanded and ordered you around like Seolhyun did, and truth be told it was kind of hot.

And so you draw your right hand up and bring it down onto her right ass cheek with moderate force, careful not to hurt her, and satisfied at the slight reddish tone it has left on her unblemished skin.

“Fuck! Do it harder!”

You are unsure whether she is referring to the pounding you are giving her pussy, or the slap on her ass, and so you do both, using your left hand, gripping her hips, to drive her harder against your shaft while your right hand smacks her ass with more force, the loud smack of your hand hitting her wet flesh vying with the wet squelches of your cock and her pussy as you fuck her.

You know now that she is not only comfortable with rough, hard sex, but that she wants more of it - and to that end your right hand leaves her reddened ass cheek and moves forward to grip a handful of her wet hair, plastered against her neck and upper back, and you pull back with a force that you are initially worried is too forceful. But the loud moan that erupts from her throat is enough to convince you that the young woman enjoyed it.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum!” Seolhyun says, the words spilling unbidden from her lips, a torrent of pleasure just barely formed into a coherent sentence, announcing her impending orgasm with words even as her body reinforces it with the slick wetness and tightening walls of her pussy.

“Fuck me. Fuck me as hard as you want! Fuck my pussy with your hard cock! Oh god, I’m gonna cum. I’m cumming. I’m cumming!”

Seolhyun’s world erupts in white as her orgasm overwhelms her senses, and it is all you can do to lean forward and keep her from collapsing as her body is wracked in pleasure radiating from her pussy. You wrap your arms around her shivering body, even as you bury your shaft into her pussy, your strokes slowing down in pace as her orgasm continues to hit her body with a force neither of you were expecting.

Thankfully, you are endowed enough to maintain significant penetration even when with the both of you pressed against the shower wall. Your pace has lessened to a near crawl, your shaft entering and exiting her body softly and slowly, and for the first time since you started fucking you are able to truly savor the feeling of her body as you are finally able to set the pace.

“Fucking cum in my pussy,” Seolhyun says with a gasp, the fatigue of the last few minutes finally hitting her all at once, “cum in my pussy like you came in my mouth. Fill me up with cum.”

It has been a quick session - only about fifteen minutes since you first entered her, but this was a quickie if there ever was one, and the sheer hotness of the woman you were currently buried in was enough for you to throw away any pretense of gentleness, any consideration for her pleasure or comfort - there was only your orgasm to reach, and that was all that mattered.

To that end you begin to pump in and out of her body, slow strokes at first but quickly building up to the fast, swift thrusts you were making when she came minutes ago. Your bodies are closer now, both almost upright, Seolhyun bent forward ever so slightly, her breasts and upper body pressed forward against the shower stall. You look down, and see only a slight glimpse of your shaft as it disappears between her ass cheeks with each thrust.

“Fucking give me your cum already,” Seolhyun says, her voice full of needy, lusty impatience, “cum for me.”

“You’re.. Fucking demanding… aren’t you?”

“I always... get what I want…” Seolhyun says, her sentence interrupted by the jolts your thrusting cock send throughout her body, “and right now… all I want.. is your cum in my pussy.”

You are so close now, too close to that point of no return when orgasm becomes inevitable, and her words are enough to drive you over that ledge. The feel of her wet, slick skin under your palms, her firm, tense ass cheeks as they crash into your lower abdomen, and most of all, that tight, vice-like grip of her pussy lips wrapped tightly around your cock - it is all too much to handle. In that moment you forgo any pretense of care for Kim Seolhyun - she is just a body, just a tight embrace of flesh for your cock, a hole to fire your cum into.

You wrap your right arm around her torso to grasp her left breast, squeezing the soft flesh there with a grip that you worry might be too hard, but the loud gasp that escapes Seolhyun’s mouth convinces you in an instant that she doesn’t mind it. Your other arm grips her left hip, driving it back against yours as you come to within seconds of orgasm.

“I’m gonna.. Fucking cum in you, Seolhyun.”

“Yes! Cum! Cum inside me! Fill my pussy with your cum!”

With two more strokes, you bury yourself as deep as you can inside her tight, warm pussy, before the throes of your orgasm wrack your body. Your shaft pulses strongly as it sends squirt after squirt of your warm semen into Seolhyun’s willing body, and you thrust forward slightly with each thrust, seeking every miniscule amount of pleasure from this moment.

You are pressing her body tightly against the shower wall and later you would wonder if you hurt her with your thrusts against the hard, wet wall, but at this moment, this wonderful moment, all you can feel is the soft, hot, wet flesh wrapped around your shaft as it finishes sending your hot semen into a young woman’s body.

After a long minute or two of silence as you wind down from your orgasm, Seolhyun turns her head slightly, her forehead still pressed against the shower wall.

“It’s going to be great working together,” she says softly.

“Definitely,” you agree, as you kiss the soft skin of her shoulder and the crook of her neck, relishing the taste of her wet skin on your lips.

“I guess you can buy our company, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You fuck me whenever I want.”

---

It is 7:54am the next morning, and you find yourself back in one of the downstairs offices, ready, if not entirely willing, to start the day’s meetings. After finishing up with Seolhyun in the shower, you headed back to the hotel where you were able to grab just a few hours of sleep before your alarm woke you, frustratingly early, to get ready for work.

You are engaged in small talk with Seolhyun, who is sitting on the edge of your office table. She is explaining the various positions on a company organization chart that she has printed out for you when the office door opens. Hirai Momo and Park Choa enter the room, but with a third figure following closely behind them - Minatozaki Sana.

Your heart leaps slightly at the sight of Sana, and the bright, cheery smile that appears on her face when you lock eyes captures every ounce of your attention, as though nothing else existed. It takes a moment for you to come back to reality as you notice that Seolhyun is still speaking to you.

“...and that’s me,” Seolhyun says, pointing to her position on the chart. She pauses the conversation as Momo, Sana, and Choa approach, offering the three of them smiles and small bows of her head.

“Good morning, loser,” Momo says.

“Good morning to you too,” you reply sarcastically.

“When did you get back to the hotel last night?”

“Late,” you say, with a glance at Seolhyun, and Momo, who is following your gaze, sees the blush appear on Seolhyun’s face along with a sultry smile. Momo suddenly looks sullen, and at that moment you are struck by the split second of hurt that flashes across her features. Next to her, Sana puts two and two together, and her eyes betray the disappointment and betrayal she felt inside.

“I see. Having fun with our new colleagues, I bet?” Momo asks, her tone suddenly heavy with sarcasm.

“You could say that,” Seolhyun begins, “I gave him a... tour of the office. Including the hot tub on the roof.”

Momo nods, but you’ve known her long enough to know that there is disapproval there, and hurt beneath her eyes. Sana, still standing next to her, has cast her eyes downward, a corner of her lip pursed together. It was the look of a girl who has just been struck.

“It was fun,” Seolhyun continues, “he was very… energetic.”

With that, Seolhyun hops off the office table and saunters over to her place in the boardroom, taking a seat opposite you along the long central table, every stride and movement full of confidence.

“Momo, Sana,” you begin, “it was just-”

“Save it,” Hirai Momo says, her tone sharp, “I don’t wanna hear it. I need some coffee. Let’s go, Sana.”

Momo drops her briefcase and tablet on the office table - two seats away from you. Sana catches your gaze, and you think, for a split second, that there is a glassiness in her eyes that is a precursor to tears - but Momo grasps the young woman by the upper arm and drags her out of the room. Momo’s stride is full of anger and betrayal, but Sana’s sad shuffle and small steps are the walk of a girl who has just been hurt.

Choa, who accompanied them into the office, sees the empty seat next to you, and sets down her belongings on the desk before taking the empty space.

“Do you want some advice?” she says, her tone serious.

“Sure, why not,” you say with a sigh, as you bury your head in your hands on the table.

“I’m sure this thing with this Seolhyun chick was just a one night stand, and that’s fine. And Lord knows there are no strings attached when we have our fun in the office too. But you’re an idiot if you think you can bang all these girls and still pursue a relationship with either one of those two.”

You give Choa a look and find earnestness in her eyes. She was, as always, a good friend before she was your executive assistant.

“And eventually, you’ll have to choose between them. If you chase two rabbits, both of them will get away.”

“Thanks, Choa. I appreciate it,” you say, meaning every word. You manage a soft smile, thankful to have someone like her in your life.

Choa nods and smiles softly, her small, cute face bringing a splash of joy into the otherwise dreary start to the morning.

“Great. Now let’s buy the shit out of this company.”

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #pov smut #reader insert #male reader #aoa #aoa seolhyun #seolhyun #kim seolhyun

180 notes · View notes

lillianfromaccounting · 3 years

Text

This ended up being a very long post and I'm on mobile, so I'll fix the read more in the morning when I get on the computer.

TW: covid, depression, Thanksgiving, a lot of food talk

-----------

Today, we officially called off Thanksgiving with family (it had pretty much been decided but today we called the few people to confirm it).

Some background: my family only started celebrating Thanksgiving because I wanted to. We're Chinese, so growing up, it wasn't a thing for us, plus my mom wasn't fond of turkey.

At the age of 13, I picked up a bread baking recipe book at a Scholastic book drive. Up until that point, I had been baking stuff from box mixes, so making bread from scratch was a huge deal for me. Age 14, I told my parents I wanted to do Thanksgiving the American way. We qualified for a free turkey at our local supermarket anyway, so why not? To make it more palatable, I incorporated Chinese elements into the menu--various Chinese vegetables (choy) instead of green bean casserole, sticky rice (loh mai fan) stuffing--and i would bake fresh bread. There would always be white rice.

I have a huge extended family and on the weekends, my parents would have family and friends over to play mahjong, so Thanksgiving went over great because they loved trying all these new foods, and I loved trying new recipes. We always had a rotation of at least thirty people, so the food went. I think one year, I counted just over fifty people--it was like a revolving door at my parents' house, some people would pop in around lunch time and hang out until they had to go to their own family's Thanksgiving dinners, some came for dinner, and some came for dessert and coffee with a side of mahjong.

As the years went on, my menus got more and more elaborate, and I would enlist my younger siblings (I have three) to be my sous chefs. It was a THING. Thanksgiving was my thing.

The college I went to is very involved with the Macy's Thanksgiving parade balloons, and while it would have been an awesome experience, it required giving up your Wednesday night and most of Thanksgiving Thursday. That was a deal breaker for me. That's how much my Thanksgiving ritual meant to me.

Some of my favorite memories are waiting in line at DiPalo's (before they expanded, back when it was just the corner storefront) with my sister the weekend before Thanksgiving to get fresh mozzarella and ricotta and parmigiano (lasagna was a huge hit with my family). The longest we waited was three hours one year.

Another year, this was after I had graduated and moved out and was working. My work let us out early (around 2pm), but this asshat in another department ensured me that he needed these numbers so he can work over the weekend. I ended up running out to DiPalo's to pick up my order and going back to work, working to 9pm to get those numbers out, before going back to my parents' house to start cooking. The asshat didn't look at them that weekend (we get the Friday off too).

Mind you, it's not that I couldn't get the ingredients in Jersey, I just honestly had no idea where to go. My parents did the bulk of their grocery shopping in Chinatown and DiPalo's was right at the border of Chinatown and Little Italy.

As I said earlier, my menus got more elaborate over the years. Everyone kept eating the loaves of fresh bread for breakfast, so I made Thanksgiving an all day affair, with a breakfast, lunch, and dinner menu.

One year, the theme was fried foods (fried turkey legs, homemade mozzarella sticks, etc.). I always tried new recipes on Thanksgiving, because honestly, what I enjoyed most about it was the process, the production of creating something delicious.

My siblings started sending me recipes throughout the year. One year, I made a vegan raspberry cheesecake (the base was cashews and almonds).

My siblings also said that they knew my now husband was a keeper because he had not only survived Thanksgiving at my parents' house, but he rolled with it (I'm pretty sure I put him to work too).

After we got married and bought our house, I claimed Thanksgiving for both sides of the family (there were no objections, because I didn't care about Christmas, so they had Christmas). My husband's family had been getting their Thanksgiving meals catered for a few years at this point, so they didn't mind not cooking.

But including his family meant I had to start making sacrifices to my process. One person only liked Stove Top stuffing (don't get me wrong, Stove Top chicken flavor is amazing, but so is a sausage stuffing from scratch). The year my second child was born, I think I was a bit burned out by everything, so we ended up ordering a whole pig (think spit roast, but Chinese style) and some roast ducks that year. We were told the next year that some people would prefer to have turkey. One year, we decided to smoke our turkey, and the feedback we had gotten was that some people really preferred oven roasted. So the following year, we did turkey three ways (roasted, smoked, and deep fried) and we started getting feedback that we were doing too much variety. This happened with the sides too. Heirloom vegetable recipes (guys, I used to watch the Food Network religiously) were reduced to sauteed green beans or asparagus. We were told to reduce the variety of things, so the only pasta dish that kept making it onto the menu was mac and cheese, because that was someone else's preference. And I couldn't even play around with the mac and cheese, because the family's recipe used Velveeta (yes, I know I sound like a food snob, and it's because I was back then).

But year after year, the creativity of the menu decreased and decreased, to the point where my husband and I felt it wasn't enjoyable anymore.

This morning, after we had called the family (it was really just my and his parents, whom we have been seeing during this whole time because we live close and do shopping for them, etc.), part of me was excited to finally make a menu and my husband and I agreed on a very small menu, because it's just us and our two kids.

And by the time I went to bed, I was excited again for Thanksgiving because we will be cooking things that we want. There are three, possibly four varieties of scones on the breakfast menu right now. I haven't mentioned this yet, but my menus are always too ambitious. I almost never get every single dish on the table, but the important ones get there. The experimental ones get ranked in order of what I want to taste.

After all these years, we have established staples. We always have bacon cheddar scones with breakfast. My sons requested chocolate chip and vanilla, respectively, and I want pumpkin. We'll see how many varieties actually get made. I always make fresh cranberry sauce for the sole reason of baking it into a crumb cake for Friday morning. We also eat the Ocean Spray jellied (with whole berries), and I serve it in slices. My husband is the mashed potato king, so he handles that. The King Arthur masala chai pumpkin pie recipe has been a hit year after year, so that is a staple now. I was excited to be able to cook what we wanted again.

It even inspired a Thanksgiving chapter in the fic I am writing. (I am so, so, so happy and excited for this chapter now.)

But as I was going to bed tonight, I was thinking about those memories at DiPalo's and cooking with my siblings, and pandemic sadness hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried hard. I miss my siblings. I miss the hospitality of it all. Just like my parents' house was a revolving door, when my husband and I took over Thanksgiving, it was an unspoken rule that extended friends and family were welcomed. My siblings' friends from high school and college would stop by. My one sister's friend would even ask to be on the menu distribution list (I usually drafted a menu and my family members would vote on which dishes they wanted, and that was partially how the menu was created) and invite himself over lol.

I miss that company--the people who understood my Thanksgiving--my family. I haven't seen (in person) one sister since January and the other since March. And while we're constantly talking to each other and do the occasional video chat, it's just not the same.

If you read this far, thank you for your time and energy.

I don't have a point to this post, except maybe wear a fucking mask and stay home, so we can eventually beat this pandemic and resume some semblance of pre-covid life.

And I know this post is very much a first world problem. We have enough to eat and a warm roof over our heads. I am very grateful for that. But I am allowed to be sad too. This year would have been my 25th anniversary with Thanksgiving.

Writing all this out really helped though.

#personal #Thanksgiving #food #long post #depression #covid 19 #thanks for reading #i finally feel like i might be able to sleep now #also katiekeysburg would probably agree that my menus are ridiculous #and yeah some of it is excessive

19 notes · View notes

hyperionswrath--archived · 4 years

Text

@onepartbrave

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Squall quipped quietly, tone almost playful in its intent. Pretty certain he spat the words out yesterday with an entirely different sentiment fuelling them, today felt… nicer. Calmer with himself than he had been in what felt like years. Perhaps, a sense of closure was occurring, having met Seifer and essentially patched up a part of history. Maybe it was the fact there was the promise of tomorrow since he’d concurred with sparring (the blond would never back out of a fight). Or, the longest shot yet… potentially, he was just happy. Untainted, simple happiness he was allowed to wallow in for the time being. So what if it came from hanging around his former rival? No big deal.

Famous last words…

A frosty glare bore into the man’s back at that unnecessary remark about his apparent cuteness. Seriously, was he picking a fight? Because Squall wouldn’t let bothersome comments slide should he continue to make them like an imbecile. Huffing lightly at yet another jibe against him following, he set his pace to be moderate despite the light-headedness threatening to overthrow him.

Marching along when Seifer took the eventual lead, Squall followed his guidance without complaint. Though a frown marred his features at noticing the man hunching over as the chill hit, slate-blues inspecting the coat he temporarily claimed for his own again. It wasn’t fair the blond braved the wintry weather oncoming while he paraded about in a pilfered garment… Nonetheless, he kept that protest private as he knew it’d be a pointless battle he’d inevitably lose. As mentioned before, Seifer was stubborn to a fault and Squall didn’t have the thinking power to properly banter for victory.

Plus… the scenery was slowly taking over his attention. Flamboyant buildings took the place of rustic establishments and Squall knew immediately they were in a completely different section of the city. Strobe lights and neon lit up the street with partygoers and gamblers alike crowding entrances in hope for admittance. A sense of unease settled within, knowing plainly he’d never set foot in places like this when alone (from bashfulness or nervousness, he wasn’t sure) but tailed Seifer undeviatingly. One in particular stood out like a sore thumb, embellished with grandiose unlike any Squall had witnessed. No clubs in Esthar held this appeal.

Swallowing uncertainly, he stuck to Seifer like glue as they ascended a short flight of stairs, pausing only when the Glaive prompted him. Staring up in a silent query, he refrained from griping when the warm, cosy coat was jostled so an inner pocket could be accessed and kept a watchful eye on what was going on instead. Everyone was dressed smartly and he was beginning to feel more out of place by the second. Even when commanding the military plot he worked for, he’d never been one for ‘dressing to impress’. If they didn’t like how he looked, that wasn’t his problem. Here… it was another story, a different setting, and vague regret was starting to build at the back of his mind.

When they were welcomed, Squall steeled his wavering nerve and stepped inside with his former rival, examining all he could as they strode on. Dizziness fleeting, he was in dire need of another drink should he stave off the need to escape and his eyes sought out the bar as soon as they appeared to enter another room but he was yet to place one. Some woman glanced at him expectantly and he noted it was for the coat. Accordingly, he tightened his grip on it, reluctant to be released from the safety net it offered and shook his head politely. Appeased with his answer, the woman waved them on and Squall saw they were getting further inside, more into the fray.

And—someone’s hand was on him. A brief flicker of eyes behind him confirmed it was Seifer’s. Comforted it wasn’t a stranger’s, he felt somewhat flustered it was Seifer’s. “Ah… drink?” he requested in a reticent tone, perking up marginally when spotting what he wanted. “I’ll get one—you can find your friends?”

Breaking off any contact he had to save his composure from cracking further, Squall dodged many bodies and wandering hands with sluggishly retuning grace, all the while keeping Seifer’s coat tight about his form. Of all the days to wear form-hugging jeans… At least, he’d been told they were in passing conversation. Careless about that fact presently, he approached the bar and waited with fraying patience to be served, drumming his barely free digits on the polished surface.

Of course it was just his luck that someone decided they wanted to chat with him during. Some guy was clearly waiting on beverages himself and glided along the counter to stand beside Squall in the meantime. Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Squall’s head jerked to the right, jolting back at how close the stranger dared to get. A downside to not being known, he guessed. People invaded his personal space like it was a game. Some hushed remark about his borrowed coat met his ears, and he scowled lightly, shaking his head in a negative manner. Go away…

They didn’t. In fact, the man persisted in talking to himself, trying to engage Squall in conversation. Tiresome efforts were rewarded with nothing but flat stares and mild glares. Oddly, it seemed to spur the man on. Maybe he should’ve gone with Seifer first and ordered him to get some refreshments. At least he had people skills, unlike the brunet…

Yes, he would like to know, thank you very much. But having expected no useful answer, all Seifer had to offer was a low chuckle. At least the tension between them had settled somewhat, even if it had been exchanged for something different. Tense too, but mixed with anticipation? Best not to think too much about it.

As had to be expected Squall soon showed signs of discomfort, the tall blond easily picked up on it by how the brunet's shoulders were set, how his gaze darted around, and how he simply wouldn't want to let go of the coat. Which might become a little too warm to wear inside, but he was willing to humor the man. So both of them entered the building proper, reaching the main area which was crowded to the brim with people, mostly passing through to reach the different areas of the inside. To the left was the bar, huge and manned with four to five bartenders merely dressed in leather pants, muscles glistening from oil or other anointments. Farther behind the bar a hallway led to another set of rooms as well as the toilets, while the right side also had three more hallways leading into different areas and thus, themes.

In the middle of the current hall, a stage was placed on which preparations seemed to be made. Stairs on both sides of the hall lead to the upper floor, consisting of a balcony surrounding the vicinity and, if one was to go upstairs, more hallways.

Before he could even stop Squall, the brunet already dove headfirst into the crowd to get drinks, which had Seifer sigh exasperated. He already knew where his friends were, as he had texted them before. Shrugging, he took a moment to take out his phone and confirm their position as well as letting them know he had arrived before he let his gaze wander for a while. Being the tall blond in a military uniform he was, coat or no, he was bound to pull attention to himself in a setting like this. And he'd lie if he didn't enjoy it. But right now his concern lay with a certain SeeD who thought it wise to dart off alone.

He was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt though, maybe he was able to procure their drinks without getting himself in trouble? And so he leisurely sauntered over in the general direction Squall had taken off to, taking his time and allowing the gazes of strangers to wander over his athletic figure, jade-greens scanning the bar to finally find the lithe form swimming in his coat and, how could it be any different, already prey to one of the guests. Not entirely able to help himself smirk briefly, Seifer strode over and stopped behind Squall, leaning over to speak close to his ear so he could hear him over the music.

"Don't wander off alone," his low voice rumbled, emerald gaze now staring directly past his companions head at the stranger getting into the brunet's private space way too casually. Lifting one arm to snake it around Squall's hips and pulling him closer, he shot a warning smile to the intruder. "Sorry but he's with me. Back off." The guy seemed to be intimidated by the appearance of a Glaive in and on itself and thus was wise enough to not put up a fight as he lifted both hands in an apologizing manner, mumbling something as he started backing off and retrieving his drink, hurrying off into the crowd again.

Sighing slightly, the tall blond let go of his former rival, not wanting to distress him further by being too close as he nodded in the general direction of the bar where their drinks had been placed in the meantime. "Come on, the guys are by the stage. There's some performance tonight and we seem to be just in time," he spoke again close to the other's ear, out of necessity. And, well, maybe because he liked it, too.

He waited for Squall to go ahead, again placing one hand at the small of his back for the convenience of being able to steer him in the right direction, all the while towering behind him like a misplaced guardian. Soon he was able to make out the telltale maroon head of Tredd, the brunet and half-shaved one of Kerr as well as the light sandy tuft of hair belonging to Luche along with four other people. Three girls and one guy, the ones they had picked up elsewhere. His Glaive comrades were also still in their uniforms, coats tossed on the benches somewhere, and chatting away, while the civilians all also didn't wear too fancy clothes. It was not mandatory in the Diamond Dust, although preferred. If one came with a Kingsglaive as company, no one would complain to begin with.

Before they could reach their table, however, Seifer stopped Squall once more, leaning down to him, the look in his eyes death earnest this time. "Listen," he set to speak, making sure the brunet was paying attention, "if it gets too much, no matter what, you tell me. Understood?" Making a point of not sounding commanding for once, he could only hope that his concern was not missing its mark. There could be things happening in this vicinity that might easily overwhelm the reserved SeeD and, quite frankly, he'd hate it if this evening ended on bad terms just because he didn't pay attention to how the other felt about it all. Nodding at him reassuringly, he straightened his posture and made for the table, greeting the cheering Glaives with clasping hands and teasing words.

#onepartbrave #rp #long post #.awww he is concerned #.he's like a guard dog istg #.no one take my squall it's mine and mine alone #.no toss #.only play

1 note · View note

kristallioness · 4 years

Photo

2016 | 2017 | 2018

*quietly sneaks back in*... Happy New THIS Year, my dear followers! In Estonia, we have this saying that if you wish someone a 'happy new year' after Three Kings' Day (the 6th of January), you gotta have a bottle of alcohol with you and give them a drink. *lol*

Anyways, I would like to apologize for the sudden disappearance that happened prior to Christmas. I was just busy travelling back home for the holidays, unpacking and putting away my stuff, watching some great, traditional movies or shows on TV, and most importantly, working on those 2 latest masterpieces that I posted (which barely got 30 notes each.. *sigh*).

But as you can (and probably will) see, the year of the yellow earth pig (i.e. my dad's year) was a rollercoaster of emotions and accomplishments, or lacking thereof.

My creative side seems to have suffered the most due to lack of leisure time. I only managed to finish 3 full digital drawings and left behind several sketches or unfinished WIPs (2 of which are revealed here under the months of June and November for the first time, I intend to finish the Korrasami one btw). At least I got to start 2020 with a completed drawing on the very 1st day, ha-ha! Perhaps that's a good omen for this year?

If so, then I hope I'll find the time to finish the rest of the 2019 Inktober prompts, since I only did 4/31 this past October (even though I'd thought of ideas for all of them). I brought all the necessary drawing utensils and sheets of paper with me, so whenever I'm in the mood, I'll try to sketch another one.

*calculates for the nth time*.. I wrote 18,110 words worth of fanfiction, plus 820 words for the UYLD prompts (making the total 18,930). Technically, you can count another 8k+ in there, since it comes from that unfinished story (of Aang taking care of a flu-ridden Katara, as illustrated by the September sketch), which I haven't finished within the last 4 months or so. Plus, I barely wrote 1/5 of the amount compared to 2018.. *hides in shame*

Then again, I was an excellent pupil for picking up an actual book and reading through 150+ pages (which means I have ~300 pages to go). I'm talking about the new Kyoshi novel that came out. As I once said, I haven't voluntarily read a book in years make that 2 years ago (most of the reading I've done in my life is either Tom & Jerry comics, now the Avatar comic trilogies and art books as well as fanfiction online, or compulsory reading during school). But this novel is freaking fantastic superb!

Not only that, I bought all the new comic trilogies and managed to read them through. Damn, did they give me feels.. especially "Ruins of the Empire" (ngl I squeed so hard when I saw the Korrasami farewell kiss on the 1st page of the 2nd part). I can't wait to read the 3rd part this year!

However, I failed to rewatch Avatar last year, and I haven't seen Korra since.. 2016, I believe? Wow, that's 4 whole years.. But I intend to fix that mistake starting from 2020. Hopefully I'm in the mood to start my rewatch this weekend tonight. *fingers crossed*

But as I said, I had much less time to focus on my hobbies since 2019 was the year for finally moving on with my life (sort of, I'm still working on it). I still remember how down I'd been feeling for a while and how valid those emotions really were. The first quarter of the year (+ like a month or two) was a continuous descent into desperation and feelings of utter failure, which already started around the 2nd half of 2018 and only continued to deepen around that time.

Everything began to change when I was first chosen to be part of a 2-month summer internship in an IT company, and I had to start building a new nest in a new location in Tallinn this May. And now, I feel like I've hit the jackpot by getting a permanent job in another IT company this October.

I got the opportunity to work in two different fields, in two different teams within a year. I met some awesome colleagues (a lot of whom are foreigners) and got the chance to really put my English skills to the test.

Thanks to the new job, I also had to go to a free health check, which went really-really well. Despite my nervousness in the beginning, I feel much more relaxed about my physical (and mental) health, cause the results showed that everything's okay (something I'd been worried about since March 2017).

Speaking of health or staying healthy, there were a few sports events that I went to, too. Our team held the first winter team event (it was the first one for me, at least) by going to do archery in a range on the outskirts of the capital.

I watched the football match between 2 teams of our local league at my hometown together with my dad on his birthday. Our home team won the match and came in 4th place overall in the league this year, which is their best result so far (I'm really proud!). And merely days before I started work, I visited the Tallinn International Horse Show for the first time (also with my dad). I last got to watch horses jump over fences or dance to their musical programs ~ 10 years ago, and I loved it!

Event-wise 2019 was pretty full of them. As has become tradition, I went to the Defence Forces parade on our 101st Independence Day (which seemed rather bleak compared to the centennial, even more so since we didn't have ANY snow at the time).

What will hopefully become new traditions, I visited the television tower on the Restoration of Independence Day (where Uku Suviste gave a free concert in the evening), and went to the Veteran's Rock concert (to honour our war veterans) on our Freedom Square on the 23rd of April (since I'm residing in the capital now, I should be able to go again this year).

To continue with the centennial celebrations (yes, some things are STILL turning 100), I saw and explored inside the armoured train no. 7 called "Wabadus" ("Freedom") in the Baltic Station. This armoured train was one of the keys that led our country to victory during the War of Independence from 1918-1920.

There was an even bigger (150th) anniversary to celebrate in the beginning of July, when I attended our Song and Dance Festival. This was a really important, if not the biggest event of the year. I intend to make a longer post about my experience, cause it's something that you foreigners need to see for yourself. I can't simply describe or put it into words, I have to show you some videos and photos.

But while we're on the topic of concerts, I should mention that I went to 2 more at the beginning of June - Bon Jovi and Sting - as well as 2 that were part of Christmas tours in December - Elina Nechayeva and Rolf Roosalu.

Besides that, I went to 6 different festivals, half of which I'd been to several times before, such as the Türi Flower Fair, Jäneda Farm Days (where I went on my first helicopter ride for my 25th birthday present) and the Christmas market in the Old Town of Tallinn.

The other half is comprised of festivals that I'd been considering going to for a while, or which took place for the first time. The latter applies to the Black Food Festival, whereas the "Valgus Kõnnib" ("Wandering Lights") and the duck rally, both of which took place in Kadriorg, fall under the first category.

The duck rally is a charity event held in the beginning of June. Regular people can buy at least one (or several) rubber bath duckies for different prices, which will then be dumped into a tiny stream that'll carry them towards the finish line. This event has grown more popular each year, and the money the Estonian Association of Parents of Children with Cancer (sorry, long name in English!) collects is donated to the Cancer Treatment Fund.

*wipes forehead*.. Phew! I'm surprised, that's a whole lotta positivity for 2019. I think there's one more important, but seriously negative topic I haven't covered yet, but I feel should be mentioned and explained.

When it comes to politics, 2019 was a complete disaster for us. EKRE (Eesti Konservatiivne Rahvaerakond in Estonian, or Estonia's Conservative People's Party in English) i.e. our populist/nazi/pro-Trump party is in the government as of April 2019, thanks to 100,000+ idiots (out of our population of 1.3 million) who voted for them and gave them 19/101 seats in the Parliament.

No, I am NOT going to apologize for calling them a nazi party, because their main leaders have repeatedly supported ideology that's common to nazis (they use aggressive rhetoric, blame the media for making them look bad, downgrade women, minorities, are racist, anti-semitic etc...). And I will not apologize in front of the people who voted for them, because "thanks" to this, EKRE has dragged our country's reputation straight through a mud puddle (not to mention the scandals that have accompanied 5 of their ministers, 3 of who have THANKFULLY stepped down from their positions) and.. *swears like the British*.. it's BLOODY EMBARRASSING.

I am done being nice, I have at least some kind of prejudice about anyone who supports them or their ideals. And I will certainly not let Estonia end up like America. So that is why I participated in two protest events against EKRE and our current government (because the 2 other parties, who were willing to form the coalition with them, are spineless jellyfish that simply seek to hold onto their current positions of power). I'm willing to take bets as to when our government falls (the sooner the better).

*shakes off the frustration*.. Brrr! So besides that, I guess the only downside to 2019 was my spare time falling back in the list of priorities (which shows in the empty square of July).

2020 is gonna be the year of the white metal rat. I can only hope (and take action so) that it'll be just as eventful, and much more creative than 2019. Thank you all for following me (or lurking anonymously) for so long, especially to the bloggers who've offered me support through better or worse! *raises a glass* Here's to 2020!.. *sip*

#personal #shards of Kristal

10 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Gloxalias and other ways to say I love you (branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Brooke works in a hospital gift shop. Vanessa is the mom of a young cancer patient who really loves flowers. It’s no match made in Heaven, but they might just be able to create their own.

This fic has the potential to be hugely, massively triggering. There’s grief, mentions of death, descriptions of anxiety, and explicit content to do with childhood cancer, surgery, and there’s a lot of medical content. PLEASE take care of yourselves.

Thank you Holtz for beta-ing this and for being a wonderful human. Also thank you to all the folks on AO3 who shared their stories with me. The responses from everyone who’ve been touched by cancer in some way have been truly humbling, and I hope readers here on AQ will find it resonates with them too.

The first time Brooke sees Vanessa, she’s combing through the hospital gift shop looking for flowers.

“Are you sure your unit allows flowers?” Brooke asks when the woman reaches the counter with an armful of daisies.

“Oh, um… No.” she looks taken aback by the question, like it was one she’s never considered. “You even allowed to ask me that? Consternationality an’ all that?”

Brooke is unable to keep herself from cracking a little smile. “Nah, confidentiality only applies to doctors. I’m just a lowly cashier,” she sighs with a fake forelorness that makes the other woman laugh, a loud, scratchy bark that makes everyone within fifty feet of the gift shop turn around in alarm.

Brooke thinks it’s infectious.

“Seriously though, mama, I ain’t actually sure.” the woman shrugs after they both finally calm down. “You know if the pod—peda—pom—the kids’ ward lets people have flowers? My kid loves ‘em.”

Brooke doesn’t, and she tells the woman so. For a moment, from the way the bright, lively twinkle in the woman’s eyes dies down a little, Brooke is afraid the woman might start to cry, or even yell. She’s seen it before; distraught family members upset at the exorbitant pricing of stuffed animals or the fact that their loved one’s favourite snack isn’t available taking it out on her, screaming until their voices are hoarse and their rage is subdued by a peace offering of a free purchase of any one item they want. Brooke isn’t supposed to do it, but it saves her jugular, and she can get the desperation and pent-up grief they’re feeling.

She’s about to offer the same consolation prize to this woman when the woman collects herself unexpectedly, letting out a sigh as her face smooths over into something that’s almost a smile.

“Alright, Mary. I’ll check with the nurse and come back if I can.”

“Brooke.” Brooke says, almost inaudibly, as the woman turns to leave.

“Huh?” the woman turns around, a confused frown knitting itself onto her face.

“Brooke. Not Mary. My name’s Brooke.” She blushes the minute the words are out of her mouth, realizing how nitpicky and stupid she must sound. But if the woman thinks so, she doesn’t show it; in fact, she smiles brightly, the sparkle returning to her eyes as she laughs again, making Brooke relax and laugh a little, too.

“Alright then, miss Brooke-not-Mary. See you soon as the nurses tell me I can come back down and pick up these flowers.”

“Alright then,” Brooke nods, an inexplicable thread of hope weaving through her chest, “See you around…”

“Vanessa. But my friends call me Vanjie.”

—

Vanessa comes back down a few days later, a triumphant smile spread across her face as she marches straight up to the counter.

“Guess who can buy flowers, bitch!”

Brooke looks up from the stolen magazine she’s not supposed to be reading and grins.

“I was hoping you’d come back.”

Vanessa arches a brow. “You flirtin’ with me, Mary?”

Brooke almost chokes on her tongue.

“I’m—no, I’m so sorry, I’m not—“

“Relax,” Vanessa chuckles, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just jokin’, I ain’t mean nothin’.”

Brooke can’t figure out why she feels a little disappointed at the words, nor why Vanessa’s voice seems to hold the same feeling.

Or maybe she’s just imagining it.

Nonetheless, Vanessa circles the flower section for about five minutes before returning to Brooke with the same armful of daisies she had picked out yesterday. Only this time, there are twice the amount, such that the brunette’s face is almost completely hidden behind their petals.

“You good?” Brooke laughs as Vanessa drops the flowers onto the counter with a huff.

“Just ring ‘em up, mama.” Vanessa rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the little smile she’s clearly trying not to crack.

Brooke starts to do just that, and soon the only sound that fills the room is the rhythmic beeping of her scanner.

—

“So… your kid really likes daisies, huh?” Brooke ventures the next day, when Vanessa was back with the same armful of flowers. The younger woman just blinks.

“I mean, they like most kinds of ‘em, I just don’t wanna fuck up, y’know? I been reading up on all that petal-talk shit, I ain’t want to get them somethin’ that means divorce when I’m tryna make them feel better. I know daisy means happy shit, so that’s what imma stick to.”

Brooke’s heart softens. She’s been working at the gift shop for about five years now, and she’s seen countless parents blow through looking for something to either get their kids or pass the time while trying not to worry about them. She’s never met a mother so hung up on details that she’d worry right down to the hidden meanings of the flowers she’s buying. It’s downright adorable, and even though she probably shouldn’t, she can’t help but get involved.

“Y’know, I used to be into flower language myself.” She shifts on her feet, suddenly acutely aware of how her suggestion could be taken. And, just as she feared, Vanessa laughs.

“There you go, flirtin’ with me again.” Vanessa winks, still giggling as she watches Brooke’s face go crimson. “Tell you what, I gotta go ‘cause my kid’s got an MRI, but imma be back tomorrow, an’ you can teach me all about that daisy tulip pussyfoot mumble-jumble. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” Brooke smiles.

For some reason, even after she gets home that night, her body is still buzzing with nerves and something that feels suspiciously like excitement.

—

As it turns out, Vanessa isn’t just back the next day—she’s back the day after that, and the day after that, and so on for the rest of the week. At first, they stick to flowers; Brooke runs through every plant in the gift shop’s small collection, rattling off any fact she thinks Vanessa might find interesting.

“You know, even though tulips are commonplace now, in the 1600s, these things were actually more valuable than gold in the Netherlands. Isn’t that wild?”

“I actually read that the juice from bluebell flowers can be used to make glue. See how sticky it is?”

“Orchids are actually my favourite flowers–Did you know that they don’t even need soil to grow? They can get nutrients from the air!”

Vanessa always listens with intent, nodding and smiling in a way that Brooke can tell shows she’s genuinely interested.

Slowly, they get to talking more, Vanessa hanging by the counter long after she’s traded a creased wad of fives for a new vase or packets of plant food. Sometimes, she doesn’t buy anything at all, only stands across from Brooke, or drags her over to the flower section to talk, the perfumy smell of pollen tickling at their noses as they trade snippets of their life stories.

Vanessa is a fashion designer who works part-time for a swimsuit company, part-time on her own small business designing adaptive clothing for disabled people of all ages. Vanessa’s kid, Frances, is twelve years old and loves soccer, flowers, and their pet frog, Bertha. They’re in the seventh grade but doing math at a grade eight level, and they had come out as non-binary when they were ten, the same year they were diagnosed with a tumour lodged in their occipital lobe. Vanessa and Frances were Catholic, and even though cancer, transness, and faith were difficult to reconcile, the chaplain at the hospital was fearless and the two of them had managed.

Vanessa had been married before, but he had died of the same illness that Frances is struggling with now, long before Frances even knew him. They don’t remember him now, and for that, Vanessa is grateful.

“I still haven’t told them,” Vanessa shrugs through a noseful of baby’s breath. “I don’t want them thinkin’ that they’re goin’ the same way. It’s been two years now an’ the cancer’s gonna be gone after this last round of chemo and then their resection, I can feel it. I don’t want them worryin’ about how their daddy didn’t get the same chance.”

Vanessa leaves that day with an armful of violet chrysanthemums and a weight lifted off her shoulders.

–

“I can’t tell you how nice it is you don’t pity me.” Vanessa says the next day.

“Mm, what do you mean?” Brooke frowns as she deadheads a pot of violets that nobody’s buying.

“I can tell. Whenever I tell people it’s my kid I’m here for, they get all sappy, an’ tell me they’ll pray for me. An’ it’s nice and all, but it gets old real quick, you know what I’m saying?”

Brooke does. She’s seen it too many times before not to. It’s one of the reasons only she works at the gift shop now; other than the fact that it’s stocked by a rotating parade of high schoolers and a few well-intentioned volunteers on her days off, she’s the only person who’s ever been able to shut that pity off. Most of the time, it’s a survival mechanism.

With Vanessa, though, it comes easier than that.

“You don’t need my pity.” Brooke shrugs. “You need this pot of violets more.” she kicks the massive pot over to where Vanessa is kneeling, and relishes in the barking laugh that follows.

Everyone in the lobby hears Vanessa’s laugh so often now that no one turns snaps to attention at its melody anymore.

And as for Brooke, it’s become one of her favourite sounds.

–

The date of Frances’ resection approaches far too quickly, and the closer it gets, the more Vanessa asks to hear about Brooke’s life.

“Well, what do you want to know?” Brooke passes the illegally-opened bag of maltesers that she and Vanessa have been sharing into the smaller woman’s hands.

“I dunno.” Vanessa wiggles on Brooke’s stool, a spare volunteer vest that’s far too big for her framing her hunched-over form. She’s not supposed to be wearing it, not even supposed to be behind the counter, but at this point, nobody would know the difference, and Vanessa needs the shelter. “Tell me how you got into flowers, an’ how come you ain’t a florist.”

“I am one, technically.” Brooke pops another malteser into her mouth and chews casually. “It’s just hard to get work in a flower shop these days. I’d save up to open my own, but…”

“This job ain’t pay well.” Vanessa nods. “I can tell you kinda like it here, though.”

Brooke shrugs. “Some people collect stuffed animals, I collect stories.”

Vanessa looks at her with an expression she can’t quite decipher, but dares to hope means something good. Her hopes are realized when Vanessa’s face smooths out, her voice suddenly gentle.

“I bet you got lots of interesting stories yourself, huh, miss Brooke?”

Brooke can feel her face grow hot, and hopes to God she doesn’t look as flustered as she feels. Taking a deep breath and pulling herself together, she forces out a joke. “Wow, now who’s flirting with me?”

Vanessa arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t protest. In fact, she only hums as she pops the last malteser in her mouth, gets up, and walks away, a swing in her hips, twinkle in her eye, and stolen volunteer vest still hanging off her shoulders.

–

“Tell me more about you.”

Brooke is locking up the shop when she hears the telltale scratch of Vanessa’s voice behind her.

“Oh, hey.” she smiles reflexively, the muscles in her face so used to stretching into a grin when Vanessa’s around now that it feels second-nature. “I’m actually just about to close–”

“I’m not tryna buy anything.” Vanessa shakes her head. “I wanna… I just… Please. The third floor Tim’s is twenty-four hours, let me buy you a coffee or somethin’.”

The realization hits Brooke in the chest before she can feel any sort of celebration at the suggestion.

It’s April twenty-fourth.

The evening before Frances’ surgery.

“Okay.” Brooke nods, “Let’s go get coffee.”

–

Brooke can tell that Vanessa doesn’t drink coffee much from the way her hands start to shake about halfway through her first large triple-triple. Or maybe she’s just that nervous; either way, when Brooke offers her hand, Vanessa takes it without hesitation.

Their fingers knit together almost too comfortably, and Brooke pretends not to notice Vanessa’s blush as the warmth of Brooke’s hand connects with the cold sweat against her own.

It’s just a comfort gesture, Brooke tells herself, but from the way Vanessa grips back, soft and natural and like her hand has found its way home, she’s not sure she believes it.

They talk for hours, bouncing from topics like Brooke’s favourite childhood TV shows to how she used to dance to her top five role models. At some point, they run out of things to talk about, but rather than settle into silence, they lapse into a spontaneous game of truth or dare, letting swigs of even more coffee keep score as they trade escalating challenges between one another.

At first, the questions and dares are innocent enough. Vanessa asks Brooke her favourite hockey team, Brooke dares Vanessa to try to throw a balled-up napkin into the trash from her seat at the table. At some point, though, when they’re both full up on coffee and their box of forty timbits is running low, things take a different turn.

“Truth.” Brooke nibbles on one of the last sourcream glazed in the box, watching Vanessa intently. She’s expecting another commonplace question, something boring and by-the-book, but then Vanessa pauses, chewing her lip.

“What is it, Ness?” Brooke prompts. Vanessa exhales deeply in response.

“Are you single right now?” Brooke’s heart stops as Vanessa spits out the question, her eyes locked on Brooke’s face and anxiously searching for an answer in her expression.

It’s nothing; it’s probably nothing. Vanessa’s just trying to make conversation, that’s all. Their connection, their jokes about flirting, Vanessa’s hand still stuck intertwined with Brooke’s–it’s all just two women brought together by an unfortunate circumstance, two women who have become friends, no matter how much Brooke wants it to be more. Vanessa’s different. Vanessa doesn’t want the same thing as Brooke. She can’t want the same thing as Brooke. She’s a mom, an amazing, fearless, talented working mom, and Brooke runs a hospital gift shop. Vanessa is fierce and passionate, and Brooke sells flowers and candy while watching her life go by. There’s no way Vanessa is asking for the reason Brooke wants her to be. Brooke shouldn’t get her hopes up.

She can’t help but get her hopes up as she answers with a quiet, hopeful, “Yeah. I’m single. Yeah.”

She can’t help but have her hopes melt into relief when Vanessa smiles.

“Your turn.” Vanessa’s grip tightens on Brooke’s hand, and the sparkle in her eyes, that beautiful fucking sparkle that always seems to feel like it’s just for Brooke, is somehow incredibly reassuring. Encouraging.

Almost like a dare.

Brooke takes a deep breath, and then she takes a chance.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why do you want to know if I’m single or not?”

There’s a beat, and Brooke falters, an apology readying itself on her tongue. Before she can completely lose her nerve, though, Vanessa stands up, and then she’s crossing around the table, walking towards Brooke, and then she’s leaning down, she’s leaning down with her hands cradling Brooke’s face, and–

Oh.

Brooke’s eyes flutter closed as she leans into the kiss, her thoughts fading away as everything becomes focused on the feeling of Vanessa’s lips against hers, soft and wanting and tinged with the bitter taste of dark roast that’s been mixed with too much sugar. And when Brooke kisses back, Vanessa sighs just a little, her thumb instinctively moving forward to stroke against Brooke’s cheek, and Brooke finds herself wishing that the moment will last forever.

But eventually they separate, and even when they do, Brooke is still buzzing with nerves and happiness and, most of all, relief. Relief that Vanessa likes her, that Vanessa likes her back , likes her back enough to kiss her. Relief that she’s not the only one that the kiss left absolutely breathless, and that she has the foresight to push back a little in her chair so that Vanessa can collapse onto her lap, relaxing against Brooke’s still-pounding heart.

Relief that not a moment later, Vanessa kisses her again.

“Wow.” Brooke mutters against Vanessa’s lips.

Vanessa’s mouth is too busy to answer back.

Brooke doesn’t leave the hospital that night–they’re too busy talking, giggling, and kissing some more, the weight of Vanessa’s body on top of Brooke’s keeping her awake and content until dawn.

–

Vanessa comes in a little later than usual that morning, but when she does, she’s not alone.

“You must be Frances!” Brooke exclaims as she bounds towards a little kid whose arm is interlocked with Vanessa’s, the hospital gown and cover-up robe they’re wearing billowing around them and almost sloping onto the white cane they hold in front of themselves. “I’m Brooke, I work here at the gift shop. I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

“No you’re not,” Frances smiles wryly in an expression that looks remarkably like their mother’s, “You two kissed last night, my mom told me.”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Vanessa blushes deep red as she shushes her child, “Brooke, we came by to see the flowers before Frances’ surgery.”

“I came to meet you, too, but the flowers are a good bonus.” Frances adds, and this time, Vanessa joins in the laughter.

“You’re just like your mom, you know that?” Brooke jokes, sticking her tongue out at Vanessa when she gets a silently-mouthed fuck off in response.

But still, Vanessa is smiling, and Brooke’s heart picks up a few beats.

Vanessa told Frances about Brooke.

And Frances is eager to meet her.

“Okay, well, if I swap places with your mom, I can take you to where the flowers are.” The minute Brooke suggests it, she’s seized with anxiety–what if that’s too much too soon, and she breaks the budding camaraderie between herself and Frances? What if Vanessa hates her because of it?–but Frances only smiles and starts to wriggle free from their mom’s grip.

“Sounds good.”

Within a few moments, Frances is leaning down to trace their hands over the petals, leaves, and stems of the plants around themselves, breathing in their smell and rattling off theories as to which plant is which.

“Okay, this is definitely a rose.” they say matter of factly, carefully tracing their fingers along the flower’s thorns so as not to prick themselves.

“Did you know that the world’s oldest rose is 1000 years old?” Brooke leans down, tentatively placing a hand on Frances’ shoulder and sighing with relief when the child doesn’t shrink away. Instead, they grab a handful of the flowers perched next to the roses and shove them excitedly into Brooke’s face.

“Carnations.” they state proudly, and Brooke smiles. Before she can tell Frances that they’re absolutely correct, though, a voice from behind them drags both their attention away.

“There’s a legend that says when the Virgin Mary cried at Jesus’ crucifixion, carnations sprung up where her tears fell.” Vanessa cuts in. “What?” she cries indignantly when the other two look at her in surprise, “Y’all hoes ain’t the only ones who can use google.”

They continue to pass the time like this until an alarm goes off on Vanessa’s phone, and the air in the room changes.

“We gotta go get you prepped, baby.” Vanessa’s voice is soft, and Frances’ mood is sober.

Brooke has seen this before; families seeing their loved ones off, spending time cruising the magazine racks instead of sitting in the waiting room worrying, not knowing if their husband or daughter or best friend will come back. Those moments are always the hardest for Brooke, the times when her sense of empathy leaks out just a little too much for her not to feel affected even a little bit.

Somehow, even though she’s only just met them, it hurts even more knowing that it’s Frances.

“Hey, good luck today, okay?” Brooke helps Frances up and wraps them in a friendly hug. To her surprise though, Frances only shrugs as they pull away.

“I’ve been through this surgery once before. My mom says this is gonna be the last one, she can feel it. I can feel it too.”

Brooke thinks about that long after Frances and Vanessa go, planting one long, calming kiss on Vanessa’s lips before the two retreat back up to the pediatric floor.

–

Brooke isn’t supposed to leave the giftshop unattended by whatever disaffected sixteen-year-old volunteer she’s working with that day, but no one really ever checks up on her anyway. Besides, being by Vanessa’s side is more important right now; so she tells the teenager restocking stuffed animals that she’ll be back before leaving with a bag of maltesers and huge stuffed frog under her arm.

She finds Vanessa in the chapel, sitting on a pew with a rosary in her hands, the beads clinking as she runs them through her fingers nervously.

They sit together for a while, saying nothing, Vanessa leaning over to rest her head on Brooke’s shoulder and Brooke hugging her close, humming the closest thing to a hymn she knows under her breath.

Later on, Vanessa will tease Brooke for thinking of ‘Always With Me’ from Spirited Away as spiritual, but right then, from the way she closes her eyes and breathes into the melody, Brooke thinks that Vanessa might just think of the song in the same way.

–

Brooke visits Frances the day after their surgery while they’re in the pediatric ICU, fading in and out of sleep.

The nurse lets Brooke and Vanessa know that they can’t bring flowers into Frances’ room, not while they were still at risk of infection, but after some fierce negotiation, they reach a compromise, and Frances snuggles happily into the frog’s overstuffed side as Brooke reads to them from a book about gardenias.

–

Two years later

“Babe, come on! ” Brooke calls upstairs to Vanessa, who crashes about in response.

“I NEED TO FIND MY EARRINGS! FRANCES, HAVE YOU SEEN MY EARRINGS?”

“No, mami, I haven’t seen anything in four years!” Frances calls back sarcastically, and Brooke has to stop herself from cackling when Vanessa answers back with a string of threats to whoop Frances’ disrespectful ass. But the rant doesn’t stop Frances from beginning to laugh too, their chin-length brown waves shaking as they double forward, lost in giggles.

Not for the first time, it strikes Brooke just how much Frances looks like their mother.

Eventually, Vanessa does stomp downstairs, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself as she fixes her earrings into their place on her lobes.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be late for our own grand opening because of some Claire’s jewelry.” Brooke teases sarcastically.

“ Claire’s? Bitch, this shit is from Pandora, so don’t you dare–” But Vanessa’s indignation melts into begrudging forgiveness as Brooke pulls her close and smothers her in kisses.

“Alright, alright, kids, before I puke, let’s go open this shop.” Frances coughs with false irritation, moving briskly right through Brooke and Vanessa and breaking the two lovebirds apart.

“Yes, mom.” Brooke replies saccharinely, hooting with laughter when Frances responds with loud gagging noises.

Consisting of only one room, Hytes-Mateo Flower Emporium isn’t quite as grand as the name makes it out to be, but to Brooke, it feels like a palace as she roams between rows of planters, pots, and perennial blooms.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Vanessa comes up behind Brooke, leaning on her tiptoes to kiss Brooke on her cheek as she wraps her arms around Brooke’s waist. Just beside them, Frances reaches up to flip their sign from CLOSED to OPEN, and Brooke lets out a deep, contented breath as the waiting crowd of family and friends begins to trickle in.

Everything in the room has been two years in the making, and now, it feels like home.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #angst #lesbian au #hospital au #writworm42 #tw cancer #tw death mentions #tw surgery and medical content #tw grief

36 notes · View notes

new2677867things · 4 years

Text

Adam Hochschild Says Books Can Change the World. He Has Proof.

(When you need something great to read, ask a bard. As The New York Times Book Review found recently, this certainly holds true with regard to Adam Hochschild, the author of wonderful nonfiction works including King Leopold's Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa (1998, 2006), a history of the brutal conquest of the Congo by Belgian King Leopold II, and Bury the Chains: Prophets and Rebels in the Fight to Free an Empire's Slaves (2005) about the antislavery movement in the British Empire.)

Adam Hochschild Says Books Can Change the World. He Has Proof.

The historian, whose new book is the Rose Pastor Stokes biography “Rebel Cinderella,” treasures his first-edition copy of “The Jungle,” by Upton Sinclair: “This one gave us our pure food and drug laws.”

The New York Times Book Review

March 12, 2020

BOOK REVIEW: What’s the last great book you read?

HOCHSCHILD: Joseph Roth’s “The Radetzky March,” for the second time. Such a multilayered portrait of the vast, creaky, fragile Austro-Hungarian Empire on the eve of collapse. All those ethnic and class tensions simmering under the surface while shiny-booted hussars parade through sunlit streets.

BOOK REVIEW: Are there any classics that you only recently read for the first time?

HOCHSCHILD: Kafka’s “The Trial.” He fully foresaw Stalin’s show trials 20 years before they happened. Somehow he sensed the potential for such madness in the war-crazed Europe of 1914 and 1915 — and in the life of his tyrannical, guilt-inducing father.

BOOK REVIEW: What’s your favorite book no one else has heard of?

HOCHSCHILD: “The Gypsies,” by Jan Yoors. As a 12-year-old boy in Europe in the early 1930s, he ran away with a band of Gypsies, lived with them on and off for 10 years, and, decades later, wrote this luminous memoir.

BOOK REVIEW: What book should everybody read before the age of 21?

“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” for its sense of justice as something deeper than the law. Although Huck believes he’ll be doomed to hell for doing so, he still decides to help Jim, Miss Watson’s lawful property, escape from slavery. I tear up when reading that part aloud to my grandchildren.

HOCHSCHILD: Whom do you consider the best writers (novelists, essayists, biographers, journalists, poets) working today?

Ben Fountain’s novel, “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk,” dazzled me with its evocation of the madness of the Iraq war, all seen through the prism of the halftime show at a Dallas Cowboys game. I’ll read anything he writes. One of the few nonfiction writers I’d say that about is Katherine Boo.

BOOK REVIEW: Which books by contemporary historians — both academic and amateur — do you most admire?

HOCHSCHILD: Two historians in the academy who write splendidly are Jill Lepore and Simon Schama. But since I never went to graduate school, I also appreciate others who practice history without a license. Richard M. Watt, author of an excellent book on the French Army mutinies of World War I, was a construction company executive. The peerless Barbara Tuchman had no advanced degree or university post. And the former book and newspaper editor Claire Tomalin is the finest historical and literary biographer alive.

BOOK REVIEW: What do you read when you’re working on a book? And what kind of reading do you avoid while writing?

HOCHSCHILD: Since I mostly write history, I have to wade through a lot of raw material. Currently that includes informers’ reports to the Bureau of Investigation (predecessor of the F.B.I.) during the Red Scare of 1917-20. I also have to read a lot of scholarly monographs. Since the prose of neither undercover agents nor academics has much sparkle or suspense, when I’ve finished work for the day I’m hungry for something that picks me up and carries me along, like one of Ben Macintyre’s real-life World War II or Cold War spy tales.

BOOK REVIEW: What’s the most interesting thing you learned from a book recently?

HOCHSCHILD: In the harsh crackdown on dissent kicked off by American entry into World War I, some 75 newspapers and magazines had entire issues banned or were shut down completely. And this sweeping censorship continued for more than two years after the war ended. Imagine which later president would relish just such powers.

BOOK REVIEW: Which genres do you especially enjoy reading? And which do you avoid?

HOCHSCHILD: I admire novelists who can build a whole world and keep me in it for several books. My favorites: Paul Scott’s magnificent Raj Quartet on the last days of British India; Pat Barker’s trilogy on World War I; Doris Lessing’s Martha Quest quintet. Elena Ferrante’s four Neapolitan novels may also rank with these; I need to let them sit a little more since finishing them to be sure.

A superb nonfiction trilogy is Patrick Leigh Fermor’s stunning account of walking from Holland to Istanbul in 1933. A zestful 18-year-old’s experience told, thanks in part to his lifelong writing block, with the dazzling style of a far older man. The last volume was still unfinished when he died in his 90s.

BOOK REVIEW: How do you organize your books?

HOCHSCHILD: Fiction, nonfiction and then sections for the various subjects I’ve written about. Plus a vast “To Read” set of shelves where some volumes, alas, have sat waiting for decades.

BOOK REVIEW: What book might people be surprised to find on your shelves?

HOCHSCHILD: I was an antiwar activist in the 1960s, and have written, in parts of two books, about the brave pacifists of 1914-18. But my shelves hold many volumes of military history, and of Patrick O’Brian’s Napoleonic War maritime novels. And every single volume of stories by John Updike. I have mixed feelings about his novels, but he was our finest writer of short stories since Hemingway. I can easily forgive him for being a Vietnam War hawk.

BOOK REVIEW: What’s the best book you’ve ever received as a gift?

HOCHSCHILD: A first edition of Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle.” Who says books can’t change the world? This one gave us our pure food and drug laws.

BOOK REVIEW: Who is your favorite fictional hero or heroine? Your favorite antihero or villain?

I’ll let others pick the good folks; I enjoy villains more. Take, for instance, Robert Moses of “The Power Broker,” the devastating biography by Robert Caro. Perhaps you have to be a native New Yorker like me to read all 1,344 pages of this searing demolition job on the man who laced a great city with ugly expressways and had nothing but contempt for people too poor to own a car. But the book is an extraordinary achievement that should shame the hundreds of reporters and editorial writers who naïvely glorified Moses over the decades.

BOOK REVIEW: What kind of reader were you as a child? Which childhood books and authors stick with you most?

My favorites were the “Freddy the Pig” series of Walter R. Brooks. Heroic detective, pilot, poet, magician and victor over all bullies and humbugs, animal or human, Freddy remains a model to us all. And in his First Animal Republic it was one animal, one vote — a great improvement over our Electoral College.

BOOK REVIEW: How have your reading tastes changed over time?

Not enough, perhaps. Although I have moved on from Freddy the Pig.

BOOK REVIEW: What book would you recommend for America’s current political moment?

Trollope’s “The Way We Live Now,” the story of a financial con man who goes into politics.

BOOK REVIEW: You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?

HOCHSCHILD: E.L. Doctorow, a friend and mentor whose encouragement early in my writing life meant more than he could have imagined. George Orwell, to make sense of an era that seems to be following the script of “1984.” And Ryszard Kapuscinski, who specialized in writing about demagogues even before we had a world awash in them.

BOOK REVIEW: Whom would you want to write your life story?

HOCHSCHILD: I already wrote much of it in “Half the Way Home: A Memoir of Father and Son.”

= = = = =

Check out this episode!

2 notes · View notes

obsidiancorner · 5 years

Text

The Noble Bachelor

ObiYuki Bingo ‘19

Mystery

Word Count: ~3900

The morning starts like any other: blankets wrapped awkwardly around Shirayuki's body and a pillow she has subconsciously decided to snuggle during the night. She takes up most of the middle of her bed- quite the impressive feat given how petite a woman she is and the bed itself being large enough to fit three of her comfortably.

Unlike every other morning, though, one emerald eye peeks open and she is blinded by the glare of light streaming across her face. Her blood turns cold as she realises it's not her bed, not her room. Her window is by her desk and away from the bed. Her window faces the setting sun, not the rising sun.

Still blinded by the sun, she sits up in a rush, needing to know where she is. She wobbles for a moment, gradually changing her position on the bed from where she is hindered by the tangle of blanket. A second or two of constant shifting passes and she accidentally pushes herself too far toppling over onto her back with her head and shoulders landing upside down off the side of the bed and one arm twisted painfully under her.

Her view from this angle is flipped one hundred eighty degrees from normal but, as mercy would have it, her eyes are able to adjust to the light. She can see the wide array of white flower bouquets covering most flat surfaces in the room. A white dress covered in lace, pearls, and crystals dancing with every color of the rainbow in the sunlight is carefully laid across a plush armchair by the sitting table.

Oh.

That's right, she remembers as her brain finally begins to fire at its usual place. She is marrying Zen Wistaria, Second Prince of Clarines today. Her old room is no longer hers and she is in a guest suite near the garden. The contents of her old rooms were already in the process of being transferred to Wilant Castle, where she and Zen would rule under and in support of King Izana, Zen's older brother.

Regret pulls hard on her heart, wrenching the air from her lungs and she barely chokes back a sob as her thoughts flit back to a man from her past: A seafaring man who took a job on a massive fishing expedition to pay expenses for their upcoming wedding. A man who left the harbor, waving his hat at her with a grin as she tearfully waved back from the pier. A man who set off for the horizon and never came home.

He should have been the man she was marrying. If the world had been kind, it would have been him. If the world had been kind, he would have come home to her. Instead, Prince Raj of Tanbarun and now a good friend, would not have been able to seek her out as a concubine and force her to flee her homeland. But he had, and it was that action that led her stumbling onto her current path with a man who vaulted a brick wall, only to land clumsily when he caught sight of her.

But the world isn't kind. Fate weaves in and out of control when free will takes over and lets go. With her former love’s decision to leave, fate stepped in and pulled her elsewhere. Now, with her free will she chooses to marry Prince Zen and give control back to fate’s design.

Zen had been smitten with her from the start, enraptured by the unusual color of her hair and whispering prose of destiny. Shirayuki grew to love him in time, all of it culminating in the ostentatious ceremony she never wanted that was going to be taking place at high noon today in the beauty of Wistal Castle's White Garden.

As if her thoughts circling back to the reality of today were a cue, a gentle knock tapped out a steady rhythm against the door. Shirayuki groans as she wrenches her still trapped arm out from under her. She yelps when dislodging it sends her spilling very un-princess-like across the floor. The door clicks open, revealing a team of worried servants.

"Oh my," the leader of the group tuts under her breath. She claps her hands twice and the crowd behind her surges forward into action. Hands everywhere: lifting her, helping to unwind blankets, patting down the static in her hair, checking her face.

What has she gotten herself into?

_________________

Kiki stands with Mitsuhide, tucked back and away from the events of the ceremony. They may be Zen’s closest friends but he is first and foremost their prince. They swore their lives to protect him at all cost to themselves all those years ago. That meant they now spend his wedding day on security detail.

"Ceremony starts in two minutes. All units report," Kiki orders into her headset. Her voice is barely above a whisper, careful to not disturb the guests closest to where she and Mitsuhide stand.

All of the unit leaders report 'all clear.' Well, all but one. The Poet's Gate didn’t answer the call.

"Poet's Gate, report. Do you copy?" She doesn't panic. No one in House Seiran panics- especially its daughters. Ever. But she feels her heart rate pick up, feels the heated rush of adrenaline beginning to flow.

"Shikito, resport!" It's hard to keep her tone hushed and still bark an order, but she manages. Barely. None of the guests so much as twitch. It’s a small miracle. Beside her, Mitsuhide adjusts the volume on his ear piece to better hear the conversation.

"Yeah… We have a situation here," Shikito responds, meek and already wilting under the scolding Kiki will certainly be giving him later. He knew better than to withhold something like this until she asked for it. He should have made her aware the moment something happened.

"What sort of situation?" She remains cool, almost cold. The air around Mitsuhide shifts to menacing as his muscles coil to full alert. He is ready to help the guards at the gate or evacuate the royal family. Whatever happens, he is prepared to take command. Even King Izana knows yield to the heads of security and that requires a particular air of authority.

"There's a woman here. She says she needs to speak with Lady Shirayuki."

She looks up at Mitsuhide to see him staring down at her with a level of intensity he rarely shows. She shrugs, clicking off the outgoing chatter button so they can’t hear her. "He doesn't sound panicked," she says, holding his eye contact. "This situation will either resolve itself or I will get involved."

She turns her attention back to Shikito with a click of the button to return her communication line. "Is the woman cooperative?" They need more information before they act.

"Yes and no? She's emphatic but she isn't armed or trying to get passed us."

In her ear, she can hear the woman shriek, "of course I'm not! I'm not an idiot. I don't want to die today. All you brutes have guns!"

Kiki can't help the chuckle that bubbles up. The woman certainly sounds like the headstrong sort of person Shirayuki would keep in her company and she hardly sounds like a threat to the safety of the royal family.

"Good luck, Shikito. Keep trying to send her on her way. If she doesn't comply in the next few minutes, let her cool off in one of the nicest rooms downstairs. The wedding is about to start," she says, relaxing that Shikito’s ‘situation’ isn’t something far more dire.

A weak, "copy," comes from the Poet's Gate comm line and several chuckles from other areas can be heard over the headsets.

Even Mitsuhide chuckles beside her, relaxing after hearing everything is actually under control. Through his quiet laughter he says, "You're sending one of Shirayuki's friends to the dungeon?"

"She's interrupting a wedding. She isn't on the approved guest list, otherwise she would be here. And we don't have Shirayuki's confirmation that she does, in fact, know this person." She's calm and sure of her decision but she can't help but add a belated, "I said 'one of our nicest rooms' in case she is a friend of Shirayuki’s. We don't want to be rude."

Mitsuhide shakes his head at her and, with the situation well in-hand, they turn their attention back to the wedding.

King Izana stands ready to officiate his brother’s wedding asPrince Zen anxiously waits for the orchestra to strike up Pachelbel's Canon in D under the branches of the White Garden's famous wedding arch: two ancient white magnolia trees trained for years several generations ago to curve toward each other with a natural grace.

Long rows of white wisteria line the outside perimeter of the seating areas and a white silk runner has been laid on the cobbled aisle. The petals of the white roses that had been sitting in water mixed with lavender dye for the last week now decorate the aisle with flashes of the family color.

A perfect, traditional backdrop for Clarines taking a new princess... even if the princess they claim today is the primmest definition of the word ‘untraditional.’

The orchestra begins to play, drowned out momentarily by the rustling of fabric as every patron in attendance stands to welcome the bride. A parade of ladies-in-waiting, all looking the same in their Wisteria hued A-line dresses march down the aisle. As the gate on the far side of the garden swings closed in preparation for Shirayuki's reveal, the ladies take their seats in the front row. Only a moment passes, just long enough to get the bride situated, and the gate swings open again.

"She's beautiful," Mitsuhide whispers beside her after clicking off his ear piece.

Kiki snickers, turning off her own outgoing comm line to respond. Most of the men under them do not know how sentimental he can be, and she aims to keep it that way otherwise he would never live it down. "You're getting soft in your old age, Mitsuhide,” she teases. He is by no means old. He’s just older than she is. When he shoots her a warning side-eye, she adds, “But you're right. She certainly is."

Shirayuki strides down the aisle with grace and purpose, head held high. Kiki's heart beams with pride at her friend's ability to show those in attendance who yet doubt her how groomed she is for her new role. She’ll have to tell her in person later.

Kiki's eyes leave Shirayuki to scan the entire area. The tree lines are clear, as are the hedges. The only movement on the balconies above is from several of her men stationed for bird's eye views. She turns her attention to the crowd.

Near the center of the crowd gathered on the left side of the aisle, a man stands closer to the fabric barricade than the rest of the people. He’s similar in height to Mitsuhide, he's not as broad but appears just as athletic with how his suit hugs at his muscles. Half the men on the guest list have dark hair and most of them wear it short, but she doesn't remember anyone coming through the gates sporting that particular crop of hair. He’s turned away from her so she can’t tell if he has any other peculiar traits or identifying marks and her mouth sets in a hard line.

Kiki focuses on the stranger, elbowing Mitsuhide to get his attention. She doesn't have to look at him or even gesture; she knows he will follow her line of sight.

As Shirayuki approaches him, a shadow passes over her features. Her genuine smile falters for a fraction of a second. Her steady flow down the aisle slows just enough to be suspicious. The man's head gestures vaguely towards where Zen and Izana stand. It isn’t a movement big enough to cause any concern in less-observant folk but Kiki’s eyes narrow. Her nod is almost imperceptible, just as subtle as his had been but her smile doesn't return to her eyes. The bright twinkle held there a moment ago is gone.

Kiki knows what she sees when Mitsuhide's right hand drops nearer to the gun holstered on his hip. "Stand down," she orders under her breath. "He doesn't appear armed. Let's see where this goes."

Mitsuhide doesn't argue but she feels the tension he is now carrying in the set of his shoulders. "Shirayuki looks confused. I'll give you that. But if she felt threatened in any way, she'd be seeking us out for eye contact. We trained her on the subtleties of cues ourselves."

"I don't like it," Mitsuhide admits, dropping his hand to clasp the other at the small of his back.

Kiki can't blame him; she doesn't care for it either, but she isn't about to hold up a royal wedding when there is anything less than a clear and present danger. To act without cause would be to commit career and social suicide in present company and she is in no position to lose her respected standing in the royal court.

Now facing them, she can see the man has a small scar above his left eye. And his eyes. His eyes smolder like molten gold. She will be checking up on that when the night is over. In the interim, knowing she has remained silent to long, she hums her agreement with Mitsuhide’s assessment as Shirayuki takes her place beside Zen, who lifts the sheer veil covering her face with a boyish ear-to-ear smile unrequited by his bride.

Along with the rest of the assembly, the man takes his seat when Izana calls for it. The rest of the ceremony is perfect from what the crowd can tell. From where Kiki and Mitsuhide stand vigilant, though, it's clear Shirayuki is trying hard to stay grounded in the present instead of slipping away with the tide of emotion destined for some distant place only she can see.

_________________

"Mitsuhide!"

Vicious pounding rattles the door to his bedroom. Kiki, already dressed for the day and seated with tea at the table of Mitsuhide’s apartment in Zen's wing, rushes to standing at the sound of the Prince’s evident distress. Mitsuhide points to his walk-in closet, attempting to get her to hide and she rolls her eyes at him.

Mitsuhide levels her with an unamused glare as he wraps the sheet from the bed around his hips, tucking it in to hold it tight before he walks groggily toward the door.

"Mitsuhide," Zen shrieks over more jamb breaking pounding. His voice is panicked, cracking and pitched higher than normal. Mitsuhide rushes the remaining distance as fast as he can without tangling himself in his makeshift outfit.

He wrenches the door open harder than necessary in order to spare it from splintering under Zen’s fist. Zen falls through the new opening, smacking face first into Mitsuhide's solid but very bare chest. Mitsuhide places his hands on Zen's shoulders and stands him back up properly, eyeing him with concern.

"What's the matter, Zen," Kiki quizzes from where she is obscured by the bulk of Mitsuhide's torso.

Zen cranes his neck around Mitsuhide’s arm to look at her. "Kiki? What are you doing here this early?"

Mitsuhide doesn't turn around to see the look she gives Zen but he can’t stop his cheeks and ears from heating up when Zen turns his focus back on him and seems to take stock of Mitsuhide’s unusual state of undress. He can see the gears of Zen’s brain starting to turn. To prevent Zen from thinking about it too much with the hope of weaving a believable fib later, he brings Zen's attention back to what had sent him knocking so early in the morning. "Zen, you were breaking down my door. What is the matter?"

Zen’s eyes widen in terror before he squeaks, "Shirayuki is missing!"

"How do you know she's missing," Kiki asks, from beside him.

"Well, she isn't in our rooms," Zen supplies weakly, his face turning a painful red with his shame. "Her belongings are being shipped to Wilant, save for what she would wear today and for travel tomorrow. So she didn’t really have many places to go. We weren’t expected anywhere in the castle for hours."

Kiki sighs audibly, taking mere seconds to decide what she needs to do. "I will go check my room. If last night went poorly for her-” she flashes Zen a pointedly layered look- “it's possible she tried to seek out female friendship," Kiki says breezing by both men.

Zen tips his head to the side, confused. He parrots back, "If last night had gone poorly?" But Kiki is out the door already, leaving Mitsuhide to handle Zen.

"Forgive my prying, Zen," Mitsuhide starts, faltering. "But did last night go poorly?"

Kiki had brought it up… and things certainly can go wrong the first time. It is a valid concern for Shirayuki’s well-being. It’s just not a conversation he had been expecting to need to have at all, let alone before breakfast.

"What? You mean the whole 'consummate the marriage' thing?" Zen's hands move to his hips, a mix of defiance and annoyance pinching his face.

Zen says it so calmly, so nonchalant, it takes Mitsuhide aback. How had a man so intent on abiding by the concepts of purity managed to lose his bashful stammering in one evening? Sex isn’t a topic Zen normally talks about, especially with his current level of candor.

"Yes, Zen. That," Mitsuhide affirms with a sharp nod. This is one of the most awkward conversations he has ever had with Zen. His cheeks flush again.

"Oh. Yeah. About that…"

Not a promising start to the story, but Mitsuhide listens. If Shirayuki really has gone missing, this could have something to do with it or hint at where she had gone.

Kiki walks back into the room, heels of her boots thumping much louder than usual in the tense awkward silence filling the room as Mitsuhide waits for Zen to finish his thought.

"We didn't actually do anything last night," Zen admits, tapping his hip with his forefinger for something to do.

"What," Mitsuhide and Kiki ask in unified disbelief.

"We left the party because she wasn't feeling well. When we stepped inside our room, she said her stomach hurt and asked if we could just go to bed. So that's what we did." Zen shrugs, helpless. His eyes look heavy and his shoulders sag. "We laid down, we slept, and she was gone when I woke up. Her travel clothes are gone, too."

Mitsuhide looks down at Kiki. Her eyes are on him as well, wide and concerned, realizing they probably have a better idea about what happened than he does- even with as little as they do know.

She'd been acting weirdly since the middle of the ceremony when she walked passed the man they still haven’t identified. They shouldn't have let it go but they couldn't have known then. And they certainly have no true confirmation now. All they have is a shared hunch and a need to lay out all the details to the man they have failed.

"Zen," Kiki begins. She's careful- guarded but honest. "There's something you should know."

When Zen looks at her, she continues, "during the ceremony, Mitsuhide and I spotted a man we didn't recognize. But it appeared as though Shirayuki did recognize him. She wasn't scared but looked thoughtful. It's possible it is related to her disappearance."

"Does Shirayuki know someone with pale blue hair," Mitsuhide asks. When Zen looks puzzled but doesn't answer. "Before the ceremony began, there was a girl at the gate trying to get a chance to talk to Shirayuki, as well. Shikito said she left after the Recessional began to play."

Kiki's face burns pink. Mitsuhide feels it too. If their decision of inaction is responsible, their coveted positions at Zen's side could very well be forfeit. All that's left is to get her back.

Squaring his shoulders, Mitsuhide starts over towards his closet to dress. From behind the partition, he calls out instructions. "Kiki, you and Zen go check his rooms for any signs of struggle, a note… anything out of the ordinary." Kiki pulls at Zen's shirt, dragging him back toward the door as Mitsuhide continues the plan. "I'll call a meeting of the highest ranking guards of the situation and give them orders to tell no one outside of those in the room. We need to keep this contained."

The last thing any of them need, especially Zen or Izana, is for news of a missing or lost princess to break the day after the wedding.

_________________

Hours had passed since he had slipped into the prince's bed chambers and spirited away with the man's most prized possession. But that was the Prince's mistake... She isn't a possession. She isn't a trophy to be coveted for her ruby hair, emerald eyes, or pearly smile.

She’s a person, not a bracelet or a crown. Those material items of luxury have a price, a cost- finite and diminishing with time. Shirayuki is priceless. She is not meant to be kept for her appearance. She is meant to be revered for the wonder of a woman she is.

She is a woman who is braver than most, passionate and opinionated, and, above all else, a personality that could light the world far brighter than the glowing sun of day could ever hope to do. She is brilliance of the mind, compassion of the heart, and the nature of the earth she so lovingly tends. She is both the salt of sweat and refreshing gulp of water during a day of hard work. She is everything.

Taking her away from Wistal had been easy. The prince was already sound asleep when he dropped onto the balcony just after eleven. She had been waiting, dressed in traveling clothes and ready to go. Her decision was evident in her eyes when she saw him as she walked down the aisle. All he needed to do was show up by her side.

They are hours of hard driving ahead of anyone who might pick the correct direction to travel. Driving all day like they had last night will carry them to the base of the mountains. As soon as they make their way up into the passes, they are free. Too many hiding spots to search will pave their way to the freedom of a protective small mountain village.

Gods, how he has missed Shirayuki. He glances at her as they drive toward the natural land boundary of Clarines and Tanbarun, a smile working its way onto his face. They've been separated for so long and now he finally has her back. He is able to take her home.

His heart rate, already elevated from the exertion of the ride, increases at the thought. Home. They are going home. Home to where a new life awaits them. Home where her father is. Home where Yuzuri will meet them soon.

Home, where they can finally spend the rest of their lives together.

#obiyukibingo2019 #obiyuki

21 notes · View notes

todragonsart · 5 years

Text

Don’t anger the bear

Hello guys! This is my entry to the ongoing event of @dualrainbow, check them out so you don’t miss a thing, and lets get down to bussiness here too!

This is some supportive Tachanka for our favourite Kapkan and Glaz (and also Ash and Mira). About 2k words, rating T (some nasty swearing is going on here :’D). I hope you enjoy!

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

“Yeah, I get it, but I still don’t want to go as I said like three times already!” Tachanka turned to Kapkan with slowly building anger.

“But you never said any good reason why!”

“Okay, first, I don’t need to give you a reason. You only need to accept my decision, which you are not doing, so fine! You won! I don’t want to go, because you know that I hate crowds. You know all too well, how I hate loud Brits, especially when they are dancing and shouting and they do stuff to annoy me! This doesn’t mean that I don’t like you, or I don’t support your relationship with Timur, and you know this too! I don’t even understand why do we need to have this conversation again!”

Kapkan let out a sigh turning his head away slowly. Both of them knew that he didn’t give up, neither did Tachanka win. It was obvious that the hunter was going to pressure Tachanka a bit more until he either gave in, or got so angry he starts to shout at Kapkan, sending him to hell and back.

It was the same argument over and over again since a couple of weeks ago Mira and Ash announced that they were going to the Pride Parade together. Both of them looked so happy and proud, Kapkan immediately felt the need to join them. Getting Glaz - his boyfriend - into the game was very easy. The sniper loved him, and as he often said: he was too old to deny his feelings or hide who he was in an attempt to please other people, complete strangers or society.

They had their rough times during their first years together, with work, with their families, not to even mention how Russia was still one of the most scary countries when it came to gay people. First, they were afraid to tell about their relationship to anybody, let alone their teammates, but both Fuze and Tachanka accepted it surprisingly easily. Kapkan never counted Fuze as potential thread to their happiness, seeing as Fuze was very young, and not really Russian, but Tachanka, the oldest, the wisest, the man who loved to collect everything connected to their homeland or the Soviet Union, the man who made faces when he saw Blitz and Jackal kiss, the immediate support coming from this man was quite a surprise.

Later, when he asked Tachanka about it, not even hiding his astonishment, the older just let out a big laugh. “Maxim, you, Timur and Shuhrat are my family. Maybe not by blood, but by heart. All three of you have accepted me as I am, why would I deny the same from you only because you told me that you enjoy being with Timur? I’m glad that two of my friends are happy together, and I will fight anybody who would try to take this away from you, end of story!”

Kapkan was - with the easiest word - moved. It was a rather warm feeling; being accepted like this. Even his family - the blood one - had their questions and problems, asking about them, trying to shake their relationship, trying to make sure that Kapkan understood that he will eventually go to hell for loving his sniper. Compared to Fuze’s and Tachanka’s reaction, this was a shitty and cold approach.

The main reason for him pushing the older to join them was nothing else but this: he needed Tachanka to have his back whatever happens. The older didn’t even need to say or do anything, his presence was enough for both Kapkan and Glaz to feel safe. Not because they couldn’t protect themselves, not because they knew that Tachanka would kill anybody if they would ask him to do so, but because he was their family too. Their biggest support and their family.

Unfortunately, Kapkan didn’t feel the slightest remorse when he used their strong bond against Tachanka.

“Fine. If you hate it this much, then you don’t need to come. I will just go with Timur and Shuhrat, and you can stay home. I just thought that you, ‘big part of our family’, would enjoy sharing this with us, but if you don’t want to, I will understand! No hard feelings!” Kapkan looked back at Tachanka, narrowing his eyes slightly.

The older was watching him, his expression blank, even a bit bored. He let out a big sigh, rolled his eyes and finally shrugged. “This is shameless emotional blackmailing, you fucking asshole, and you know it!”

Kapkan’s lips pulled into a half grin. “But is it working?”

Tachanka wanted to murder him. “Unfortunately, yes, you smug little piece of shit.”

Happily grinning, Kapkan nodded. “Thank you very much! I promise you going to enjoy-”

“Hold up, hold up! I’m going with you, but we need to set some rules. First, I’m not wearing any rainbowy color, no-hoh-hoh. Second, no dancing, and if anybody wants to drag me into anything, you either take them away, or I will kill them. Third; you are getting me beer!”

A big laugh erupted from Kapkan and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling Tachanka close for a second, giving them a hug. “Sure thing, Sasha!”

Tachanka just stood there, rolling his eyes with a small smile, but in the end, he just hugged the hunter back. “I hate you.”

“I know, but what can I do? You love me as well!”

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

As is turned out, the Parade was not that big of a deal, really. Okay, it came with hundreds and hundreds of people; all kind of sex and race, people with their lovers, with their families and friends or just random faces, who weren’t even from the LGBTQ community but wanted to show their support. To be fair, they did dance and sing, and they did their weird shit, which Tachanka hated, but it wasn’t about sexual orientation; the old Russian just hated people in general.

He couldn’t understand why would anybody do such a thing of their own free will, but when he was walking next to his friends, the truth suddenly hit him. Probably others were blackmailed to hang out here too!

At this thought, he couldn’t hold back a smile. It wasn’t that bad really, especially when Bandit whipped out three cans of his favourite beer. It was against the rules of the parade, of course, but Tachanka planned to say something cheesy about his undying love towards beer if anybody would question why he had alcohol. Wasn’t it the parade of love, after all?

Speaking about love, Kapkan and Glaz were walking next to him, their fingers entangled, happy little smiles on their faces. Whenever Tachanka got enough of the loud pile of people, and wanted to shout or escape he just glanced at them and calmed himself down. They enjoyed themselves, who was he to ruin it for them?

Their final crew on Pride Parade contained Ash and Mira, gently holding hands together too, next to them Bandit and Thermite, who were roaming around like small children, making friends with everybody, Glaz and Kapkan, leaning against each other, Fuze, who was looking around like he was lost, and Tachanka, who protected his beer like it was his baby.

After about two hours spent on the Pride, Tachanka was finally calm, the last murderous thought long forgotten. At least he expected so. When there is a Pride Parade, there will most certainly be some people protesting against it. Tachanka didn’t expect a group of grown up people standing there with big signs, rude comments written on them. But that wasn’t really a problem, no. They simply didn’t notice them or their shouting on purpose, they were chatting, they were having a good time.

But as Tachanka went to one side of the marching queue to throw away his empty beer can, he heard a man shouting. This wasn’t anything new, and he didn’t even bat an eye, until he heard the man say, “Fucking look at those two faggots, holding hands like they own the place. Disgusting! I wish I could show them where to stick their fucking rights, pathetic!”

Wrinkling his forehead, Tachanka turned to the direction where the man was pointing. He somehow expected that the ‘two faggots’ were Kapkan and Glaz, but even he was surprised about the sudden anger blooming in him as his expectations turned out to be true. This asshole was pointing at his two teammates, who were only holding hands. They didn’t even kiss or something, they were just holding hands. Tachanka narrowed his eyes, turning to face the man. “How about you shut up, hm?”

The man, and the group of nasty looking punks who were his company all turned towards the Russian. There were about eight of them, and they looked like absolute losers to Tachanka. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching them, anger burning in him slow and steady.

The man clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the cordon separating the Pride March from the protesting shitholes. “What did you say fuckface?”

“I just said, you should shut up. Why do you talk shit about them, if you don’t know anything?” he stepped closer to the man too and leaned against the cordon, to look him in the eye.

The guy rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about their-”

“Then why don’t you just shut up and go back to that nasty basement of your mom’s where you came from, and stop talking shit about the people here, hm?” Tachanka even dared to smile.

The man shut his mouth, but he stiffened up, looking like an angry cat, that could attack anytime. “I dunno if you noticed, but this is a free country! I can talk about anything, anywhere and nobody will arrest me for it! I can spare my opinion about these faggots being disgusting.”

Tachanka burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you are just as dumb as you look!”

“What did you say, you asshole!?” the man snapped at him.

Smiling, Tachanka looked him upside-down. “Boy, go home, read some books, finish high-school and open your eyes, okay? Being this dumb is not attractive around the ladies!”

The other one started to shake, his face turning red with anger. “Big words coming from the other side of the fence, but come around, and I will show you where to stick your advice, bitch!”

Tachanka shook his head. “Nah, kiddo, I don’t have time to play with you, my friends are waiting for me. But you know what? I will tell them how you wanted to ruin their good times so they can have a good laugh, because you are not anything else just a joke.” winking, the Russian turned his back to the man, walking back towards his chatting friends.

Suddenly he felt something heavy hit the back of his head and heard something clunking by his feet. He felt pain, and got his hand there. He felt a bump forming, but thankfully he felt no blood. Tachanka looked down to the ground, to find the source of the noise and found a beer can. He lifted it up, looking back at the man who was still standing there with a proud smile on his face. The guy’s friends were standing not too far, laughing their asses off.

Tachanka had two choices. One was to go back to the guys, never mentioning them this idiot, and forgetting the bump on his head; or two, show this asshole that he can’t just abuse people for fun, then go back to his friends and tell them about this fucker. Obviously he choose the second option.

Before the man could even react, Tachanka was there, grabbing a handful of his shirt, lifting him up slightly. The Russian pushed the beer can in the face of the other. “Did you throw this, sweetcheeks?”

From the sudden turn of events, the man let out a squeaking sound, looking up at Tachanka. He still wanted to look smug, so he simply answered. “And what if I did, eh?”

“Well, if you did, I will be the one coming around to push my feet down your throat, you little piece of pathetic dogshit. If you didn’t do it, and we assume that some little bird threw this on me, I will let you go, so you can grab your little friends and get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind. You choose.”

“Or you can just let me go, before one of my friends will call the cops!” the man still tried to look all smug.

Narrowing his eyes, Tachanka let go of the man, pushing his hand in his pocket. “Oh, and what am I going to do to defend myself against the police, god lord! Oh, wait…?” Tachanka took out his old Spetsnaz pledge, nearly showing it into the guy’s mouth. “Do you really want to test out who the cops would trust, some dirty mouthed asshole punk who just came here to annoy people because he doesn’t know how to live his own life; or a highly trained soldier, who came here to support his - also soldier - friends during a Pride Parade?”

To Tachanka’s biggest satisfaction, the smile froze to the man’s face, panic suddenly filling him up. Tachanka tilted his head, looking him dead in the eye. “Now listen here, you little shit. From now on, I will come to the Pride with my friends, every damn year, just to fight pieces of shits like you, and if I find you and your little friends here, and you are not going to be on this side of this cordon, I won’t be this soft on you. Understood?”

Nodding furiously, the man took a shaky step back.

“Good!” smiling, Tachanka waved the beer can. “And thanks for this gift, how did you know I love this brand?”

The man didn’t even give an answer, he just ran back to his friends, not looking back at Tachanka. Feeling very satisfied, the Russian went back to his friends, opening his new beer with a low hiss.

“Where did you get that?” Bandit tilted his head. “That’s not mine!”

“Ahh, a very kind gentleman gave it to me earlier! Pride might be a bit fun after all.”

Kapkan couldn’t hold back a smile. “So, do you think you will come with us next time too?”

Tachanka glanced back at the rude man and his friends. They were packing their stuff a little worried, they looked like they will leave anytime. Tachanka turned back to Kapkan, nodding. “Sure! That way I can talk to similar gentlemen from time to time!”

Kapkan narrowed his eyes, but since Tachanka didn’t give away anything about his interesting interaction, he just shrugged and hugged Glaz’s waist. The older looked at them, smiling. He was glad that they were happy, and as he said, he would protect their happiness from anybody who would like to ruin it, let it be their family, their colleagues or some asshole during the Pride Parade.

#dragontries #dragonwrites #rainbowsixsiege #r6s #fanfiction #pride event #third day #support Tachanka is best Tachanka

24 notes · View notes

kelvintimeline · 6 years

Note

Literally can you please tell me how an asexual telling people about their lack of sexual attraction is weird & inappropriate at a pride festival

Idk where this is coming from but Pride is about celebrating our ability as a group to survive and overcome homophobia and transphobia and to mourn those who we have lost along the way to violence and self hatred. To use such a political event to tell strangers (including minors, survivors, and LGBT people who are known to have complicated feelings around sexual attraction) “Hey, when I look at my boyfriend l don’t go, like, DAMN he’s hot,” is inappropriate at best.

But it only gets worse when you consider the actual history of pride and why it exists. Pride was created in the wake of the Stonewall riots and to commemorate them. Stonewall was a gay bar that was raided by police because at the time being gay (and trans) in public–being affectionate and even vaguely sexual in public–was illegal (as was violating the gendered clothing laws which required wearing at least 3 items of the “proper” gender which affected trans and gay people, bringing us together). We rioted for our right to exist as we are–to love as we are, to fuck as we are.

To take an event that is about reclaiming our genders, our love, our sex and turn into a demonstration about how much you don’t need sex or want love is to spit on the legacy of our riots, our demonstrations, our legal battles against sodomy laws and for our legal rights as fucking human beings.

When a fucking homophobe or transphobe looks at a gay man, a lesbian, a bisexual person, a trans person they don’t WANT us to fuck or marry or love each other. They are disgusted by the notion that we could ever love or fuck as purely as they do, seeing us as deviants, as predators. We fought and are fighting against the idea that we are ONLY sex and carnal desire while we simultaneously fight and are fighting for our sex and carnal desire to be accepted and seen as just as normal as that cis straight shit.

Don’t defang our radical moment about self love–and the loving of each other, quite explicitly–into a moment to overshare about how “I guess I’m ~quirky too because I’m, like, not sexually into strangers.” To do so is a bastardization of everything Pride was meant to be.

Pride is, in so many ways, being taken away from us and the history legacy of the people who fought for it. Beer companies offer free tastes, preying on the alcoholism in the community. Military recruiters go, looking for our youth who might not be able to afford college or shelter without selling their souls. Cops march in our parade as if we weren’t throwing bricks at them and spitting on them when this all started.

And now cis straight people are testing out every possible way to make this about them. Kink groups, ace groups, even pedophile groups have preyed on Pride to make it about them too.

I won’t stand for this type of degradation. No one fucking cares if you feel sexual attraction or not. Not ever but especially not during OUR month where we fight for OUR love, OUR sex, our ATTRACTION.

Overshare on your fucking blog where you post about being ace and kinky at the same time or whatever but leave Pride the fuck alone, so we can scrape together a meaningful experience out of it while we can. Pride can be–IS–so fucking powerful but with thousands of eyes on it, searching for a way to reclaim it for cis straight people, companies, the institutions that hold us the fuck down, it gets hard to enjoy it sometimes.

So, yeah. IDK what prompted this but here’s a hearty “Fuck you for even having to ask.”

#ace discourse #Anonymous

5K notes · View notes

thanidiel · 6 years

Text

Dominion

Sometimes, the soldier could force fondness to the ways of which Autumnvale has attempted to adapt to her world.

The pheasant, however, is braised.

The texture too soft and tender; less meat and more sodden. Neither is much appreciation to be had for the tang of white wine in its juices; a waste of drink, if she were to be asked. With every bite of fare, the grains of mustard within sauce had burst against her teeth; annoying, distracting.

Underneath, the cook, Dawnspire native, had attempted to appeal to her tastes. With her knife lifting up the side of the poultry, she discovers a bed of wilted and blanched dark-greens intermixed with a ‘rustic’ chopping of mushrooms - foraged from the woods along the mountainside, she thinks she heard some sod say.

It is, unabashedly, a homage to the woman’s tastes and the culture of cuisine in the colder regions of Quel’Thalas. Unfortunately, it is equally clear that the elves who fed the mouths of soldiers and officials to pass through this feast hall, had never seen such fare in their lives.

If such a combination of foods were to be prepared proper, the bird would have come charred and speckled with the mustard, crushed. On the side, perhaps, the vegetable and fungi would come raw or in a cloudy soup. And the wine would be in goblet than simmered down in a pot.

There is something to be said about effort, such as Thanidiel has preached when it was in turn to say something gracious, or morale-raising. And food, is food, after all.

She isn’t sure how much she appreciates the way this meal parallels with times of old, still.

Another portion to be slid off the curve of her knife and popped into her mouth - just for the etiquette of it - and the plate is pushed off towards the table’s center. A slow shifting of her digits like the movement of a piano’s hammers, and the blade rotates to a rest along the inside of her palm.

The handle is levered forward.

“Elinden, how many?”

Her gaze raises from underbrow to regard the man addressed. He looks tired. She can see it in the weight pressed upon his eyelids, even with the hacked red mussing around his head.

Good, he should be.

“Sixteen from the Thirteenth Regiment. Seven from the Southeast, Hallowleaf, they said.”

“Leaders ‘mongst them?”

“A former Knight-Master, Kielen Duskshield. From your people, they answered to a Ciril Farlong.”

“Aye. Stabled? Watered? Fed?”

“All being attended to, Captain. As of now, they sit cross-legged on the grasses outside of the Village, taking fill of the bread given.”

“Send them here; they will make their introductions to me before given right to make camp. In the meantime, the eastern-side should be cleared for their presence.”

“The whole of them as usual, Captain?”

“Aye. Be…” the Duskward draws off, the trenched gap between her brows closing into a knit. By now, the knife has been lowered the table. Still, her hand spreads over the blade.

“How many are we at now, Elinden? Last month was three-and-half-hundred ‘tween us and them.”

“With these additions, we number at four-hundred-and-six.”

“Growing a bit big for our britches, aye?”

“And the ovens.. and the grasslands, Captain.”

Thanidiel bows her head towards the mopheaded man standing at the table’s end, needing nothing more to convey the militant courtesy extended to the Lieutenant Brightvale. Again, the knife wheels in her grip; to be slid into breast from overhead with her comrade’s swinging hook of ankle around a stool leg.

“We’ll need to let the word spread. Another few dozens - less than a month’s time - and that is how many more I am willing to allow camp along the Village.”

“Twisting a cap on the jar?”

“Mm. I’m interested in maintaining an army, not a Great Herd.”

“S’that not an army?”

“Not my style, not my speed. Allow the Archon and his to lead thousands to battle. We’ll keep ourselves swift and effective for all of those death-defying stunts, aye?”

“You mean you will, Than– Captain. You do all of that, and it’s up to me and Harthen to calm the men behind us and assure them that we are, in fact, going to survive.”

“Give yourself some credit. It took the whole active company to fell the Reaver. If you’re willing to spread the rumour that I picked up and swung about chains the length of a warship twice-over, you are free to that ass-kissing, Elinden.”

“And Tyr’s Hand?”

“Your’s and the boy’s screaming spurred me on like dueling drums. Couldn’t have done it without you two.”

“One breath, you’re telling us both to shut our fucking mouths and keep quiet. Next breath, you’re saying our yapping inspires you. Which is it, Captain?”

“Whatever conveniences me to say at the time. For now? Shut it, duck your head, eat the vile they’ve been trying to feed me, and let’s both get back to proper work - Aye?”

“I can only shovel so much of it in my mouth at one time.”

“I’ve walked in on you placing at least three time’s the amount of breast on that plate, right in your mouth. Lying bitch.”

“Oi, watch yourself, Captain. Talk a lot of shit about who’s warming my bed; I’ve seen you want to shake your comrades bloody for even thinking about your’s.”

“The difference is that I have a woman and you have romps. Bring someone home to me and we’ll try some reverence.”

“Someone good for me?”

��Academy Diploma. Steady career. What else do those fucks at the top look for?”

“A certain paleness to the skin? A maximum of an inch of fat behind the arm?”

“Mm, toss all of that, then. Rubbish.”

The knife scrapes.

“–Eh?”

“Your attention span…” is drawn off. “Come on, get out. Bring them their first orders.”

“And the vile?”

“Give it to the hound on your way out.”

Thanidiel does not keep her eyes on Elinden with his exit from her hall. Her attention draws towards the knife. Coated in fat and spice, and pointed towards her own person. Out of place/misaligned. She grips unto its handle, and, carefully, wipes one of its two surfaces against the cloth placed to the right of her. Then, it flips as the action is repeated in another stroke. Idly, the thought passes on how the motions resemble Goose’s Formation.

In the midst of noise bubbling around her – Elinden’s stool scraping across rock and earth and weed; his footsteps aloud through even the soft dirt as it compresses under his boot; the voices of men and women filtering from the outside; the constant rumble of horse hooves vibrating underneath her feet – another thought materialises.

The Phoenix Guard wonders who, or what, would be caught between its wings.

Awaiting her answer, the tool is returned to the wood’s surface once more. There, it points outward in solemn welcome of every boot that begins to filter into the space before her.

She notes how they mimick army with the loosely packed southern volunteers at its fore, and the Knights at its back in rows. The number looks suffocated, sandwiched by the layout of the feast hall where its tables format in a folding flank. She can see how they shuffle uncomfortably as they are forced to settle over stone, coal, and ash, from the morning fire since-dead.

The audio of their march dies down to the shiftings of their clothing and roll of debris from underneath soles, then ebbs further into stagnant quiet.

And so it stays. For the Duskward does not immediately boom her greetings nor call forth the tradition of introductions to be made to her by each new head. Instead, she studies.

She studies the wear of their shoes, and how much the leather sags down their feet.

She studies how segments of plate strapped over chainmail, felt, and cotton, fit upon each new soldier’s person.

She studies the length of hair flying over their brows, speckling their cheeks and catching through beaming light.

She studies the roundness of them - the fat that builds upon their arms and bellies. Some look well-fed. Most, she can see how, already, the dwindling trade of Quel’Thalas has drained their bowls.

In particular, the soldier studies its leaders.

Such a thing has yet to be announced - nothing has been announced at all. But it is something Thanidiel finds easily determined.

The mountainpeople have not been trained in formal stiffness. They stood outside of the dutiful (painful, at times) parade rest the Knights beside them had adopted. Instead, those of her birth settle with a way known to her as vigourful, and to others, as defiant: a laxness to their shoulders, an uneven settle of the feet. ‘Round the one she has identified as Ciril, those close have all drawn back their adjacent legs. Protective, and hesitant to remove floor.

Kielen’s presence is louder than that. His garb is something bold and distinctive from ‘mongst the more uniform Knights. While his comrades were content with a single swordbreaker, or leather spaulder, strapped against their persons, she notes how plate layers along the length of his upper arms in broad, encompassing, pauldrons. Instead of a practical barbute hanging from underarm or belt like many others, an arrogant faceguard settles over his coif.

Loud.

Even idle, he is fucking loud.

She can sense the pacing of his breath from here; how it desynchronises from the calm of all those around him until the brute moves forward, like that would smear away the scrutinous glint underneath her brows.

“Former Knight-Master–”

“You are dismissed.”

“...Ma’am?”

“You may present yourself to Fury Company in a week’s time.”

The rest does not need to be given to the air between them. Again, the blade is in her hand, and, again, it is offered forth to the man opposite of her. Confidence removed, the Blood Knight reaches forward. It is an action hesitant and disbelieving as the bare iron is slid, and held, against rivets.

“Consider that your ticket.”

“The… men, ma’am?”

“Everyone here will be evaluated for entry. Grain, work, shelter, to be provided immediately thereof. Dismissed.”

The flicker of relief that goes through the harshness of his face is like a light through forest canopy. It is something redeeming to the butchery of his first presentation. Graceful, now, his surrender goes swiftly.

“Blood and Thunder, Kin’taris.”

“Sun at your back.”

With the turn of his body away from her, the Captain crooks her fingers towards the crowd.

“At random. I don’t care about any exploits or titles before you’ve stepped into this tent so I hope you’ve left it all in the field. Names first, then me and your two Lieutenants, Elinden Brightvale and Harthen Sunbright, will determine your skillsets, units, superiors, and standing orders.”

The small thing with as hastily shorn hair as Elinden, at the very back of Kielen’s former company.

“Yenette Sunshield.”

The giant with thick and loose coils, closest to Ciril.

“Byrran Morningheart.”

The man with copper red skin at the very center of the Knights.

“Oridren Bloodmist.”

The half-elf with an axe-bite on her jaw falling out of the southern pack’s formation.

“Shenuile Darro…”

#writing #thanidiel #autumnvale #sunguard

31 notes · View notes

dirgeofcerberus111 · 5 years

Text

Tagalongs - SU Fanfic Chapter 5

Happy New Years everybody! Starting off 2019 with a new chapter. Sorry for the delay, was busy with work, school, and other stories. I wanted to also release the next chapter of No Home at the same time, but it should be ready in a week or two. Also, in regards to the recent episodes, keep in mind that this was made way before any of that and is a light-hearted AU. Otherwise, hope you enjoy!

@directorhachi

Ms. Yellow finally stepped out of the conference room and shut the door behind her. Not stopping, she march straight to the nearest elevator and let it close. Once she was sure she was alone, and that no one was watching, she finally let her shoulders down and let out a sigh of relief.

Damn jackals, she thought. Try and make a power move in her tower will they? Not a chance. She pressed the button for her office floor. Well, she certainly showed them, and after that, hopefully next time they’ll know better than to cross her.

The elevators hummed quietly as she waited in silence, arms folded, to arrive. Finally she felt the elevator stop and the doors opened with a ding.

Now then, time to call the police and finally get those kids out of her-

Where were they?

They were not by the elevators where she left them. They were not here. They were gone. Why were they gone? Where were they?!

Yellow’s mind raced. Where could they be?

Wait, she left them with Pearl. Where was Pearl?

Ms. Yellow stalked out of the elevator with a rushed pace. Looking around, she could see a colossal mess by the printing machines, with the employees from Blue’s department picking up the pieces of what seemed to have been a catastrophic parchment explosion.

What on Earth happened around here? She hadn’t even been gone an hour!

Yellow’s thoughts turned to dreadful visions of legal action and the scandals that could follow if something were to have happened. Her company had enough bad rumors circulating about it as it was. She didn’t need child neglect added to the list. That would be a PR nightmare. They could be sued! Or worse!

The worst part about it was that, this was on her. She brought them in because she it would be safer- less risky to bring them in and resolve this quickly than to just let them wander around on the streets. Now she had no idea where they were and no control over the situation.

She turned her head and finally spotted her secretary. She was heading back towards the office, with the both kids secured firmly under each arm. Letting out a grunt of irritation, Yellow marched over to them in a huff.

“Oh Ms. Diamond, there you are! How did the meeting g-”

“Pearl!”

“IDIDN’TLOSETHEMISWEAR!”

“How many people know about them?” “Wait wha…?”

“How many people in the office know they’re here?”

“Weeeell...” she glanced uncomfortably at the wider floor.

“Oh lord, they all know don’t they?”

“I’m afraid so...” Meanwhile the children looked up and waved.

Ms. Yellow put a hand to her face and groaned.

“B-BUT, there’s absolutely no reason for anyone to connect them to you! Because of course, I would never divulge any of your personal affairs,” Ms. Pearl professed as she set the two back down.

“Good.” Yellow let out a covert sigh of relief. She did not need anyone in the office thinking she had gone soft. This whole situation was ridiculous enough as it is. “Stay here and prepare everything for the merger, I’ll take it from here.” She then snapped her gaze back down to the two wandersome children.

“You two, come with me!”

The two snapped a hasty nod and followed the tall CEO into the office and the door slammed shut behind them.

Inside it was a well-lit and very modern cubic space. Everything was perfect ordered and designed to radiate the utmost efficiency and authority. Warm yellow lamps hung from the ceiling and the books were arranged on their shelves in perfect straight rows. Her desk was on the other end of the room, meticulously clean almost to the point of barreness, while the guest seats were mathematically positioned in front of it to offer the ideal power distance.

“Wow! Is all this really yours?” Steven asked.

Yellow didn’t bother answering. She didn’t have time to answer obvious questions. She had to get back to work and finish all this so she can finally send these blasted kids home already! Here at least no one will bother her.

The boy spoke again. “So do you call people from here or...”

“Listen up, I have piles of work to do, and a limited window of time to do them. The sooner I get them done, the sooner you can be out of here!” she told them. “So keep quiet and don’t bother me anymore!”

Suddenly there was a long rumbling gurgle as their stomachs growled. The two looked up from their stomachs at her but didn’t say anything.

Yellow felt an eye twitch.

Two juice boxes and a box of raisins from the breakroom later, they were seated in one of the guest chairs, both of them in the same one.

Yellow finally settled down into her seat. At long last, she could get back to work. She began to pour through the torrents of emails, memos, and notices that flooded her screen, answering, filing, deleting, and organizing them all with industrious efficiency.

Once she returned a few phone calls, she can send them home. So one by one she listened, responded, gave orders, gave ultimatums, and deleted them. Sometimes she berated. Sometimes she veiledly threatened. Other times she offered assurances. Whatever was needed to keep the wheels turning.

She glanced at the clock. Still plenty of time left before the big meeting. She thought about calling the authorities now, but noticed her email notifications blinking again.

Alright, she had time, maybe she’ll check just a couple of more emails. She clicked through her inbox and saw how many of them there were already. Okay, maybe she’ll just quickly respond to a few of these and then-

The phone started ringing.

Okay, fine, she’ll just quickly deal with this and...

One thing after another. Five, ten, twenty, it just never seemed to end. Just one more thing, she kept telling herself. But it never was. It would all go by so much faster if the phone didn’t keep ringing, every second someone else demanding her attention.

The CEO pinched the bridge of her nose. No rest for the wicked, she thought to herself and her grumbling intensified.

Steven took notice of this and went up to Ms. Yellow’s desk. He placed something by her side. She looked down and saw that it was a juice box. She pretended not to notice, and Steven, thinking that she didn’t see it, pushed it a bit closer to her.

“Are you thirsty? You can have mine!”

“I don’t have time for such things,” She waved her hand at him dismissively.

Steven gasped in abject horror. “You don’t have time for yourself? But you-time is super important!”

“I have a multinational conglomerate and thousands employees to take care of first.”

“Mom says that working hard is good, but you shouldn’t work too hard. If you do that then you’ll get so tired your arms will fall off!”

“Oh really...” Ms. Yellow murmured absently.

Connie poked her head over the desk and chimed in. “My mom’s a doctor, and she says you should always stay hydrated. Steven’s mom’s also been talking her about making time to relax. Maybe you should talk to them?”

Oh she did not need this.

She didn’t go through eight years of university to be lectured by two kids who thought a box of cereal was a legitimate means of navigation. If she didn’t find some way to keep these kids occupied soon was she was going to go insane.

“Alright you two, if your going to lounge around in my office, then your going to at least make yourselves useful.” She pointed to Connie. “You, Connie was it? I’m putting you in charge of the answering machine.“

Connie came around side and tried to access the answering machine, but found she couldn’t reach. Determined, and with Ms. Yellow waiting on her, Connie looked around and figured something out. She pulled out a few of Ms. Yellow’s drawers to form a staircase. The executive watched this clever little problem-solving with mild amusement before deciding to make this easier on herself and her desk. She picked up the girl from under her arms and sat her down on her desk.

The CEO pointed to the answering machine. “Every time the phone rings, push this button right here. Got that?”

“The one that says ‘Ignore’?”

“Correct.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Right on cue, the phone began to ring, and as instructed, Connie pressed the button with her finger and the ringing stopped.

“Very good, keep doing that.”

Next, she pulled out a stack of papers from her desk drawer, tapping them against her desk before handing them to Steven. “And you, take these papers and go shred them.”

The boy gave a salute. “Yes ma’am, ms. boss lady!” before taking the papers and running off with them.

There, that should keep them occupied for a while, Ms. Yellow thought. Though she might have to consult Yevona later on about whether this constitutes as child labour or not...

Finally free of the endless parade of nagging phone calls, Ms. Yellow was finally able to focus herself back on clearing her emails. Without the constant distractions she was actually able to make some headway. In a way, she was almost able to relax. She was in her element, productive and undistracted, with the periodic phonecall swiftly silenced by Connie, and the boy taking care of the pesky paperwork. She just felt like she had less to worry about.

After a while though, she noticed that she hadn’t actually heard the sound of paper shredding yet…

She looked up as Steven returned to her desk. To her confusion, he laid out several papery objects on her desk. After a moment, she realized these had once been the papers she gave him. He had turned them into an assortment of paper chains and angels.

“All done!” he saluted.

Yellow looked at him for a moment. “I suppose I didn’t actually say to use the paper shredder…” She hadn’t intended for her tax returns to be turned into arts and crafts, but at this point, she was much too tired to object. At least they were shredded.

The intercom buzzed and she smacked the receiver with a hand.

“What is it?” she demanded impatiently. Couldn’t anyone leave her alone for a few minutes?

It was Ms. Pearl. “Ms. Diamond? It’s almost time for your big afternoon meeting. Shall we get going?”

Yellow looked back up at the clock. She hadn’t realized how much time had past! It was already almost time for the big merger. Yellow cursed herself for getting so distracted. She had wasted too much time and now there wasn’t enough time to call the police!

She put her face in her hands as she groaned.

Ms. Yellow got up and headed for the door. She was about to open it when something occurred to her. Wait, how would it look if she walked around the whole building with two kids trailing her? She would look ridiculous! But she couldn’t leave them with Ms. Pearl again, this time she actually needed her secretary with her. She looked back at the kids who were watching her. Leaving them with another employee was out of the question, she couldn’t risk something happening again while she was gone. To her dismay, she realized that would have to take the kids with her. Yellow groaned again.

She’d have to find a way to keep this all under wraps...

The kids watched as Ms. Yellow took out her wallet and opened it.

"If anyone asks, you’re my interns. Then, give them this and ask them if they understand,” she told them as she pressed something papery into each of their hands and Steven and Connie looked down at it. In each of their hands was a hundred-dollar bill.

They looked up at her in confusion.

“They'll know what it means."

With that, she swung the door open and marched out, Steven and Connie in tow. Her secretary didn’t miss a beat and quickly fell in line beside her. On the way they passed the cubicles and the printer ladies again, who were still cleaning up the mess from before. Yellow had hoped to slip out unseen without much fuss. They seemed rather ensconced in their work, so perhaps they would be able to slip out unseen without much fuss.

“HEY, HEY LATER KIDDIES!”

Today was just not Yellow’s day...

A big one with a noticeable curl in her hair shouted, waving her arms wildly at them trying to get their attention. Yellow flinched and tried to pick up the pace. The other employees around her also took notice of who she was waving at and followed suit. The kids did not help matters.

The two turned and waved to the rest of the floor. “BYE EVERYBODY!” They shouted back, matching their volume. The printer ladies were hollering and waving, behind them some of the other nameless workers in the cubicles also waved a little. Even the two lawyers standing in the breakroom doorway bid a gesture of farewell.

Ms. Yellow grumbled something unintelligible to herself and hurried them all out.

#steven universe #my stuff #yellow diamond #connie maheswaran #tagalongs #human au #su fanfic #fanfic #su human au #office au

12 notes · View notes