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superheroesofbothuniverses · 3 years

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Kidnapping Number Eleven (Wintershock)

Darcy grumbled and swore as she woke up in yet another dank cell in some unknown baddies’s lair. Working around Avengers and being married to one made her life wonderful, thrilling and…….prone to being kidnapped. She twisted around in the chair she was restrained in and glared at her bare left hand.

“Bitches stole my wedding ring!” she complained. “I will cut them!”

“I’ll join you,” said a similarly grouchy male voice from across the room.

Darcy whipped her head around to see she wasn’t the only prisoner. A man was tied up in similar fashion to her, wrists and ankles cuffed to the chair. His handsome face was bruised and cut, and he looked decidedly disgruntled. She squinted in the dim light and then recognized him.

“Sousa?” She asked. “They nab you too?”

“Yes and yes,” he confirmed. “I thought I had left the kidnappings behind in my field agent days.”

Darcy chuckled.

“Even being supposedly dead doesn’t mean one is exempt from being snatched, apparently,” she sighed. “I was on such a roll. Ten months since the last kidnapping. Guess I’ll have to reset the counter.”

“You have a kidnapping counter?” Daniel asked, with some amusement.

“Yep,” she sighed. “Twenty attempts and eleven successes, counting today. I do PR work with the avengers and that tends to make me a target. Not to mention, I’m married to someone that tends to make evildoers’ lives miserable and short.”

“Sounds familiar,” Daniel admitted. “I sure hope they aren’t being lured into a trap. I have no clue how many people they’ve got stationed here.”

“No worries. My husband’s pretty badass. He can take ‘em, and if he brings his buddies, well, it will be lights out for our captors,” Darcy said confidently, while Daniel fiddled with his leg.

“Are you hurt?” She asked, concerned again.

He shook his head and pulled up a small metal device, which he used to pick the cuffs and free himself.

Darcy’s jaw dropped.

“Smooth, Daniel. I’m only halfway there.”

She’d been working on her own cuffs with the hairpin she’d had hidden away, but it was slower going than usual for her. She was rusty. She made a mental note to ask Natasha to run some practice sessions with her.

“I gotta know, where did you manage to hide a lockpick?” She asked, as they rubbed the circulation back into their limbs. “They searched me pretty thoroughly, except for my shoes.”

In answer, Daniel pulled up his pant leg, exposing a prosthetic limb, which had a tiny compartment built in. He smirked and shut it again.

“Nice!” Darcy admired. “Tony’s work?”

“Jemma Simmons, actually,” Daniel said. “Though it would be something a Stark would do as well.”

“Bucky will be jealous,” she joked. “Don’t think he’s got any cool compartments in his metal arm.”

“He could also break down this door with that metal arm in a heartbeat, though.” Daniel said, eying the very thick cell door that so far was impervious to their attempts to pick the lock.

Darcy shrugged. “Yeah, most likely. I’m not hearing much from outside right now. Where are all the thugs and mad scientists?”

There was no window in the door, so all they could do was sit and wait and hope rescue came before their captors came back.

“You’re with Quake, right? What’s that like?” Darcy asked to make conversation.

Daniel’s eyes grew soft and warm, and she could tell she’d picked a good topic.

“It’s wonderful,” he said fondly. “She’s so incredibly smart and funny, and strong and loving. After all the stuff life has thrown at her, she still has such a huge heart. I think I was smitten from the first day I met her posing as a CIA agent.”

“Awwe,” Darcy cooed, heart melting at how massive his heart eyes were as he talked about Daisy. She’d only met Quake a few times, but she could totally understand how Daniel could have fallen for her right off the bat.

“What about you? What special someone will be bursting through here to carry you to safety?” Daniel asked her, a knowing sparkle in his friendly brown eyes.

Darcy chuckled.

“That would be one Bucky Barnes, badass extraordinaire and the world’s most adorable cinnamon roll of a husband.”

Daniel looked confused.

“Cinnamon roll? Is that some modern slang term? I’m not familiar with it.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, thinking back to how much Daniel reminded her of Steve with his general confusion about modern day idioms. “It means he’s got a sweet, gooey personality underneath all those layers. Despite everything the War and Hydra did to him, he’s still got that irresistible charm and gentlemanliness that seems to be a thing with the men of your era. I bet Daisy appreciates that too.”

“I think so,” Daniel acknowledged. “She does call me a square a lot, though.”

He gave an adorable sheepish grin that Darcy guessed meant the term square had become one of endearment.

She heard gunshots and banging noises and quickly hit the deck, self preservation instincts kicking in. Daniel was crouched down, too, listening intently.

About three minutes later, the door was violently opened and three figures appeared: one of which was obviously Captain America, the second a tall brunette woman she quickly recognized as Daisy Johnson, aka Quake, and the third was a very ferocious looking Bucky Barnes, gun aimed and ready.

“We’re alright!” Darcy declared before he could get himself more worked up, but he carefully checked her over anyway, needing to see for himself.

“I see you’ve picked the cuffs already. That’s my girl,” Bucky said with a proud grin, pulling her into a relieved hug.

“They took my rings,” she said with a pout against his chest. “Did you leave me anybody to yell at?”

“A couple. I’ll ask Barton to search them.” Bucky told her.

“Everything okay, Johnson?” He asked, nodding to Quake, who was tenderly wiping the blood off of Daniel’s face.

“Yeah,” she said absently. “Doesn’t look like more than some surface wounds. I don’t know what these idiots were trying to prove except how dumb they were in their terrible planning and execution.”

Steve, seeing that things were under control and he wouldn’t be needed to carry an unconscious body, shared a look with Bucky, and left the room again.

“So it wasn’t Hydra?” Daniel asked.

“Doesn’t look that way,” Bucky replied. “Looks like a wannabe who was tryin’ to impress someone. The guys we’ve caught are already squealing like stuck pigs.

“Did you make your scary murder face at them?” She asked. “I bet they peed their pants.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t have to. Steve and Nat beat me to it. Besides, I have Resting Murder Face as you so frequently remind me, doll.”

“Yup. And it’s an awfully cute murder face, too,” she told him fondly. They gazed at each other for a second and then heard a sigh behind them.

“If you’re done with the flirting, could we please get out of here? I have a hot date I need to get to.”

Darcy pretended to roll her eyes.

“Oh, fine, Quake. I guess I can jump my hot husband a little later.”

She heard Daniel make a choked sound even as Bucky cracked up.

“No filter Darcy is the best Darcy,” he whispered.

“And don’t you forget it,” she ordered, winking at him.

The four of them met Steve, Clint, Nat and Sam in another room, where ten restrained men were sitting or lying, depending on their state of consciousness. Darcy recognized the thugs that had taken her and upon pointing them out to Bucky, watched in glee as he menaced them until they begged for mercy and gave up their boss. Clint, who had been searching them, found Darcy’s jewelry and she gave a huge sigh of relief as she put her rings back on.

“Better now, doll?” He asked her.

“Much,” she told him, admiring the way the Ruby and diamonds sparkled on her hand. Bucky’s proposal had been incredibly romantic and she would never ever forget the way her heart had throbbed when he’d gone down on one knee in front of her and looked at her so lovingly as he’d asked her to marry him.

After all the prisoners were rounded up and loaded on the quintet, Darcy took a seat beside Bucky and snuggled up against him as best she could.

“Thanks, babe,” she whispered. “You’re awesome.”

“You are, Darcy,” he told her. “You could have run FAR and fast from the Avengers chaos, but you stuck around and I’m very grateful.”

“Despite the Chaos and kidnappings aside, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. We’re worth it, Bucky,” she told him, squeezing his hand with hers.

#wintershock #dousy #my Fic #Darcy Lewis #Daniel Sousa #daisy johnson #bucky barnes

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floralguccistyles · 4 years

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six: imperial death march

I had always found the bright yellow walls of Doctor Thorne’s office comforting.

My first appointment with Doctor Thorne, the walls had been the first thing I noticed. I had never been to a therapist before, although I probably should have when I was younger. Doctor Thorne wasn’t an intimidating woman by any means, but I think the idea of having to see a therapist was daunting enough for me to be terrified walking into her office on that first day. I had been expecting clinical and sleek. Instead, the walls were yellow, she had colorful art littered around the room, and the chair I sat in was velvet and blue.

I was sitting in that chair now, ankles crossed and body sat up straight to assure her I was listening.

“Has he tried to contact you since?”

Right. The topic of conversation had, inevitably, strayed to Harry. Just as I had gotten over talking about the trauma he caused me in secondary school, he had appeared back into my life, seemingly intent on proving that he had changed. Doctor Thorne didn’t mind. But I did. I felt like I was allowing him to invade into my thoughts. Last session, we had talked about my small bout of insecurity when I had run into Jeff and Glenne, and now we were discussing how I felt when Harry contacted me about the Lord of the Rings books, which had been about two weeks ago.

“No.”

“Do you think you’ll respond if he does?”

I didn’t know the answer to that. Honestly, I think it would depend on my mood. If I was having a good day, I might have replied. It would have been short and not very communicative, but I had told him on his birthday that I hated holding onto this anger and hurt and I had meant it. But I also hadn’t forgotten the many nights I had spent crying over him and his friends. I told Doctor Thorne as much. “I don’t know, honestly. I want to get over this, but...it’s difficult.”

“I’m not expecting you to find it easy. Ultimately, the choice is up to you, Petra. If you decide it’s best for your mental health that you want Harry out of your life, you get to make that choice. If he’s changed, like he said he has, he’ll understand.”

Doctor Thorne was right, as always. Lately, we had been working hard on putting myself first without feeling like it was selfish for me to do so. It was taking some work, but I think with Melody and Doctor Thorne, I was getting better at it.

I left Doctor Thorne’s office with the promise of seeing her two weeks from today. Her office was fifteen minutes from the yoga place Melody and I usually attended, so I usually took the tube there. I would be going to yoga alone today. Melody usually joined me, since she had the time slot right before me at Doctor Thorne’s office, but she had to rush out and get back to work because Trennan had, like usual, messed something up and needed her help. That meant it was me, the tube, and the small cereal bar I had in my purse in for the long haul.

When I walked into 360 Yoga Fitness Center and Spa about twenty minutes later, the woman behind the front desk smiled at me. She was used to me coming every time I had a therapy appointment. She signed me in easily and I made my way into the usual yoga room, setting my mat down on the floor and taking the time before class started to stretch. Melody had texted her apologies for not being able to make it earlier, but I honestly didn’t mind doing yoga alone. I would have preferred having her here with me, but there was something relaxing about it just being me alone with my thoughts.

My phone buzzed quietly from my bag. As there were only a couple people in the room and the instructor wasn’t in yet, I figured it was okay to check it really quickly. Pulling it out of my bag (and remembering to silence the alert vibration while I was at it), I spotted the message from Harry easily enough.

harrystyles: What are you doing today?

He must have had burning ears. I stared at the message for a second, crinkling my nose in distaste. I hadn’t been lying to Doctor Thorne when I had mentioned Harry hadn’t tried to get in contact with me since those messages about Lord of the Rings, but to be completely honest, I didn't expect him to try it again. I had hoped my running into Harry and his new friends might have been a part of my life that was slowly coming to a close, but alas, I guessed wrong.

Not bothering to respond, I tossed my phone back into my bag as the instructor walked in. Hopefully Harry would get the hint that I didn’t exactly want to talk to him.

“Good morning everyone!” My instructor said, much too peppy for my taste but that was because Melody usually made everything a little more palatable. “We’re going to start nice and easy today. Let’s go ahead and do some basic stretches first.”

I was happy that none of the poses during the hour long class were too difficult, like some of them had been in the past. Once the session was over, I packed up my stuff, sweating from every pore I could ever imagine on my body, and pulled out my phone to text Melody that I was on my way to my flat in case she wanted to come over after fixing whatever Trennan had managed to muck up.

harrystyles: It’s important, promise.

I rolled my eyes. Nothing could be more important than the hour-long shower I was going to take when I returned to my flat. The passengers on the tube looked at me with wrinkled noses because I was sure I smelled less than pleasant, but I didn’t care. Once the twenty-three minute ride was done, I hopped out and immediately beelined for my shower, waving quickly to Ms. Wilcox as I passed.

Shedding my clothes almost immediately, I hopped into my shower and started scrubbing my skin vigorously. Melody had a key to the flat, so I wasn’t worried about her not being able to get in if she came around, so I decided to take my time and maybe shave my legs. It had, admittedly, been a while since the task had been done. I had long since been out of actual shaving cream, so I just lathered my generic body wash onto my leg, the smell of vanilla overpowering my senses. My razor was in my hand, dragging up my leg when I heard the knock on the door.

It made me jump, and consequently, cut my leg. It started bleeding almost immediately, and I threw the razor onto my soap dish and started cursing at it. The water cascaded over the cut, providing a little stinging sensation but not nearly enough for it to be super painful.

“Coming!” I shouted, turning off the shower. I wrapped my hair in a towel and threw on my bathrobe. My plasters were in my kitchen cabinet, so my leg would bleed until I could get the door and hobble to the cabinet. “Shit,” I groaned when I stepped out of the shower, nearly slipping on the water that had sloshed onto my floor in my haste to get out.

I made it to my front door with minimal injuries, despite the fact that blood was now dripping down my leg at an alarming rate. When I pulled the door open, I can honestly say that seeing Harry Styles with two iced coffees in his hand was the last thing I expected to see.

“Hi, sorry, I know you probably don’t want to see me, but—” he cut himself off, eyes actually zeroing in on what I was wearing. “What are you doing?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What the bloody hell does it look like I’m doing? I was mid-shower, you asshole.”

“You’re bleeding,” he announced stupidly, his eyes locked on the blood on my leg. It was really unfair how much blood came out of a razor cut. I didn’t even feel the sting of it anymore, but the amount of blood it was producing was as if someone had taken a hammer to it. “What happened?”

“Christ, just come in.” I grabbed his wrist, the one holding the iced coffee with the least amount of liquid in it, and pulled him roughly inside my flat, closing the door behind him. While he stood dumbfounded in my foyer, I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed a plaster. “Why are you here, Harry? And how did you even get my address?” Lifting my leg onto the counter, I wiped the blood away with a wet paper towel.

“You weren’t answering my messages. I asked Bailey for your address.” He appeared in my kitchen suddenly, setting the coffees on the counter. “Is your leg okay?”

And then, with a delicateness I wasn’t aware he would even possess, he gently put his hand on the back of my knee, inspecting the cut. It was starting to turn red with blood again, so he reached out his hand to grab the plaster between my fingers. “Stay still,” he ordered, tongue poking out a little in concentration. He folded back the plastic on the plaster and methodically stuck it to the cut on my shin, patting it with his finger once he was done. “There.”

I didn’t bother saying thanks, due to the fact that I still didn’t know why he was here and I briefly had lost my breath.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your shower, but you weren’t responding and I knew you’d hate me forever if I didn’t tell you. John Williams is at the studio I normally record at, and he wants to meet me.”

It took me a few seconds to process what Harry had said. My thoughts were still on the gentleness in which he had applied the plaster to my cut. When his words did catch up to my brain, my eyes widened. “John Williams is in your studio?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Jeff’s with him now. But he’s only going to be there for another thirty minutes, so we’ve got to go.”

“John Williams,” I repeated, just to confirm, “as in the guy who did the musical scores for Jaws, Indiana Jones, and the entire Star Wars series?”

“Yes, Petra. So get clothes on and let’s go!”

Normally, I would never voluntarily put myself in a car with Harry Styles. It was setting myself up for nothing but negative emotions and feeling bad about myself. But this was John Williams he was talking about. The guy who single-handedly made some of my favorite movies awesome because of his incredible music scores.

Which is the only reasonable explanation that I shouted “OH MY GOD!” in Harry’s face before making a beeline towards my room.

My hair still had conditioner in it, my legs were only half shaved, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t rinsed all the soap off my arms, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

I threw the towel on my head somewhere on the floor of my room and slammed the door shut so I could strip off my bathrobe. I figured with my hair still wet and me generally looking like a wet rat, there would be no problem with wearing casual clothes. Plus, Harry had been in jeans, a graphic shirt, and Vans. Hurriedly drying my legs off so they wouldn’t stick when I tried to slip into jeans, I slid them up and over my thighs with only minimal stomping around. I briefly debated on wearing a Star Wars shirt, but figured that was maybe a little too “crazy fangirl” so I settled on a striped shirt with a bralette under it.

“Petra, we’ve go to go!”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth! I can’t meet John Williams without having brushed my teeth!”

“I have Listerine strips in my car!”

Figuring that was the best I was going to get, I slipped my feet into Vans without even bothering to put socks on (which I would scold myself for later, but John Williams was waiting) and ran into the living room, where Harry was staring at the picture on my little shelf.

It was when my grandmother had come to visit. She had her arms wrapped around me so tightly that I thought I was going to pass out, but I hadn’t ever wanted her to let go. She was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and eyes so brown they almost looked black. “Is that your grandmother?” he asked, touching the corner of the frame reverently, like it was a piece of artwork he needed to preserve.

“Yeah.” I swallowed roughly. I never really looked closely at the picture because it always made my eyes fill with tears. It reminded me that I’d probably never see her again, or see Cuba in my lifetime. “Her name’s Yelina.”

“You look like her.”

I wasn’t emotionally ready to unpack that statement, especially with Harry. “Let’s go.”

Harry drove an ostentatious and expensive looking Mercedes Benz. I couldn’t decide if the color was a very light gray or light blue, but I didn’t pause to debate over it too much before I was yanking the door open and plopping myself down into his passenger seat. He made his way to the driver’s side way too slowly for my taste, but he eventually wiggled into the driver’s seat and handed me the iced coffee he had gotten for me. “I didn’t know what you usually drink, so I just got you the same thing I get.”

It was coffee, but I could taste lots of caramel and vanilla in it as well. It was a little too sweet for my taste, but it would do. Also, the more I drank it, the less I had to talk to Harry. That was a win-win for me.

Harry looked over at me and grinned. “Your hair is still dripping.”

“I look terrible and I’m about to meet John Williams,” I commented, letting out a nervous laugh and taking another long sip of the coffee.

“You look beautiful, Petra.”

I looked over to him and snorted. His mouth turned down at the corners when he heard the sound. “Harry Styles calling me beautiful? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well I was an asshole when I was younger. You’ve always been beautiful.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to talk. So I didn’t try. I simply leaned back in my seat and stared out the window, avoiding Harry’s gaze and the tension that sat between us. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and I wondered if he was thinking about all the shit he had said to me when we were younger.

Harry’s studio was about ten minutes away driving, which left us about twenty minutes to meet John. When Harry pulled into the parking lot, I had to restrain myself from throwing the door open before he’d come to a full and complete stop. He handed me a Listerine package and I took two, barely even noticing the stinging taste of the alcohol as I ran my tongue back and forth over them to get them to dissolve faster. Then we were out of the car and walking towards the building, Harry slipping shades on over his face despite the fact that it wasn’t sunny out. I wondered if he knew that putting sunglasses on did nothing to hide his identity.

Jeff was standing in the lobby of the recording studio, standing next to an older gentleman with white hair, a matching white beard, and glasses perched on the tip of his nose. I felt myself stop breathing (and stop walking) and only remembered to inhale when Harry put his hand on my back and pushed me forward slightly. “Jeff,” Harry said, and the two men turned to look at him, “sorry I’m late. You must be John.”

“The man of the hour,” John replied, giving Harry a twinkling smile. I wanted to cry, but figured that would be a bit unprofessional. “I just listened to your solo album. It’s incredible, son. My great-granddaughter is obsessed.”

“It’s an honor to hear you say that, sir,” Harry said, shaking John’s hand. I saw the moment John’s eyes flitted over in my direction and think my soul might have ascended. “This is my friend, Petra. She’s a fan of your work and I knew she’d want to meet you.”

John smiled at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Pleasure to meet you, Petra. Are you in the music industry too?”

“I...I run a podcast, actually,” I managed to stutter out.

“How interesting. What about?”

“Various things. Mostly I have guests that worked on big franchise movies or books.”

I didn’t realize Harry hadn’t taken his hand off my back until I felt him squeeze my shoulder reassuringly. I wondered if he could feel me shaking. “Petra’s writing a book herself. Her podcast is absolutely incredible to listen to.”

“I’ll have to listen sometime. You ever talk about Star Wars?”

“We’ve discussed Star Wars a lot. We actually had one of the costume designers on once. It was incredible.”

“Next time I’m here in London I’ll have to drop by. My grandkids listen to podcasts and they’re always trying to get me into new ones.”

“We’d love to have you,” I assured. Inside, I was trying to keep myself from doing something embarrassing.

John and Harry chatted for a little while longer, but it came time for John to leave for the airport to catch his flight back home to America. He shook Harry and Jeff’s hand and even gave me a hug. Harry rolled his eyes behind John’s back when he saw the tears gathering in my eyes, but gave me a smile to assure me that he was just joking about it. Then, John left and the three of us stood in the lobby of Harry’s recording studio in silence for approximately five seconds.

And then I burst into tears.

Jeff looked horrified. If he had grown up with me, he might have known how incredible that moment was for me. As he hadn’t grown up with me, he probably was wondering what the hell was wrong. Harry didn’t hesitate for a single second to grab tissues and press them into my hand so I could wipe away my tears.

“I’m sorry,” I said, directed more towards Jeff since he probably thought I was absolutely crazy.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Petra. It’s overwhelming, I know,” Harry said, rubbing my arm comfortingly.

I hated crying in front of Harry. There was a prickling to my skin, like I was hyper aware he was watching me geek out and be an emotional nerd. He had seen me cry over things when we were younger, and back then he had given me shit about it. Now, he just stared at me and gave me soft smiles. I didn’t know which one was worse. Because at least I expected his taunts. The smiles I didn’t really know what to do with.

“Sorry,” I said again to Jeff after I finished crying. I was sure I looked a sight, with my wet hair and tear-streaked cheeks, but Jeff just smiled.

“S’alright, Petra. You okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Thanks for inviting us, man. I’m gonna take her home.”

Jeff waved us goodbye and Harry and I left, walking to his car in silence. My coffee was still in there, though it was so cold that none of the ice had melted. I buckled my seatbelt in silence, still feeling like an idiot for crying in front of him but also feeling elated because I had just met John Williams. Harry handed me another tissue that he kept in his middle console and I took it without speaking.

The drive back to my flat was incredibly awkward.

He pulled up to my flat parking structure in record time, but he didn’t make a move to get out of his car. He simply turned off the engine and sat for a little while, giving me time to gather my thoughts. “You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded. “It was...really nice of you to think of me. I appreciate it.”

“Then why do you look like I just told you I was gonna kill your dog?”

I snorted. “I don’t have a dog.”

“You know what I mean, Petra.”

I was embarrassed to tell him, but I knew that after the massive favor he had done for me today, he deserved the truth. “I was embarrassed to cry in front of you, especially about something like that. It just reminded me…”

“Of when you cried reading the last Harry Potter book and I made fun of you,” he answered when I trailed off. “Shit,” he mumbled out, his body slumping into his seat. He threw his hand over the bridge of his nose, pinching it with his index finger and thumb. We sat in silence for a little while longer. “I...I feel so fucking ashamed. How is it that I’ve managed to fuck over someone so completely that they’re afraid to show any emotion?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, unable to refute his words.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t even know why you came with me today. If I were you I would have given up on me a long time ago.”

I wanted to. I wanted to be angry with him, to stomp out of his car and slam his door shut and never speak to him again. I wanted to talk to Melody and call him a raging twat and curse the ground he walked on. But I thought of today, of how he had gone out of his way to introduce me to John Williams. I thought of him sitting alone in his house, watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy and I thought of him sending me those flowers after my disastrous date with Peter.

“I want to,” I decided to tell him. He deserved honesty. “But...I think deep down, I do know you’ve changed. It’s just going to take a long time to get over the past. I’ve been talking about it with my therapist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve been discussing ways to help with my self-esteem and confidence. We're trying to work on forgiveness too. She says that I should only let you back into my life if I’m sure that it’s a good idea.”

“She sounds like a smart lady.”

“She’s the best.” I looked over to him, finding his eyes already on me. “It’s taking me time, Harry. It’s as much me as it is you. I’ve got to feel confident enough to let go of the past. But...I really appreciate today. And I appreciate you trying.”

He nodded. “I’m proud of you, going to therapy and all that.”

“Thanks. I just need to work on being proud of myself.”

I unlocked the door and opened it up, grabbing my iced coffee cup so I wouldn’t leave the trash in his car. “Thanks for thinking of me today. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“See you soon, Petra.”

Once I shut the door, he started the car back up and backed out of my flat complex. I stupidly watched his car drive away before I walked away.

When Melody had first told me about Cassandra and Vera, I had thought she was exaggerating. I figured no roommate could really be as awful as Melody was making them out to be. The first time I had met them, I was optimistic that they would prove Melody was just being picky about friends.

She hadn’t been.

I had only been to Melody’s flat a handful of times, due to the fact that mostly, we spent our time at my place. Her flat was more grandiose than mine, with three big rooms and two bathrooms, but it was cramped with Cassandra and Vera’s things. I couldn’t even see a touch of Melody in the foyer of the flat, which was where I was standing because when Vera had lazily answered the door, she had given me the barest of greetings before gesturing me inside and retreating back to her room. I could hear Cassandra prattling around in the kitchen, but couldn’t see her because I hadn’t actually been invited inside and unlike Melody being comfortable at my place, I wasn’t comfortable at hers.

“Melody’s coming,” Vera said, appearing almost out of thin air. In the two minutes she’d been done, she’d changed into leggings and a workout tank, but her eyes still looked sleepy, like she’d much rather go back to bed. “Cassandra’s making smoothies if you want some.” Before I could express my gratitude and politely decline, Vera whispered, “They’re shit. She puts kale in them.”

“Oh.”

Melody came out of her room and I don’t think I’d ever been so grateful to see someone in my life. I hated talking to Vera and Cassandra. At least Derek, Vera’s creepy boyfriend, wasn’t here to stare at my boobs. “We’re headed out. Please don’t set the flat on fire.”

Vera sneered, an ugly expression on a rather pretty girl. She had pretty auburn hair that verged more on brown than red until she was in the sun (which was rare in London). She had moved from Canada to go to school in London because her boyfriend had already completed his first year of uni. She was taller than me but shorter than Cassandra and had hazel eyes. “I’m not a child, Melody,” Vera snapped.

“Who’s there?” I heard Cassandra ask from the kitchen. She trailed into view, clad in nothing but tiny pajama shorts and a tank top that had a strap falling off her shoulder. Cassandra could have been a supermodel if she’d wanted to be. She was toned from playing volleyball since she could walk and had long blonde hair. The second her eyes landed on me, her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, Petra! Is it true?”

“What?” I asked dumbly.

Cassandra rushed over to me with the speed only she and Usain Bolt could possess. “Is it true you’re dating Harry Styles?” she screeched. I think I may have lost hearing in my ear. “You’re everywhere! People got pictures of you in his car yesterday. Everyone’s trying to find out who Harry’s new mystery girl is, but the second I saw the photo, I knew it was you.”

“You were with the raging twat yesterday?” Melody asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassandra tried to say “he’s not a raging twat!” at the same time Vera snorted out a laugh. Meanwhile, I was processing what Cassandra was saying.

There were pictures of me with Harry. I knew logically there were probably paparazzi that followed him around everywhere because of his career, but I hadn’t even thought of the possibility that we had been photographed. “Can you show me the pictures?” I asked Cassandra, who eagerly nodded and pulled out her phone, scrolling through twitter. #HarryStylesMysteryGirl was trending.

“Christ, Petra,” Melody mumbled under her breath as we scrolled through the Twitter tag. “Do you know how many people have to be tweeting about that to get it trending?”

I didn’t want to know.

Melody seemed to sense I was either going to pass out or throw Cassandra’s phone across the room, so she gently pried it out of my fingers and handed it back to her roommate. “Right, well, we’ve got to head out. See you later,” Melody told her two roommates, grabbing me by the elbow and tugging me towards the door.

“Say hi to Harry for me, will you? And if you could get his autograph, that would be ace!” Cassandra called before the door to Melody’s flat shut behind her.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Melody asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. We stood there in silence for a couple of seconds before she eventually let out a deep breath. “Okay. Want to start at the beginning?”

That’s what I loved about Melody. She let me explain things at my own pace. I told her about the events leading up to the pictures that had apparently been taken of us, on our way to meet John Williams. I told her about the weird moment Harry had bandaged my cut and how he knew my grandmother’s name was Yelina. I also told her about our (technically second) hesitant truce with one another before he had driven off.

She listened quietly. And then, she sighed. “I know it seems like he’s trying, Petra. And maybe he really is. But you’ve got to be careful, okay? The things he and his friends said about you...those aren’t things someone easily comes back from. If his fans knew about some of the stuff he’d allowed that dick Nathan to say, they’d burn him alive. And now there’s pictures of you out there and fans are nasty.”

“I promise I’m being careful.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Also, don’t go on Twitter for a while. At least until the hashtag dies down. I don’t want you to see anything negative.”

Another thing I hadn’t thought about. If fans saw the picture of me with Harry, I knew most of them would be supportive even if there was absolutely nothing going on and there would never be anything going on. But some fans would be nasty and make fun of me simply because they were jealous. This was a promise I could easily make to Melody. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now can we go get food? I’m starving.”

We stared at each other for a moment before we started laughing. It was always nice to know Melody and I were usually on the same wavelength.

My phone beeping woke me up.

I had been folding laundry on my couch while the old Wonder Woman show played on the telly. I guess mid-fold I had fallen asleep on my couch, which would explain why the piles of clothes I had worked so hard on now looked like clumpy messes. The telly was still on, but it was some other show now and my phone was lit up on the table in front of me. I blearily glanced at the time, cursing when I realized I had fallen asleep around seven and therefore probably wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, since it was already one in the morning.

harrystyles: I’m so sorry Petra.

Blinking, I tried to go over in my head what he had to be sorry for (besides the obvious). Why? I typed back, still feeling a little sleepy and more than a little confused.

harrystyles: They got pictures of us and found out your name. You’re all over Twitter.

I had known they had pictures of me, but last I checked I was still the “mystery girl.” Despite the promise to Melody, I opened up Twitter and saw my name was trending. I didn’t dare click on it for fear that I would find nasty tweets that I didn’t need to see.

harrystyles: I totally understand if you’re upset.

Not your fault, I typed back. I figured if he was feeling bad enough to message me about it at one in the morning, I should at least cut him a little slack. Plus, my message was true. It wasn’t his fault. He had been in such a rush to get me to John that he had forgotten, for a moment, who he was and what the consequences of that were.

harrystyles: Still. You okay?

I’m fine, I replied. Don’t worry about it.

harrystyles: I just don’t want this to ruin our chances of ever being friends.

For Christ’s sake, Styles, stop blaming yourself. Don’t you have better things to do at one in the morning?

He never responded, but I assumed he had fallen asleep. As for me, I decided to finish up the laundry, fixing up my piles that had been crushed underneath my back. It was a rare night when Melody wasn’t staying at my place, so the flat felt quiet without her there. Once I finished up with my piles, I walked them down to my room, glancing down at my phone when it beeped again.

harrystyles: I’m outside.

Outside where?

harrystyles: Your place, obviously.

Sure enough, I heard a knock on my door fifteen seconds later. When I looked out my window, there was a different car in the lot than the Mercedes. I guess it made sense that he would have more than one, but seeing another expensive car made me wonder just how much money Harry made doing his music. I padded my way over to my front door, opening it up. I was sure I looked a mess, with my glasses askew on my nose and my hair in a terrible messy bun that resembled a rat’s nest more than hair, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It wasn’t like I was bombarding someone at one in the morning.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I wanted to make sure you really weren’t mad at me.” He had one hand slung in the pocket of his joggers and was wearing a black sweatshirt that actually looked really comfortable. His other hand was behind his back.

“You couldn’t have done that at a normal time of day?”

“I figured we were both up. I brought you something.”

Raising a brow, I waited until he pulled his hand out from behind his back. Once he did, my tired eyes widened. In his hands was a tiny little potted succulent, a pretty green flower that also looked like a cactus. He shoved it into my hands like he was a nervous teenage boy, the hand that was holding it immediately retreating back into his pocket.

“I know you liked the other flowers and this one is harder to kill,” he explained.

“I didn’t kill the other one!” I was slightly offended. Did he think I just went around killing plants? “I’m a great plant mum.”

His small dimple appeared when he lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. “Well I didn’t know that and I didn’t want it dying on you.” I moved to put the little succulent on the table near my front door. “You’re really okay with the Twitter thing?”

“It’s not ideal,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“I know your own Instagram’s on private, but try not to post anything too personal to the Alien Crossing account. Don’t look on Twitter. I don’t know if you already have or not, but sometimes people say nasty things.”

“Harry, believe it or not, I’ve got practice with people saying shitty things about me in regards to you.”

I said the sentence without really thinking about it. I think I had meant it offhandedly, like a kind of last minute joke or something, but I knew the second it left my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. His shoulders slumped, like he was a helium balloon that someone was slowly draining, and the grin dropped from his face almost immediately. “Right,” he said in a cold voice. “I’d better go. Just wanted to check in.”

Even with our small truce, we still found a way to fuck things up. His reaction made me annoyed. What right did he have to that kind of reaction? He was the one who had said the shitty things about me. He didn’t deserve to feel chagrined when I tried to make a joke out of it. “Probably,” I said stiffly, my voice a couple of degrees colder.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Without so much as another blink in my direction, he turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

I had to remind myself to unclench my jaw as I closed my front door. I don’t know why his reaction had made me so angry, but it was just a reminder that Harry Styles, at his core, was selfish. He only cared about himself and how my actions made him feel. How I made him uncomfortable when I brought up how awful he had been. My steps were heavy with anger when I marched back to my room, opening up my laptop with a little more force than necessary.

Here’s something one should know about me. When I felt like I was being attacked or I had made someone upset, instead of trying to cheer myself up, I wanted to know all the nasty things people were thinking about me. Doctor Thorne called this “bad validation.” Like if Harry thought I was being mean for making that joke, suddenly I had to see someone else saying my voice sounded annoying on AC. It was like this terrible reassurance that I so badly didn’t want to seek out, but I couldn’t help it.

Which was why I opened Twitter.

My name was the first trending hashtag.

I had never once Googled myself. Googling myself felt weird. Also, I had never really had a reason to. While AC was popular, it wasn’t so popular that I could walk in the street and be recognized. Mostly, it was my voice that people recognized. This meant that I had never really seen people commenting on my appearance, which was why most of my self-confidence issues were about my actions and personality.

Until now.

She looks way too plain to be seen with him. Please tell me they aren’t dating.

Gross. She looks like a drowned dog.

Who the fuck is this bitch? And why does she go out in public looking like that?

I slammed my computer shut.

My room was silent, save for my angry breathing and the beating of my heart. Standing stiffly from my desk chair, I walked back out into my living room and to my couch, where I still had some piles of clothes that needed to be put away.

The echeveria plant stared back at me when I looked up at it.

I didn’t like the fact that my heart stuttered a little when I looked at it. It just reminded me that he had come, at one in the morning, to make sure I was okay. And then everything had gone wrong, like everything in my life inevitably did. Forcing myself to walk over to it, I picked up the tiny white pot it was in and set it next to my shelf, where I had the picture of my grandmother.

And then I sat on my couch and tried not to cry as I folded the rest of my laundry.

#ac #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ou #1dff

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squirrelly831 · 4 years

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Discovers He’s a Serial Killer and He Refuses to Let Her Leave [Hakyeon and Taekwoon]

A bit more on the darker side of things. It strays away from the idea of love and more to control and so I leave you with that as my warning. There’s violence and lots of it for some members. You’ve been warned.

I’m not playing… There’s violence. Not for the weak hearted. Kind of yandere I guess?

Enjoy~

Married to a news reporter for a crime unit had its benefits. Though she wasn’t supposed to talk, she often told him about cases and investigations that were on going that didn’t reach the public’s ears. It helped him, though she never knew. There was one case on going that she was reporting on that really piqued her interest.

There was a serial killer, not something that really happened in South Korea, who had targeted women between the ages of 19-28. There was no connection between the women and the attacks were in different parts of the Seoul districts. It happened at random times sometimes in broad daylight and sometimes in the dead of night. What was worse is that the police were left scratching their heads as they had no evidence that could pinpoint their killer, but they were sure it was just one. The signature was identical. A carved out smile and gouged out eyes as they were posed scandalously. Their legs slightly apart, naked from the waist down, and one arm would be draped over anything beside them and the other on their lap.

She couldn’t believe something so vile would happen in South Korea. She could see it happen in her home country, the United States, but not somewhere like South Korea. A place where women could walk the streets in the dead of night not fearing the danger that could spring.

She was glad she had her husband there to discuss the crime with. Sure, it was her job, but it weighed heavy on her. She grew in fear each day a new woman is found. Their ethnicity didn’t matter to the killer, so what if one late night it was her that the killer spotted. She shook in fear at the thought and countless times her husband would reassure her that she’d never fall prey to a monstrous act like that. She had silently prayed the killer would be caught not knowing that she was a lot closer to the killer than she ever knew…

While home one day, she was cleaning out her husband’s home office when she stumbled across a fake bottom in a drawer. With a pen, she was able to pick it up and find a pair of gloves and a sheathed knife. The color drained from her face as she questioned why her husband had the items. Her mind trailed to the case. How the killer had to have been wearing heavy duty gloves, like the ones in the drawer, and have a large hunting like knife, like the one in front of her. She put the fake drawer back as she slipped back all the items in the drawer before she shut it. She had a renewed determination as she tore apart the room to find other hidden compartments. One held trinkets from the victims like jewelry, ID, and a hair brush which ultimately confirmed the sneaking suspicions. Her stomach turned as she fixed the room back to the way it was and hurried out of the room unsure of what to do…

Hakyeon

Sara heart tuned out the sound of the front door opening and closing. She couldn’t calm her breath or her heart as she tried to figure out what to do. I need to call the police… She reached for her phone Bedroom– Okay, it’s okay. Just get the phone call the police and get out of here befor–

“I’m home” Hakyeon whispered in her ear. She jumped as a scream left her lips from the sudden voice. Sara covered her mouth as she spun around to see Hakyeon. Her eyes widened as she shook under his confused gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Shit… Calm down… Calm the fuck down, Sara… She tried to clear her throat as she let out a shaky breath, “Sorry– I went for a run and I saw a guy following me. I thought he broke in.”

Hakyeon’s eyes were on his wife though hers never looked away from the ground. “I see…” He looked behind her to his office before he glanced back at her, “You should be more careful than love. Maybe you should carry pepper spray with you.”

“Yea… Maybe” She moved away from him and headed down the stairs stiffly, “You want dinner? I was about to start food.”

Hakyeon’s eyes darkened as he watched her descend down the stairs, “Sure… I’ll just be in my office. I have some work I have to finish.” He watched how she recoiled when he said office and his lips pressed together.

“Okay… I’ll call you when it’s done.”

They ate in an unnatural silence. Sara’s eyes rarely looked up at him as she took microscopic bites of food and Hakyeon noticed. She wasn’t as honest with her words than she was with her body language. Her tongue could twist tales, but her body was nothing but honest.

Hakyeon stared her down as he ate his meal, “Hey love…” She flinched at the nickname, fork hit against the porcelain plate, and her head slowly rose. Her eyes met his. “You said that you went for a run” he placed down his eating utensil and stared at her with a straight face, “But why would you run in your lounge wear?”

Sara looked down at her plaid shirt and short shorts she wore. With a gulp she looked back up, “I took a shower when I came back” she forced a smile.

He nodded as he took a sip of his wine, “That makes sense. Of course.” She let out a relieved sigh as he placed the wine down, “Though I don’t think anyone as scared as you were would think of showering– I mean you screamed like you ran into a killer.” Hakyeon’s eyes dimmed as he watched her pull into herself. He got up from his seat and approached hers, “I also didn’t know you ran? Or that you bought work out clothes? You’ve always hated strenuous activities.” He approached her from behind. His finger traced her arm up to her neck before she jerked away. Hakyeon bent down to her ear, “I noticed some things in my office were moved… You wouldn’t happen to know how that happened.”

Sara’s body acted on its own. She shoved the chair into Hakyeon and rushed to the front door. Hakyeon didn’t waste time as he pushed the chair away from him and rushed after her. As Sara fiddled with the locks, she was violently pulled back by her hair. A scream escaped her lips as she was thrown to the ground.

Hakyeon towered over her with a dark look she had never seen before. “There was a reason I told you not to go snooping in my office, love. I was just trying to protect you…”

Sara crawled backwards, “So what now? You can’t kill me. It’ll be too suspicious if your wife suddenly goes missing or found dead.”

Hakyeon’s lips curved in a grin as he grabbed her ankle and pulled her back. She clawed at him when she got close enough and he in turn slapped her. “If you can’t behave, I’ll have to teach you how to.”

“LET ME GO!” She struggled as he grabbed her and forced her up by her upper arm.

Hakyeon slammed her into the wall, her head met it with a hard knock, “Enough.” She stilled at the growl that left his lips. He led her to the bookcase and with one arm secure around her arms, he pushed it to the side with ease to reveal a door. “I never thought I’d need to bring you here, love… But I still made it just in case.”

“Hakyeon… Where are you taking me?” She whimpered.

He said nothing as he opened the door to reveal a basement. Sara knew she needed to escape and she needed to fast. She kicked back at Hakyeon to try to get out of his grip. Instead, he shoved her down the wooden stairs. Hakyeon watched her tumble down the stairs as she screamed and came in contact with the concrete floor, “Oops. My hand slipped. You startled me.” He descended down the stairs after he locked the basement door.

Sara whimpered as she saw the blood droplets under her as she weakly pulled herself up. Hakyeon stopped mere inches away from her as she winced in pain, “So what—” her voice broke, “You’re going to kill me too?”

“Kill you? Of course not, love. We’re married. We took the oath to be with each other” he pulled her aching body further into the basement without much struggle. Her will to fight fled her as she allowed him to pull her. “I just–have to punish you. I love you so much” he caressed her face, “But, that stunt upstairs was just so mean and hateful. Especially when I do so much for you.” Sara noticed a life size bird cage in the middle of the room and she weakly pulled from him. Hakyeon yanked her. His eyes glared daggers as his lips formed a scowl, “Enough with the struggling before I really leave you broken in pieces.” He picked her up and put her in the cage, “I’ll check back on you tomorrow… or maybe Monday” he slammed the metal doors. “It all depends on how good of a girl you can be.”

Sara slowly stood. Her legs wobbled and she swayed, “You can’t do this! YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” She screamed.

Hakyeon touched the bars as he looked down at his caged bird, “I can do whatever I want, babygirl. I’ll let your work know you quit.” He tapped the bars as he walked away from her. “I never did like that dumbass boss of yours, he was always too close to you. I love you.” He left the basement and she was stuck in the darkness.

Her legs gave to the pain as she crumbled to the ground in tears. She was trapped. She was in pain mentally and physically. Sara didn’t realize who she married until it was too late and now she was trapped and she knew no one would be able to save her.

Taekwoon

Harin didn’t understand why she didn’t just call the police when she could have. Her ribs were bruised from the kicks she had received by her husband, Taekwoon, the day before when she tried to fight him. She hissed in pain as she sat up in her prison as she recalled the events from two days before. How she found herself locked away in a spare room of their home where she was cuffed to the bed by her ankle. She pulled her knees to her battered body as she recalled what lead him to snap and become someone she didn’t know.

“As if I’d ever love a killer” Harin cried as she headed out the room. She had confronted him with the evidence she found in his room the same day. She was hurt and sick to her stomach as she stared at the man in front of her who she called her husband. “We’re over. You’re sick.”

Taekwoon saw red, “You don’t love me?” He felt his rage consume him as he watched her leave. “You’re just like those other women… You’ve been pretending to be my wife… Give my wife back” he growled as he went after Harin.

Harin was pulled back by her hair and thrown to the ground as she let out a scream. She covered her face as she hit the ground as she looked up at Taekwoon. His eyes were empty as he loomed over her. “Taekwoon…” She whimpered as she scooted back. Taekwoon pulled off his tie as he approached her. Harin shook as she stood up and made her way to the bathroom just as he lunged at her. She went to slam the door, but Taekwoon was faster. He let out a growl as his barefoot and his arm blocked the door. “TAEKWOON STOP!” His arm and leg yanked themselves out of the door space and Harin shut and locked it. She let out a hiccuped cry as she back away from the door.

It was quiet minus her sobs as she hid inside the tub. Harin tried to silence her cries as she pressed a shaky hand over her mouth. She heard the doorknob move, but the lock held it in place. It stopped and Harin let out a sigh, but her relief was short lived as a bang sounded against the door. She pressed herself against the tub as a fire extinguisher broke parts of the wood door enough for Taekwoon to slip his hand inside and unlock it.

“Where are you?” His voice was cold and lifeless as he opened the door and threw the extinguisher to the ground. Harin pressed her hands to her mouth as she saw his shadow walk through their bathroom. As he drew to the tub, her heart accelerated and he pulled open the curtains, “Found you.” Taekwoon dragged her out of the tub as she screamed and tried to fight him off. He let her go for a moment to retrieve his knife. To him, he only saw another girl pretending to be his wife. The girl before him wasn’t her. She couldn’t possibly. Harin tried to make one last attempt to flee, but she hit the ground when he slammed one of her trophies against her head as he couldn’t get his knife in time. Her eyes rolled as she fell to the ground.

The thud of her body was what returned Taekwoon to his senses. He saw his wife out on the ground unconscious. He could tell by her chest rising and falling that she wasn’t dead, but the gash in her head wouldn’t stop bleeding. He took a seat on the edge of his bed and tried to rationalize his actions. “If you didn’t snoop in my things” he shook his head “we would still be fine. Why did you have to go behind my back?” He got off the bed and looked at his wife, “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DO THAT? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE AND YOU DON’T LOVE ME?” He reached back and threw his lamp off the nightstand beside him. Taekwoon’s eyes darkened as he picked up her unconscious figure and took her into a spare room they had never used.

Harin jumped at the sound of the door lock and she pulled up the covers that were at her feet to her chest. Her heart hammered against her chest as the door opened to reveal Taekwoon.

He approached the bed with a dinner in his hand, “Are you going to eat this time or throw a fit?”

“I wouldn’t throw a fit if you just let me out.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he dropped the plate on the nightstand. “I’d be more than happy to if I could trust that you wouldn’t try to run off or tell the police.” He took a seat on the side of the bed and looked at her.

“I told you” she choked on her words, “I wouldn’t try… I love you…”

His eyes met hers and he reached out to her. She flinched and Taekwoon shook his head, “I can’t trust you when you flinch from me like you do..” He gave her a sad look as he rose from the bed. “I understand, this is a lot to get used to, so take all the time you need. I’ll let you out when you’re ready.” He left the room ignoring her please and when she heard the locks she broke into sobs.

Jaehwan and Hongbin || Wonshik and Sanghyuk

Credit to gif owners

Written & revamped by Squirrelly831

♕ REQUEST

☮ VIXX MASTERLIST

∞ ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

#kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop #vixx #vixx reactions #vixx scenarios #hakyeon scenarios #taekwoon #taekwoon scenarios #kpop yandere

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missbrightsky · 4 years

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I didn’t know where else to go

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: Rhysand

fuck

FUCK

I had an unconscious detective on my couch and her blood on my hands.

It was a quiet evening, cleaning one of my guns with Friends reruns on in the background, shattered by a barely-there knock at my door. Ready to chew out whoever decided to disturb a crime boss on his night off, I had only cracked open the door to see her there, blood coming from a nasty cut on her head and practically bent in half from pain.

It was reflex to catch her as my name slipped from her mouth along with those damning words.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Feyre Archeron. The detective who was hell-bent on arresting me. Who had managed to resist my flirting, much to my chagrin. Who was now on my couch but not how I pictured it happening.

Why I couldn’t get a cop out of my head for the past few weeks? I wish I knew the answer.

I watched the even rise and fall of her chest, grateful that whatever had happened to her wasn’t truly life-threatening. At least that’s what I told myself as I waited for her to wake up.

Thankfully she stayed out cold while I stitched up her face, I was fresh out of painkillers from my recent injuries. The glorious life of the head of the underworld, if only they knew how much work it took, then maybe I wouldn’t have to deal with so many hot-headed insubordinates.

Whatever had happened to her probably warranted a hospital visit but no way was I showing up with my face all over the news and a bloody cop in my arms. I did as much as I could for her wound but didn’t risk checking the rest of her body. A small smile played on my mouth as I imagined the foul words that would surely come from her if she found her other injuries tended to.

A sharp intake of breath followed by a small whimper of pain cut through the TV in the background. I froze in the most non-threatening pose I could think of, crossing my left leg so that my ankle rested on my right knee and slinging an arm over the back of the chair, dangling the glass of dark amber liquid that was keeping my nerves in check.

Feyre’s eyes cracked open, even surrounded by darkening bruises, the intense blue-grey still made my breath catch in my throat.

“How is it you always look like you own the world? Even in Deadpool PJ pants?”

A startled laugh barked out of my chest, the bourbon nearly splashing out of my glass with the sudden movement. In my haste to patch her up and unwillingness to leave her alone, I hadn’t changed out of the comfy clothes I had put on as soon as I stepped through my door.

“Years and years of practice, darling.” There it is, the fire returned as her eyes became clearer, taking in the room.

From the outside, my apartment didn’t look like much, all cold stone and steel. The inside was much more hospitable, warm wood floors nicely complemented the exposed brick, tasteful furniture that you could still relax in took up most of the space. The harshest part of the room was the wall that was covered in guns, big and small and a few illegal in the country, but I liked to live on the wrong side of the law.

Open curiosity rested on her face, making her look years younger than the small frown that was there most of the time. It returned when she took in the weapons, reminding her that she showed up to her suspects' house and promptly passed out, leaving her at his mercy. She forced herself to sit up despite the obvious pain that would linger for weeks, her face guarded again.

I found myself immediately missing the side that she hid from me, where she was an actual human and not someone out to destroy all my plans.

We regarded each other silently for a few moments, taking in the other in their current state until she blushed and looked away.

A few words mumbled from her mouth, too low and unintelligible for me to understand.

“I’m sorry, what was that, darling,” using the nickname she so clearly hated.

“Thank you, prick,” she spat out, wincing at how her muscles pulled at her stitches.

“You’re welcome,” I leaned forward, “but who did this to you?” putting as much concern as I could into my voice.

“I’m surprised you don’t know; it was your men that drugged me and had me beaten.”

The accusation was a slap to the face, my teeth gritting at the venom she threw at me. “My men would never fucking do this to anyone, cop or not.”

Her eyes burned, leaning forward much as her balance allowed until we were only inches apart.

“I went to the bar I know you frequent; the bartender gave me a club soda laced with something and the next thing I knew, some assholes were dragging me out back and kicking the shit out of me. Who else would have given orders like that?”

I forced my breathing to stay even, to not grab her and shake some sense into her. For all the crimes I had committed, not one single fucking person had been harmed in the process. Was she willfully ignoring that fact or was she so convinced that I was a truly evil motherfucker?

“Did you recognize any of them?” My question caught her off guard.

Her eyes flicked up, trying to sort through recent hazy memories. “No…”

“That’s what I thought. You’ve been after me and my organization for so long, I’m sure you have every one of my peoples’ faces memorized. So why did you think that I would have such a lovely, dedicated, hardworking civil servant drugged and beaten?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, having the grace to look ashamed as she leaned back into the soft couch cushions, attempting to rearrange herself into the least painful position.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have any painkillers, and I’m not sure where else you’re hurt, I didn’t check.”

“It’s fine, it’s my fault for showing up on your doorstep anyways.” She lifted her shirt, carefully picking at where dried blood had plastered it to her chest. A patchwork of black and blue was settling on the skin, but no lacerations at least.

“I don’t think anything is broken, just really fucking sore,” she surveyed, taking in the damage. I was too worried about her injuries to notice the black bra edged with lace that perfectly hinted at the curve of her breasts.

Ok maybe I was worried, but it didn’t completely escape my notice.

I almost whined when she dropped her shirt but managed to contain it as she settled deeper into the cushions. She froze, realizing that she was getting too comfy at basically her arch enemy’s place.

“I need to go,” but she stood up too quickly, swaying and unable to catch herself as she pitched to the side, heading straight for the solid corner of my end table.

By the grace of the Caldron and a bit of luck, I managed to catch her, pulling her close to me to steady us both. She let out a yelp at the handling, but it was her fault for trying to move too fast with her injuries.

“That’s twice I’ve caught you, would you like to make this a habit?” I purred, my mouth on the shell of her ear completely not by accident.

A shudder she couldn’t suppress or hide skittered down her back, slightly arching her body into mine.

All too soon her reason returned to her and with a surprisingly firm shove, she distanced herself from me and promptly plopped back onto the couch, refusing to acknowledge the electricity that just flowed between us.

“Prick,” she seethed.

“Don’t say what you don’t want.”

Confusion that morphed into fury consumed her. “If I wasn’t so fucking injured, I would kick your ass right now.”

“You’ll have to give me a rain check then,” parting my lips in a feline smirk. She blushed even harder and looked away, looking utterly pissed that she couldn’t leave.

“Would you like a glass of bourbon? I promise it’s not drugged or anything, and it’s much better than what they serve at that bar. And it will ease the pain a bit.”

“Fine.”

I wove fluidly around a chair to the bar cart that was tucked into the corner next to the TV that was still somehow playing the aimless show when much more interesting content was playing out right in my living room.

I poured her a generous knuckle worth of the expensive liquor, maybe this would make up for the lack of painkillers. Hopefully whatever she was given was enough out of her system that it wouldn’t react badly.

I returned with the drink in hand, passing it to her waiting hand, she still refused to make eye contact with me.

This was too good of a situation to mess with her. I sat in the middle of the couch, forcing her to either stay where she is, contact points connecting up the sides of our bodies, or to move to cram into the corner closest to the TV, making her crane her neck to see the screen.

She chose the latter and decided upon ignoring me as much as possible with less than a foot of space between us.

We sipped our drinks, intermittently paying attention to the show, punctuated with our derisive snorts at the characters' shallow problems.

At some point, a comment was made, leading us into a conversation about what we hated and loved about this show or that. Sharing new series, daring each other to watch them in our little free time.

The alcohol loosened our tongues and worries about the other ulterior motives, simply existing in the moment.

She was incredible. So amazingly opinionated and alive and passionate. If she had seen something he had, she questioned his every motive for liking or disliking it. If she hadn’t seen it, endless questions poured from her mouth and promised to watch it soon.

Hours ticked by and more liquor was poured. The show completely ignored, our bodies had turned toward each other, knees grazing, and body heat slowly being shared. She laughed at something, I’m not even sure what I said, too caught up in the music she made.

Once she stopped giggling, I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I could stay here for hours, simply taking in the red that graced her cheeks, highlighting the freckles that were gently dusted there. Her eyes seemed to shift between blue and grey depending on her current emotion, full lips punctuating every statement.

Those lips in question parted. We were so close now, her legs practically slung across my lap, her arm across the back of the couch, brushing against mine often.

The lapse in chatter grew, neither of us attempting to restart it.

Watching.

Waiting.

Until

One of us moved forward, only the Caldron and its forgotten gods knew who moved first.

Careful to not put too much pressure on her injuries, I cupped her face in my hands, molding my lips around hers.

Just as I had too often fantasized, they were soft and fit perfectly with mine, the sharp taste of my bourbon tinting them with dark desire.

There was no hesitation on her part, only enthusiasm. If she was in pain, there was no sign of it now.

Soon it became too uncomfortable for our bodies to stay far apart with only our heads meeting in the middle. I slid my hands down her neck, gently resting on the curve of her waist, a request she responded to with straddling my hips, effectively sealing her fate and mine.

We were both so, so fucked.

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sarah j maas #sjmaas #sjm books #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #Cop!AU

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whenimaunicorn · 5 years

Text

The Pussy Willows Mission - Part One

Fandom: Wynonna Earp Pairing: Bobo Del Rey x OFC Warnings: Explicit, dubcon: undercover stripper gets coerced into things she didn’t expect

Timeline divergence note for canon sticklers: let's just assume that the Earp gang realized that Pussy Willows was owned by revenants some time before Bobo Del Rey was out of the picture...

The plan had started off perfect. Once we realized Pussy Willows was the center of some shady revenant shit, the next step seemed obvious: infiltrate the joint and see what the demons were up to. Wynonna couldn’t do it; she’d have been recognized. Haught had said “hell no,” and no one would let Waverly volunteer, so it was on me to initiate phase one and go get a job at the infamous strip club just outside Purgatory.

How hard could it be? Pose as a dancer for a few nights, long enough to get close to the revenants at their next meet-up, and learn exactly what they were doing. I had just enough confidence, and just the right lack of hang-ups or personal boundaries, to nail the audition and get myself assigned to the right nights.

My first shift wasn’t crucial. I just had to manage to not get fired before the weekend, when the real stake-out would happen. My plan was to be exceptionally mediocre at this job; take my turns on stage, make a few bucks, and just kind of blend into the background of the staff. You know, not work too hard.

The boss didn’t like it. Jonas had me pegged for a slacker within the first hour, scowling at me for hanging by the back bar and flushing me out to go try harder at drumming up business with the three customers making an early night of it at the beginning of my shift. I discovered lapdances were kind of fun, anyway, since these guys were following the rules and keeping their hands to themselves. It was nice to feel appreciated, if I didn’t think about it too hard.

I was enjoying myself on stage, shimmying into the mood and out of my clothes, when the trouble started with a flash of fur in the seats at the right-hand corner. Most of the demons in Purgatory had no idea I had an association with the Earp family. That’s why we had considered this plan foolproof; but there was exactly one fucker who did, and at the sight of his trademark coat I felt my heart sink lower than that panties I had just dropped to the stage floor.

Bobo Del Rey shouldn’t be here. Our informant swore up and down that the trailer park boss was not involved, that this gang of revenants was cooking up something completely separate from whatever his bullshit was. And yet, there at the end of the stage was that greasy black mohawk, the two-toned beard surrounding a lazy smile full of sharp teeth.

Somehow I managed not to trip in my 6-inch platform heels. I turned away from him and took a deep breath, trying to think fast without betraying the notion that anything was wrong. There was a decent chance he hadn’t recognized me yet. I was wearing a long, full, pink wig that was definitely not my natural hair color, and maybe he wouldn’t look very hard at my face. With luck, I could finish out my set without him paying any more attention to me.

I rolled my shoulders and snuck a peek past my curtain of fake hair in Bobo’s direction. A crisp dollar bill now lay on the stage in front of him.

Fuck. The place was so dead that he had no competition; there would be no way for me to pretend I hadn’t noticed him there, or that there was no time left to get to him for a little one-on-one tease before my song was over. Especially with the boss already suspicious of my ass… I was going to have to go over there.

Standard procedure is to get down on your knees in front of the customer, make some kind of friendly or sultry eye contact, depending on the kind of stage persona you’re going for, and then do a few seconds of body rolls or contortion-y dance moves that show off your assets, up close and personal to them. Overachievers might lean in and touch the guest, rub her tits on their face or whatever, but I was definitely going to try and get away with the bare minimum with Mr. Del Rey. Then you hold up your garter strap and wait for them to slide the money in, and you’re done.

Even the eye contact part of that formula was too risky for me; the cotton-candy-pink of the wig was probably only going to be disguise enough if he never got a good look at my face. So I chose the bored-and-sultry persona, dancing my way over to his side of the stage with a slow sashay, ending with my heels on either side of his dollar bill and my backside facing out.

My inner monologue had one shining, screaming moment of what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-with-yourself-right-now. Bobo had sat down at the stage after all my clothes were already off, and now one of our greatest enemies was about twelves inches away from my ankles and staring up at the bare cleft of my ass. But what else was a girl to do? I rolled it, popped it, and dropped it with as much skill as I could muster, then bounced on my heels with my ass sticking right into his face.

I dared a glance over my shoulder. I just had to; my skin was tingling under even the idea of his gaze. Bobo’s face had gone slack, eyes fixed on the bounce of my buttocks and whatever glimpse of my pussy he was able to get in between. The simple pleasure I saw in his eyes tempted me to bend forward, spread myself a little further for him as I felt goosebumps rise along the back of my thighs.

Because the other problem was… did I mention I totally had the hots for Bobo already? I knew it was wrong, but there was no denying the way that he made me feel the last time that Wynonna and I had a run-in with him. So there was a little part of me, a little part that was getting bigger and needier by the second here, that wanted to relish this chance for incognito flirting. To think that Bobo liked my body, even though he didn’t know who he was looking at… I undulated my hips and indulged the temptation just a little bit longer.

Bobo leaned in, closed his eyes, and took a deep sniff of me. It should have been gross but it really, really wasn’t. Pure, animal appreciation was in his gaze when he opened those eyes and locked them onto mine.

Watching his reaction from over my shoulder, I returned his gaze for probably a second too long. He snapped his teeth together with an audible click and I realized myself, flipping my hair to hide my face again. I spread my knees wide and dropped almost to my belly in my haste to distract him with other body parts. I writhed with an arched back before him for a few beats, then closed my legs and switched to a catlike sort of body roll on hands and knees, getting ready to transition out of there. That was fun, but now I was just about to lose my nerve.

I finished by sitting in front of him, one bent knee braced on the stage while I swirled the other thigh open and held up the elastic of the g-string just a few inches away from my exposed cunt.

Bobo wasn’t letting me off that easy. He picked the dollar bill up off the stage between us and traced it along the wrong leg, knee to hip. His fingertips brushed my skin too, when he ran it along my lower belly, and then finally backtracked toward the required destination. I thought I could hear a pleased little growling noise emanating from his chest as his eyes followed his fingers. He tickled me a little as he slid the bill into position, and grasped my leg in a light squeeze for just a second when I moved to pull away.

“You,” he said, eyelids narrowing as he inspected my face. “Come talk to me when you’re done on stage.”

I tried not to betray the chill that ran through me after that, smiling and nodding like the compliant girl eager to make a buck that I was pretending to be. I gathered myself up enough for a few turns around the pole before the D.J. started speaking over the final notes of the song. “Everybody give it up for Angel. It’s her first night tonight, guys. Give her a try, let her show you some love.” The music shifted, and I tried to match its quicker beat as I swiped my outfit off the floor and strode down the stairs opposite Bobo’s end of the club. “Desert Rose to the stage next, Desert Rose.”

‘Come talk to me,’ he had said. I turned the words, and the inscrutable smoothness of his face when he had said them, over and over in my mind as I pulled my strappy thong and mostly-sheer pastel babydoll back over my body, quick as I could. For the first time that night, I wished I had chosen an outfit with just a touch more coverage. Had he recognized me? It could have been innocent, he could have just liked me and been asking for a private dance, but I was afraid I had seen something else behind his eyes.

So, I stalled. Another patron waved me over with a cry of “Hey, new girl!” and I plopped into his lap and chatted him up – at an angle where I could still keep an eye on Bobo. My hope that Desert Rose might catch his interest failed, as every time I looked up I found Mr. Del Rey continuing to stare at me. Every minute of delay made me more sure I was in deep shit; I highly doubted he would scowl this hard at any old girl that just wasn’t giving him the first turn.

He probably knew who I was. So why hadn’t he raised hell and had my ass thrown out as soon as he realized? What game was he trying to play, here?

There was only one way to find out.

With a polite little “let me know if you wanna get a dance later” for my new friend, I extricated myself from his lap and sauntered straight across the room to meet my fate.

Bobo looked peeved to be kept waiting. He sat at one of the high-top tables off to the side, one long leg splayed off the edge of his stool as leaned into his elbow and watched me come.

I’m sure my face looked guarded. Threat stiffens my back, makes me puff up to my full height and try to convey that I am not one to easily be fucked with. “Hey,” I said, bumping the back of my arm against Bobo’s table as I came to a stop before him, but making no move to initiate contact.

“Hey,” Bobo echoed, extending an arm to beckon me into his personal space. “Having a good time tonight?”

I ducked under his arm because it was expected, and his warm palm came to rest on the bare skin of my lower back. “Sure,” I shrugged, looking around the room because I figured I still ought not to let him get a good look at my face. I let the music take me, shimmying with my back against his front, and trying not to memorize his tobacco-and-campfire scent.

I felt his nose brush against my ear, his hands coming around to cover my stomach and hold me close against him. “You don’t belong here,” he murmured low, drawing out the words like they were something delicious to savor.

My heart skipped a beat but I still found a way to reply. “That obvious it’s my first day, huh? I’m trying to learn as fast as I can –”

Bobo cut through my excuses. “I know you. You work with the Earps.” One hand traveled up to the side of my face, pulling the hair off my cheek. “And now you’re here, of all the places a girl could get a job. This can’t just be a coincidence.”

I forced a breath out of my ballooning lungs. “Times are tough, man, and I heard strippers make great—"

“We could talk to Jonas, see if he thinks it’s a coincidence.”

I cut the shit. “Don’t.” My muscles locked, ceasing any pretense of dancing. “He’ll kill me.”

“Yeah, he probably will,” Bobo agreed. His hand wrapped around my hip. “But don’t worry yourself, Angel. Just keep dancing.”

I turned inside his arms, now that we were past disguises. “Why shouldn’t I worry? You keeping my secret, Bobo?” On to Plan B: keep the problem contained.

One notched eyebrow lifted. “Depends on what you’re here for, darlin’.”

“Nothing that involves you.”

Bobo took a long sip from his straw, chewing that over. “Can you guarantee that?”

I tossed my head. “You trying to be a part of this thing Jonas is cooking up?” I held his gaze as levelly as I could, pretending we already knew more about the revenants’ plans than we really did.

Bobo scoffed. “Hell no. I’ve got more important things to do.”

I shifted my weight, just a little bit distracted by the way the line of my body was brushing against his. “Then we’re good. No conflicts of interest here.”

Bobo tucked his arm around my waist more firmly, smiling down on me. “Then I can keep a secret, darlin’. So long as you can play nice.” He ran his palm down over my ass, but I was too nerve-wracked to enjoy it.

“Watch your hands,” I said, pulling away. “The guests don’t get to touch around here.”

Bobo’s face was smug. “Is that what you think.”

I reached for his near-empty glass, grasping at any excuse to walk away and clear my head. “Let me go refill your drink.”

My body slumped as I waited for the bartender. What exactly did Bobo mean by ‘play nice,’ and how far was I willing to go to keep this operation from tanking? This was getting way more complicated than we’d anticipated. Tonight was supposed to be the quiet night, the warm-up to establish my cover, that’s all. I didn’t need Bobo fucking with me on top of everything else.

And then Jonas came striding down from the other end of the bar at me, his scowl apparent even in the dim mood lighting. “What the fuck was that, Angel?”

I creased my brows in what I hoped was a cute pout. “What do you mean, boss?”

He motioned in Bobo’s direction. “He doesn’t look happy.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Bobo Del Rey was indeed glowering at me again. In a flash, I reviewed what our conversation must have looked like from the outside. My body language had not been very inviting. And Jonas already thought I wasn’t working hard enough. I tried going for the sympathy plea. “I had to walk away, he got handsy. I think you need to send Rodrick over there to remind him of the rules.”

Jonas didn’t even glance toward the bouncer. “Oh really.”

“Yeah,” I continued, though it didn’t look like I was swaying him. “Dude was being a real creep.”

He shook his head, face twisting. “Where do you think you are, princess?”

Damn. I had only pissed him off more. Bobo’s fresh drink landed at my elbow, and Jonas scooped it up with one hand while grabbing my upper arm with the other. “Come on.”

He practically towed me over to Bobo’s table, though I tried to walk with a little more dignity than that. Bobo’s eyebrows climbed, like he expected something really interesting to happen next.

I didn’t get a look at what Jonas’ face was doing, though there was an edge of tension in his voice when he spoke. “So you’ve met my newest girl, Angel.” He wiggled my arm for emphasis, and did not let it go. “Pretty, right? Nice set of tits on her. She doesn’t know how things work around here yet.” Jonas turned to me, eyes deadly serious. “This guy right here, he’s a very special customer. He gets anything he wants.” My stomach started to drop. “VIP.” He used his grip on my arm to thrust me closer to Bobo before releasing me. I stumbled a little, extra graceless because I turned to grab the table for balance rather than Bobo’s thigh. “You’re gonna treat him right tonight, aren’t you Angel?”

I swallowed the hot words that were already thick on my tongue. If I didn’t come off as compliant, a team player, then I doubted Jonas would let me near the important guys when the real shit started going down. If there was one thing I had to make him think I was tonight, it was revenant-friendly.

I settled into a silky smile, letting my spine sway. “Of course. Anything you say, boss.” And then, because Jonas was watching, I gave Bobo my brightest, most inviting grin as I pushed his spread knees out a little wider and settled myself between them.

“Good,” Jonas said, “show him what you can do.”

I rolled my ass against Bobo’s crotch. Table dances were a little tough in these tall pub chairs, but there were a few moves I could think of. I bent at the waist and put my hands on my knees, grinding my ass up, down, and side to side against Bobo’s jeans while I arched my back and tossed my hair. Jonas retreated back to the bar, but he watched me like a hawk. This performance was for more than just one.

I worked it good, in time to the heavy beat, but I kept the contact against Bobo’s body light. I wasn’t ready to know if I was making him hard. I felt his hand land on my lower back, felt it ooze up my spine, sliding under the sheer fabric of my halter top. Customers don’t get to touch, except Bobo does.

The song changed. I straightened and swiveled around between Bobo’s knees, daring to meet his eyes. Smug satisfaction and lust met me there in equal measure. The new song was slower; I rolled my body in half time as I stared down the enemy from just inches away.

Bobo raised his hand as if to touch my face, rings glittering in the flashing lights from the stage. I flinched, and he frowned, and I remembered Jonas was watching closely. I straightened up and let Bobo caress my cheek.

The boss was too far away to hear us talk, though. And speaking to Bobo like I wasn’t afraid of him helped me keep my nerve up. “I thought you said you weren’t working with him.”

Bobo smiled at me like I was cute. “I don’t have any deals with him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want a deal with me.” His fingertips traced down my jaw, heading along the side of my neck. “The perks of being the baddest thing out of hell around these parts. He kisses my ass.” He leaned in closer, curling those long fingers behind my ear. “And that means you have to, too, if you want to keep this job in time for whatever fool plan you all are cooking up here.”

My breath slipped out of me, with a quiet little noise that Bobo’s ear may or may not have been close enough to hear. Being presented up just about on a literal platter here for Mr. Del Rey, it had my unfortunate crush bubbling up full force, making my legs weak as they struggled to balance around the tingling between them.

I could handle this. And I could even enjoy doing it, and show Jonas just how good I can treat his VIPs. Earn myself a place right on the lap of one of tomorrow’s revenants, or maybe even Jonas himself, as they had their little meet-up and spilled all the beans about their plan. All I had to do was live out one of my wilder fantasies, and give Bobo a really fuckin’ good dance right here.

Bobo’s fingers left the back of my neck, coming to idly play with his beard as he looked down the line of my body. Taking the hint, I thrust out my chest and undulated more widely to the beat. I let my hands run up my ribcage, tossing my head and arching my back so that Jonas had a good angle too, so he could see what a good sport I was being.

Bobo bit his lip as my hands covered my tits. I played with myself a little for him, made sure my nipples poked hard and strong through the thin fabric that barely covered them. His hands came to my hips, grasping like he was trying to keep control and inching me closer to him. “Jonas was right,” he rasped, “you’ve got some of the nicest tits I’ve ever seen.”

I mimicked what I had seen some of the other girls doing out at the tables, pulling the fabric of my top to the sides and letting my nipples pop out the top of my costume. I didn’t think we were supposed to be taking things off out on the floor, but technically all my clothes were still on.

Bobo groaned and leaned closer, and I ran my cheek against the shaved side of his skull. “You make a man wanna lose all control,” he growled, “and do some unseemly things to you.”

The lust was spiraling fast. I would have been much more afraid if we weren’t in the middle of the slowly-filling club, if my boss weren’t right there watching us. Because my desire was answering Bobo’s and I wasn’t sure how much control I was going to be maintaining either.

Bobo pulled back with a noticeable swallow, lidded eyes still fixed on the rhythmic motion of my body as I continued to follow the song. “What’s the plan here, anyway?” he asked. I got the notion that he was trying to clear his head too. “You a spy, 'Angel,’ just keeping an eye on Jonas and his gang?” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he met my eyes. “Or is this the beginning of some kind of undercover sting operation. Maybe you’ve got some guns stashed somewhere,” he tried to look down my back, “so you can cover Wynonna in a hail of bullets from the stage later? Now that would be something to see.”

I dropped and rolled my body low for a beat, then came back up with a teasing little grin. “I’m not one to kiss and tell,” I quipped.

“Oh, you wanna give me a kiss?” Bobo let his lips part, gazing down at mine.

I put both hands on his shoulders, leaning in slowly. I ghosted my lips just above his cheekbone, close enough for him to feel my breath. “Against the rules,” I whispered in his ear.

“But whose rules are you following,” he whispered back, tempting me with a grip stretched wide around my ribs, both thumbs sliding up to tickle the bottoms of my breasts.

Fuck. I could pretend my panting breaths were solely the fault of the physical exertion of dancing, but that would be a bold-faced lie. The adrenaline and lust were mixing together in a cocktail more intoxicating than any alcohol, and I found myself wishing that we were somewhere more private, where Bobo and I could do more than just tease each other.

I failed to notice Jonas walking over, hypnotized as I was by the sensation of Bobo’s fingertips swirling over my nipples. “What do you think, Bobo, you like her?” the boss asked, smirking at the adorned hands that had just started palming both my breasts.

“She’s all right,” Bobo said. He dropped his hands to my hips and looked over at Jonas like he was interrupting.

Jonas wasn’t stupid. Reading the situation, he knew what play it was to his advantage to make next. He ran his hand over my shoulders, possessively. “I’ve got a good feeling about Angel, here. She’s gonna make me a lot of money. Once she learns how to work a little harder.” His hand came to the back of my neck and he turned my face up to meet his. “Why don’t you take Mr. Del Rey here back to the Champagne Room. Thirty minutes.” He turned back to Bobo. “On the house, of course.” They exchanged smiles. “Then come talk to me, we’ll see how you feel about my business after that.”

So now I was a bargaining chip. Bobo nodded to Jonas, not giving him much to read in his face after that final comment.

Jonas drew me back and pointed me toward the hallway leading to the “private” booths. Here at Pussy Willows, the Champagne Room was past all those, a truly private area with a door that closed and its own wet bar and tiny stage.

I guess I was getting my wish. I tried not to shiver as I put on a bright smile for Jonas’ benefit and reached out for Bobo’s hand. “Right this way, darlin’.”

Jonas grabbed my arm before I passed him up, leaning down to growl into my ear. “And since you seem so concerned about the rules, Angel: you let him touch you everywhere. And you do whatever he asks you to. He ain’t no cop. And I need you to make him feel like a king.”

Part Two Here

Taglist: @allsharingonebreath, @demoncrypt1066, @writingfromasgard, @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen, @peachieowl @savismith @ceridwenofwales @equalstrashflavoredtrash @ivarinleatherpants @fandomfic-galore

#bobo del rey #bobo del rey imagine #bobo smut #wynonna earp fanfiction #wynonna earp fic

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alitheamateur · 5 years

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The Grind- Chapter 13

431 days. A tragus piercing. A black pencil tattoo permanently etched at the highest point of my right ribcage, and shadow roots in my sandy hair thanks to Becca, my new hairstylist recommended my latest friend, Tia. All things refreshed and renewed in the life of Liv Elliott. Single Liv Elliott. Okay, nearly all. One thing most certainly, and sorely remained the same. My beating heart was still smashed like a steel mallet had turned loose on it. Sure, the festering emotional cut of our breakup was beginning to mend with time. But, we all know with a healing cut, comes a forever scar. Not a scar representing a victorious battle, or a valiant effort. But one of sheer, naïve stupidity. I choked on a daily spoonful of utter confusion wondering where the road took such a drastic detour towards that killer cliff we had so recklessly plunged from. I constantly fought the burning urge to scratch and claw my way back up the side of that treacherous mountain to find my way back to the earliest road. The road with Colton as my copilot.

I so graciously allowed myself 2 weeks to hide away. Flounder in tears, Rocky Road, and maybe even a drunken bonfire of most photographic evidence that Colton ever existed. I avoided mascara all together, concluding that some point of my day would inevitably lead to a blubbering breakdown as I hid in the office bathroom. I rearranged the entire span of my apartment, hopeful maybe the new positions of furniture would confuse the ghosts of him that all too often appeared laid out comfortably on the couch, ankles crossed during a Sunday nap. Or slumbering face down with one hand under a pillow and the other stretched out toward the opposite side of the bed, lips loose in sleeping breathes. I couldn’t outrun the flashbacks no matter the effort. Even still, he haunts me on a Saturday morning at The Grind, or on a Tuesday night at my place with takeout from the B-rated Chinese joint down the street. However now, the sickness of utmost sadness, overcome with a rancorous flood of anger instead. Mostly with Colton, rightfully so. But myself as well. The foolish, undignified way I had just fallen under his potent spell, I might as well have just dropped to my knees and waved the white flag the second he introduced himself. And yet, the unsolved mystery remained. HE had said he loved me first. Sure, I felt it near the moment he kissed me after our run through the city that morning, but I chose to bury the words for another time. Colton on the other hand, had no problem spouting off his revelation to me. Nor did he stutter on the admittance of apparently “thinking with his dick” when it came to the matter of our meeting that fateful morning either. One thing I was able to confirm, was the son of a bitch clearly suffered a severe case of habitual word vomit.

The Pilot for me was a bit of a safe haven in a war zone, it being a place I could hide from the demons a bit. My new title at the paper requiring me to cover all things fighting within a 100-mile radius on the other hand, posed a bit of an issue. Thank the holy heavens I had avoided the press conference for his first match following our demise, due to the short, paid hiatus I took to visit Westfield. A taste of nostalgia and familiarity seemed like suitable therapy for a maimed heart, and maybe a good caudle from my parents. An attempted one, at least.

Tony and Elizabeth, said parents, were good parents in general. I won’t take that away from their accomplishments. But when basketball gracefully bowed out of my life, their involvement followed suit. Dad & I always had ball as that bonding clue to hold us tightly together. Saturday mornings following Friday night games always began with film, 150 free throws out back on the handcrafted mock court he’d constructed for me, ending at Al’s Diner for pancakes. That first fateful Saturday after my knee surgery, we tried to replay the film and retreat to Al’s, but when the conversing concerning if I’d pass the current scoring record at Westfield High, or whether I would commit to University of Louisville or SIU no longer applied, we drifted. When the “basketball dad” shadow from the sticker he peeled from the rear window of his pickup truck faded, a hefty portion of the pride he held for his daughter did too.

As far as a closeness with mom, there truly wasn’t much. She preformed the expected team mom duties by hosting bake sale fundraisers, and chaperoning homecoming dances. But that dependable shoulder never pushed much further in the emotional realm of a relationship with me. My dad & I had always held a special closeness, leaving her to feel somewhat shoved to the proverbial back burner. I was never much for the “foofy” tea parties, or pageant queen aspirations she had, which no doubt drove the wedge deeper between the two of us. But, when I moved so far away, it seemed distance, and time had healed some wounds in our connection. When I arrived at the simple square, two story siding home on Lake Lane, my first friend in life, our Collie, Indiana nearly mounted to hood of my car to get to me. No doubt, his name sake my dads favorite action movie character, and my home-state.

“Hey Indy, you sweet boy! I’ve missed you, ya’ big guy!” I rumpled the cashmere like white coat around his neck.

Mom galloped out the red front door first, dad following suit at a slightly slower pace.

“Liv, honey! Oh, we’re so glad you’re here! We’ve missed you,” my mom squealed towards me with open arms.

“We really have missed you, kid. Look at ya’!” Dad persisted with the ever annoying greeting of ruffling the top of my head like some socially incoherent teenage boy.

They probably did miss me, I’m sure. But, apparently not enough to ever offer a visit with me since moving my things to the city of Pittsburgh. No matter what bitterness flowered, as I dragged deeper into adulthood, I had resolved that you only got one set of parents, and the importance of appreciating the ones you did get was dire. So, I decided to nurse some long dwelling resentment and go into this visit with a forgiving heart.

“I missed you guys, too. Things still look exactly the same around here.” I inventoried those familiar, award-winning rose bushes my mother grew in the landscape, and with attached garage door open, I was able to see dads tool shop sanctuary in exactly the shape I had left it. Not a hammer out of place.

“Let’s get you inside, sweetie. Dinner will be done soon, & I’m sure we have some catching up to do.” Mom placed her hands over my upper arms, guiding me into I’m sure a spotless house, while dad unloaded my suitcase from the back hatch of my SUV.

Steaks cooked to perfection courtesy of Tony Elliott, self-proclaimed grilled master, were served in the newly remodeled dining room, and the 3 of us sat in the same assumingly designated spots that we had for all my childhood years. I did miss a motherly, prepared with love, home cooked dinner so I wasted no amount of time scarfing down the contents of her delicious spread.

“How are things with the promotion, Livvy? They aren’t taking advantage of ya’, I hope?” Dad dropped his fork gently to his plate, taking a sip of his tea.

“Things are good, dad. Ryan, my boss, really does treat me excellently. He’s always super complimentary of my work.” I assured.

“Sounds like a nice guy. Maybe someone has a little crush?” Elizabeth winked while sorting through the last few sprigs of lettuce in her salad bowl.

“Ha! No thanks, mom. He’s an awesome guy, but I’d never see him like that. Plus, I could never date my boss, you know that.” I scoffed all too quickly.

Alright, you fraidy-cat. Get to it, here! Tell them. About him.

“Plus, I think I need a little break from men these days.”

“A break? Meaning there’s been some boys around since you moved?” Mom was the first to chime in, while my dad sat idly by, trying to appear casually at ease. But, I knew he was hearing every syllable of the exchange between his wife and I.

“Just one guy, mom. Well, there was one guy.” My attention never left the chopped, leftover chunks of food on my white porcelain plate. “Remember the first piece I did on Mixed Martial Arts? My first front page?”

“Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Yes, it’s laminated and framed in the living room. Go on..” she answered, leaning on her hand as an elbow rested on the table for a blinking second, before she retracted it, minding her usual manners.

“I was with one of the competitors. Like, in a relationship for several months actually. Colton, the fighter who I was working one-on-one with.”

There, at least he’s out in the open now. The dirty secret is out.

“Was, meaning not anymore then?” Dad finally broke his cold silence.

“Not anymore, no. We haven’t been together for a while now. But, I….. I uh, I didn’t handle the split so well. Which is part of my reason for coming to see you guys.”

My mind spun like a tilt-or-whirl trying to sort through what needed to be said, and what I should leave out. They didn’t need to know how harshly he’d spoken to me, nor the pathetic amount of sick days I’d used to wallow in my tear-stained sheets and overindulge on snack-packs.

“It sounds like things were serious, honey. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you never told us about him.” My mom had taken an overbearing interest in me when I started dating in high school. Boys were something she saw as her forte, I assume. Dad and I had basketball, now she and I could have boys, and relationships. So, the lack of sharing about my now ex-boyfriend seemed to perturb her.

“It was serious, mom. Yeah. I loved him. I was in love with him. Case in point, why I didn’t handle our breakup with much dignity.”

“What happened, Liv? Anything I should be concerned about,” dad inquired in the ultimate “dad” tone of voice.

“It just didn’t work, guys. It’s done, and life goes on. Nothing more, okay?”

Life goes on, huh? Let’s practice what we preach, dear.

“Losing a love is hard, sweet pea. But you’re a strong, successful young lady, and you’ll recover just fine. I know it!” Mom smiled.

I admired her A+ efforts for the “mother bear” sermon. It’s what I needed, truly. No matter how I wanted to tell her I needed those little chats years ago. I needed that reassurance back when I thought life hated me, and some karmic attack had been yielded on my life. Recently though, she had been heartily trying with our relationship. Both of them had. And although the repairs were long overdue, and far from complete, I was thankful nonetheless.

I hadn’t been back to my stomping grounds since I’d left slightly over three years prior, so I had my fair share of hellos to exchange, most importantly being my childhood best friend, and the shooting guard to my point guard, Sara. She hadn’t spread her wings from our small town, instead chose the “marry my perfect high school sweetheart and have the most painfully adorable twin boys on the planet” lifestyle, which suited her beautifully. She met up with me at the local dairy freeze for a greasy order of cheese fries after ending the work day at her parents’ dental practice where she was employed as a hygienist. Sitting alone at the wooden picnic table carved with an array of heart enclosed initials of couples I knew never made it past junior year prom, I felt strangely foreign in the little town now. Distant, or homesick. Every hardware store clerk or mail carrier knowing about the family pet you had to put down because all news travelled like an unruly forest fire in Westfield, now seemed displeasing rather than endearing. I basked in a bit of big-headed pride realizing I had maybe outgrown this little corner of the world, and home suddenly felt eastbound. Whether that had anything to do with my recent ex had yet to be determined.

Sara arrived right on time, going straight for the counter to order her favorite Dr. Pepper ice cream float as she put it “first things first.” The girl may have been the only person in the whole population of 2,000 whom I held in trusting regard, so she was kept up to date through a hefty amount of text messages about the tumultuous romance of Liv and Colton. We exchanged a squealing hug before diving right into the heavy matter.

“How are you? First off, you look freakin’ amazing. The big city looks good on you, Elliott,” Sara flopped into her seat, pulling off her pink labcoat.

“Shut up, you liar. The bags under eyes have bags, Sara. I’ve been a sloppy, sobbing, bitchy, pathetic mess for going on two months now. Like, who am I and will it end?!” I felt so light being able to genuinely come out in the open with all the emotion I was dealing with. A crucial missing piece to my life in the Burgh was a real, true friend such as Sara. Someone to take shoe shopping, and call drunk at 3 a.m. when you’re well into a half of bottle of Pinot and can’t keep from hysterically bawling over the ghastly way your boyfriend spoke to you. A woman needs the Lavern to her Shirley to share life with.

“It’s called love, honey. Welcome to the party,” she sucked vigorously through the straw of her float. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up.” I appreciated her gracious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well if this is what it’s all about, I won’t be coming back.” I spoke mumbled chewing on a fry.

“It doesn’t always turn out this bad, babe. You just fell really, really hard. Which means getting over it will probably be equally as difficult. As much as I hate to see you like this…”

“Easy for you to say, Sara. You practically married Prince Harry or something. Can’t I just borrow yours sometime?” I clowned.

Her husband was truly the best of the best, and he’d been that way since the beginning. So, I always harbored some envy of sorts toward the seeming perfection of their relationship.

“In all honesty, Sare, I don’t know that I’m going to have the same feelings for whoever comes along like I did Colton. I’m not going to be irrational enough to say I’ll never love again, because I know that’s just silly and overdramatic. I’m just not sure it’ll be as raging and romantic, ya’ know what I mean?”

Just as she was about to hit me with some bogus line probably directly from an article she’d read in Cosmopolitan, a familiar voice intruded.

“My God, am I having a flashback right now?” Our varsity head coach Eric Gibson yelled from the open window of his parked car.

The guy was a true, unadulterated saint. He’d pulled me from the 8th grade roster to dress up for him on JV, so I lost count on how many games we’d competed in together. He shed nearly as many tears as my own father had when I collided with that player from Carson County causing me to close out my chapter as a ball player. He quickly locked the doors to his vehicle with two beeps of the horn, and made his way eagerly to us.

“Coach, how are you?” I stood to meet his incoming hug. With Sara still residing in Indiana I’m sure their paths crossed frequently in town.

“I’m doing fine, Liv. Shocked to see you here, girl! Are you back in Westfield?” He patted Sara with a coy hand to the shoulder, and we returned ourselves after the exchange of greetings.

“Oh, no no. Just here for a visit. I finally got the chance to take a little vacation from work, so I thought I’d come check in on Sara, and my parents.”

“Yeah, you’re a real superstar here, you know that? Everyone had a field day when your article made the front page for your paper. It was the talk of the town!”

I blushed vividly at his statement. “Thanks, coach. It’s really nothing though.”

His mouth opened wide in defense. “It most certainly is something, Liv. It’s a huge accomplishment! Don’t be so modest. Hard work deserves to be recognized, and I know you’re no stranger to working hard in everything you do.” He paused to nudge my shoulder that grazed his. “ You’re talented, Elliott. And scrappy as hell when need be! Those big shots at that newspaper better just stay outta your way.”

Suddenly, there it was. The switch of undignified pity had self-destructed. Leave it to Coach to set me straight as he always did. I was scrappy as hell! The 4 games I’d been ejected from back in school clear evidence. It was time to exercise that same fearlessness and grit to scratch myself to the surface again, leaving behind this lonely, moldy grave Colton had dug for me. He may have outweighed me by an easy sixty pounds, and could’ve snapped me in half in the concern of strength. But mentally? It’d have to be ruled a no contest.

That night, back to square one in the little town in Indiana, over cheese fries & cheap milkshakes, with an out-and-out smack reminder courtesy of coach Gibson, I awoke. The sleepwalking, gray way of life a thing of the past. I excused myself from the parade of self-pity I had long been the grand marshal for.

“Maybe she’ll take your word for it, Coach. I’ve been trying to get that very same thing through that thick head of hers.” Sara interjected, slurping the last traces of whipped cream from her glass.

“Okay, okay, you two. Lay off before it all goes to my head.” I shook with a chuckle, and decided then and there, that I was going to find peace and satisfaction in life when I got back to Pittsburgh, someway, somehow, no matter what. I wanted my heart back from him. The heart he clearly had no use for any longer.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tommy conlon #tomhardyfanfic #elizabeth olsen #tomhardyfanfiction

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amrutakapur-blog · 5 years

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yog shiksha

Yoga for Beginners: 7 Basic Poses (Asanas) to Get You Started

Do what you easily can. There is no competition

Listen to your body and do not push yourself

Focus on the breath, right from the beginning

Being a beginner isn’t easy but my first yoga class was enough to make me a regular on the mat. Half an hour into the session, I’d fallen four of times, felt sweaty and had almost made up my mind - not to give in. Every pose made me challenge my physical endurance and flexibility and I seemed to enjoy that, albeit gradually. While I moved through a progression of yoga asana from Surya Namaskar to Naukasana, all muscles in my body were engaged. Working my limbs, shoulders stretched, twisting my torso. I juggled between maintaining postures and attempting to breathe the right way. I had already dreamt of the hot bath or oil massage that I’ll head for but there was no need to. I felt light, relaxed and a sense of relief took over. Here's me telling you about yoga for beginners. Some will tell you that yoga exercise is too slow and boring instead it is an intense and holistic exercise. This ancient form of fitness with roots in India focuses on developing balance, strength and flexibility. Don’t let anyone misguide you as these are all consequences of practicing yoga and not prerequisites. No one expects you to master the asanas on the very first day. Yoga is all about pushing past your body's limits over time. To begin, it’s helpful to keep the following things in mind, suggests Zubin Atré, founder of AtréYoga Studio in New Delhi.

If you have a history of a chronic disease or are recovering from an injury, consult your physician before commencing. Let your yoga teacher know of any injuries or pains.

Do what you easily can. There is no competition. You are expected to move at your own pace. Listen to your body and do not push yourself.

Many benefits of the yoga practice will unfold progressively. Be regular in your practice and don't give up because you can't touch your toes in the first go.

Don't get discouraged by the initial lack of flexibility or strength, it improves over time. Be patient and give your body the time to respond.

Focus on the breath, right from the beginning.

Understand that every body is unique. Everyone has different levels of strength, stamina, and flexibility. Your lifestyle and goals may also vary. Find a style of yoga that suits your needs.

Your yoga practice can do much more than lend muscle power and reduce stress. A study conducted at University of Illinois indicates that short 20-minute sessions of yoga can help your brain work better and keep your mind focused. A lot depends on the kind of asanas you perform – some of them are energizing like back bends while forward bends have a calming effect. Standing asanas build stamina and balancing asanas cultivate concentration. Twists will help you detoxify the body and release tension. If you’re new to yoga, start with these basic asanas.

“Each pose can be held for 3 to 5 long breaths. You can practice these twice a week and gradually make it a part of your daily routine,” recommeds Zubin.

Here are a few basic Yoga asanas that can help you get started:

1. Tadasana (Mountain Pose) This pose teaches one to stand with majestic steadiness like a mountain. The word ‘Tada’ means a mountain, that’s where the name comes from. It involves the major groups of muscles and improves focus and concentration. It is the starting position for all the other asanas. Stand with your heels slightly apart and hang your arms besides the torso. Gently lift and spread your toes and the balls of your feet, then lay them softly down on the floor. Balance your body weight on your feet. Lift your ankles and firm your thigh muscles while rotating them inwards. As you inhale, elongate your torso and when you exhale release your shoulder blades away from your head. Broaden your collarbone and elongate your neck. Your ears, shoulders, hips and ankles should all be in one line. You can check your alignment by standing against the wall initially. You can even raise your hands and stretch them. Breathe easy.

Yoga poses: This pose teaches one to stand with majestic steadiness like a mountain

2. Vrikshasana (Tree Pose) This pose gives you a sense of grounding. It improves your balance and strengthens your legs and back. It replicates the steady stance of a tree. Place your right foot high up on your left thigh. The sole of the foot should be flat and placed firmly. Keep your left leg straight and find your balance. While inhaling, raise your arms over your head and bring your palms together. Ensure that your spine is straight and take a few deep breaths. Slowly exhale, bring your hands down and release your right leg. Back in the standing position repeat the same with the other leg.

Yoga poses: This pose gives you a sense of grounding

3. Adho Mukho Svanasana (Downward Facing Dog Pose) This pose stretches hamstrings, chest and lengthens the spine, providing additional blood flow to the head. It is will leave you feeling energized. Sit on your heels, stretch your arms forward on the mat and lower your head. Form a table, like pushing your hands, strengthening your legs and slowly raising your hips. Press your heels down, let your head hand freely and tighten your waist.

Yoga asanas: This pose stretches hamstrings, chest and lengthens the spine

4. Trikonasana (Triangle Pose) It stretches the legs and torso, mobilizes the hips and promotes deep breathing, leaving one with enlivening effects. Stand with your feet wide apart. Stretch your right foot out (90 degrees) while keeping the leg closer to the torso. Keep your feet pressed against the ground and balance your weight equally on both feet. Inhale and as you exhale bend your right arm and make it touch the ground while your left arm goes up. Keep your waist straight. Ensure that your body is bent sideways and not forward or backwards. Stretch as much as you can while taking long, deep breaths. Repeat on the other side.

Yoga poses: It stretches the legs and torso, mobilizes the hips and promotes deep breathing

5. Kursiasana (Chair Pose) An intensely powerful pose, this one strengthens the muscles of the legs and arms. It builds your willpower and has an energizing effect on the body and mind. Stand straight with your feet slightly apart. Stretch your arms but don’t bend your elbow. Inhale and bend your knees, pushing your pelvis down like you are sitting on chair. Keep your hands parallel to the ground and back straight. Take deep breaths. Bend gradually but make sure your knees don’t go beyond your toes.

Yoga Poses: An intensely powerful pose, this one strengthens the muscles of the legs and arms

6. Naukasana (Boat Pose) It tightens the abdominal muscles and strengthens shoulders and upper back. It leaves the practitioner with a sense of stability. Lie back on the mat with your feet together and hands by your side. Take a deep breath and while exhaling gently lift your chest and feet off the ground. Stretch your hands in the direction of your feet. Your eyes, fingers and toes should be in one line. Hold till you feel some tension in your navel area as your abdominal muscles begin to contract. As you exhale, come back to the ground and relax.

Yoga asanas: It tightens the abdominal muscles and strengthens shoulders and upper back

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ladybalem · 5 years

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Almost perfect - a Confession about Balem Abrasax - part 1 of 2

Hayo! This is a request, check it out: https://ladybalem.tumblr.com/post/183273246103/hiiiiiiiiiiii-just-a-balem-abrasax-imagine-where Well, I've asked what it was exactly the gender of the sibling, but, as the dear anon vanished in the haze and didn't tell a thing, I've wrote it a sister, cause it was what I felt, although the idea of a brother attracted me a lot too, lol. Maybe we can have a version of it in the future ;P It will depend on my level of craziness at the point, lol. Let's go Jupiter, my children. I always feel like home there! Yayo! * * * It seemed it had been ages since (***) had been adopted by Lady Seraphi Abrasax, and it was true, actually. The extremely long and old age less life that the RegeneX provided used to make people at Orous to loose completely the notion of time, and with the heirs of the House of Abrasax it wasn't different. Time, when you're practically immortal, it ceases being everything you own to turn into a mere further detail. From the beginning (***) had been always the closest to the elder brother, Balem, in detriment of Kalique or Titus. We can say that from the very start they two felt like a mutual identification, that united them, making them to become close, while the other couple of siblings it was just like a mere presence, the most part unpleasing for both, what only contributed to strengthen the bond between (***) and Balem. And the eternity made the rest. They knew and understood each other needing just a single glance for it, and one pleased themselves in the presence of the other as it actually used to happen to nobody else. But lately things seemed to have been got a bit different. At the truth, how such things start is something to which no one can know for sure, but also (***) also Balem, although of having had been raised together as siblings, lately they've been seeing each other differently, and although of one or another slant or allusion sometime left out by one or another, always in a very subtle way, no one of them had been gone the most far and not even less tried nothing that could surpass the limits prescribed by the condition fastened upon they two. But the truth it was that, since Seraphi had died, it was like if the obligation they had about behaving themselves as siblings was dissolving itself slowly day after day. And so they two, (***) and Balem, were a night at the vestibule of his dwellings, drinking a bottle of wine and having a talk, as they always used to do. Lazily leaned on the divan, with her bare feet on the smooth seat, (***) was drinking small sips from her glass, looking at the blood-like dark liquid with day-dreaming eyes while she was speaking, having in her face a wicked smirk: - You know, Balem, the cattle in our farm planets isn't like we, although they could be look a like to us. They're inferiors. It's simple. - It is due to ideas like this that our mother always said you were bad, (***) - Balem said with a paused and low voice and a expressionless face, sluggishly taking a sip of wine as well. Wickedly smiling (***) savored another sip, throwing to her adoptive brother a glance as sharp as a dagger: - But you're different. You haven't these sentimentalisms of her. - No - Balem said simply and in a bit bored way, placing his glass aside - I have not. I comprehend they are what they are: Raw material, made to create profit. - Exact - (***) said, letting her own fingers to play with the fabric of her long dress, slightly pulling up the hem of her skirt and uncovering her ankles slowly - We're alike, in the contrary of Kalique and Titus... - and took another sip - I would appreciate a lot, by the way, to presence a harvest. I'm very curious about seeing how it's made, in the contrary of Kalique, who quakes at the very thought of it - and she laughed, raising her eyes to Balem, awaiting for what he would say. Calmly uncrossing and changing the legs quite slowly before to cross them again, Balem examined his own nails of a hand before to lean his arm on the back of the floating divan in which he was sat down, aside to that in which (***) was occupying, but he didn't say a word. - Have you ever personally seen a harvest, Balem? - No, (***), I have most important subject to occupy myself with - he responded - Harvesting is a subalterns' task, you well know. - I know, but even so I want to see one - she said, then all of a sudden asking him - Which will be the next planet to be harvested, Balem? - Belonging to each one of the four of us? - Any one of us, it doesn't matter. Which it will be the NEXT? - (***) responded, in an excitedly way, pulling her long skirt up a bit more and letting her legs to appear from under it, almost to her knees. Balem thought for a while. - A small one, belonging to Kalique. In about 220 years, in average. - I would like to see it - and she straighten up, inclining herself into his way - Would you accompany me there in that day, Balem? I want you to be with me, by my side. For the first time Balem looked at his sister sat at the divan at his side, scrutinizing her for a while before to finally say: - I do not believe you would have fun, (***). There is no suffering. Everything is quite ethical and very clean. All of a sudden laughing, (***) led the glass to her lips for another sip. - And do you think I would have fun seeing the cattle to suffer, Balem? - Yes, I think - he responded still serious and looking into her face, in the same impassive position, seeing her to empty her glass with a single and large sip, in an irresponsible way, as she laughed still. - Maybe you're right. I would have fun seeing them begging for mercy. To which we would deny them, of course. The shadow of a smile passed through Balem's lips but soon vanished away, cause he wasn't the kind of demonstrations of fondness and not even less of his own feelings. But (***), who well knew him, smiled even more, knowing that she had, in any way, his approval and, placing her empty glass aside the beautiful young woman smiled teasingly this time as she inclined her torso forward, intentionally or not to make her low neck to put itself in relief into the way of Balem's eyes. - Won't you say that you're ALWAYS right? - she teased. - It is not needed to say what you already know - Balem affirmed, once again disinterestedly examining his own nails before to once again put his glance upon her, who then inclined herself into his way a bit more. - But in the contrary of Lady Seraphi, you appreciate that I am like this. - In the contrary of our mother, I know to appreciate your qualities. Laughing one more time (***) turned her face for an instant, before to get serious again, looking at his face as he bit her bottom lip in an amused and playful way, then allowing herself to descend her eyes through Balem slowly, traveling through all of his thorax and then his long legs hidden by the pieces of the quite tight leather clothes he wore before to rise her glance up again. And when (***) finally did that, she could see Balem was doing exactly the same to her, looking at her slowly from head to toes, his glance delaying a larger time on her legs in display and specially in her low neck. And smiling the beautiful woman moved herself softly, slightly messing on her hair that was all tied up in a refined hairdo, loosing a thin lock, to which she started to play rolling it around her fingers, pleased by seeing her brother's green eyes put on her breasts. And still smiling she saw him to avert his eyes slowly, as he stretched an arm into the empty glass, taking it, and (***) got up, taking the almost empty bottle to serve him with the last dose of wine that there was. In silence Balem observed the sister to bend slightly over him as she was fulfilling his glass carefully and deliberately slowly, delaying more than it was needed just to make her breasts to stay close from his face for the most time, and when she finally finished, but keeping the same pose, Balem took a long sip in a tranquil way, once again putting his eyes on her low neck while drinking the wine, when he said under a breath: - (***)... - Yes, brother - she responded with a teasing voice, holding the empty bottle in a hand and with the other one holding on to the back of the divan. - Shall I ask what are you intending? - Balem said in a serious way, holding the glass at the height of his lips as if he was about to take a sip at any moment but having his glance inside hers. - And don't you know? - (***) smiled in a wicked way, lifting a leg and getting up on it doubling it over the seat aside Balem, making her body to come even closer to his face, but he was keeping impassive, in the same position and coldly holding the glass. (To be continued...)

#balem #balem abrasax #lord balem #jupiter ascending #fanfic #fanfiction #request #eddie redmayne

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flirtyfantasy-blog1 · 5 years

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T, Part 1

I’ll admit, my dress and high heels did seem out of place at a construction site. But man, did the subcontractors ever stare as I traipsed back through the building to get some papers I had left on the other side. I exited the side door and joined T, the main contractor, in front of his truck where he was looking at his phone. We had just had a walk through to look at various decisions that needed made.

We were close to wrapping up a year of working together on this project for my company. It had been an exciting year, partly because the project itself was a big deal to me, my job and my company and partly because T was an energetic and engaging person to work with.

He was the expert…I was the novice…sort of forced to learn the industry lingo and processes for the sake of completing this assignment for my job. He and I found a good groove working together, especially once he realized how much I did not actually know about construction and how much he had to take the lead and dumb things down in order for me to understand. He’d ask me for decisions about certain technical stuff, I’d response with “First of all, what is that?”, he’d laugh, he’d explain, I’d go get him his answer. What I lacked in technical knowledge I made up for in attention and dedication, which he said was greatly appreciated.

There had been highs and lows across the project so far, times we had high-fived in comic fashion at successes and times when we had cussed out loud at challenges. There had been a handful of photo ops for publicity about the project, during which he had stood next to me and placed his hand on the small of my back, situationally appropriate yet internally exciting.

“It’s like they have never seen high heels before,” I mumbled with a slight eye roll as I approached. He looked up.

“Ha, what’s that?” he said with a confused grin.

“All those guys in there staring. They must not be used to ladies on site.”

“Yeeeah, they are probably not used to a client’s project lead being a young, attractive woman. We mostly deal with dudes. But I’m not surprised they stared...you look great today.”

He paused and looked sheepish as he realized maybe he had overstepped. I grinned, which set him at ease.

“Well, thank you,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I’ll let you say that since I know you a bit better than them.” I leaned my head toward the interior of the building, where the various short term sub contractors were at work.

I stood several feet away from him, leaning my hip against his very clean truck. Since I typically dressed for my calendar, he had seen me in all manner of outfits across the past year, from jeans and flats to pencil skirts and heels. I had come right from a morning of meetings so was wearing a sleeveless, knee length, form fitting black dress. I had left my blazer in my car since the day was warm. T was rather tall and my retro, black T-strap heels put me closer to eye level with him.

He stood with his left hand in his jeans pocket, wearing a polo shirt bearing his company’s logo. It was somewhat of a uniform for him I had noticed, though the jeans and the polo varied in color day to day. I had found him handsome since the beginning of the project, even though he was a bit older than me. He had thick brown hair and just the right amount of facial hair, both with a touch of grey, clear blue eyes with smile lines next to them. He smiled a lot. It was contagious.

He looked down at this boots then right at me.

“I wasn’t sure if a comment like that would be welcome or not,” he said.

“That you said I look nice? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Oh because of that ring on your hand.” He nodded his head toward the hood of his truck where my forearm and hand rested. I held his gaze when he looked back up at me.

“Eh, this ring isn’t as legalistic as it may appear. Besides, last time I checked, you had a ring yourself, yet here you are dishing out compliments you wondered might be out of line.”

“When was the last time you checked?” he said with an odd tone. He had pulled his left hand out of his pocket, just hooking his thumb into it. I glanced down and the ring I had indeed noticed prior wasn’t there.

“Oh...I’m sorry...” I stumbled for what to say. I straightened up from leaning against the truck.

“It’s really ok,” he replied. “It was a long time coming and it feels good to be done.” He paused, shuffled a boot, looked back at my hand which was now resting on my hip. “What do you mean your ring isn’t legalistic?” he asked, with a confused grin. I met his inquisitive gaze and saw playfulness in his eyes.

“My answer to that depends on how well you can keep a secret.” I said, narrowing my eyes, yet grinning slightly. He took a slight step toward me.

“Try me.”

I looked at him for a moment, looked toward the building to make sure we were still alone, looked back at him, deciding how much I wanted to divulge. He waited. On one hand, his company worked for my company and I didn’t want to mess that up somehow. On the other hand, we were two adults who apparently found each other attractive and had more or less flirted with each other on occasion for the past year. My pulse had sped up. I matched his slight step forward. We were standing rather close now, though it would not necessarily appear inappropriate. He had a slight curious grin. I decided to trust him. I wanted to see where it would go.

“Well,” I began, bringing my left hand up in front of my chest and sort of playing with my wedding ring. “It means what you probably think it means. He and I have certain agreed upon freedom to...explore.”

I paused, left it at that, waited to gauge his reaction. I was ready to backtrack and say forget I ever said anything if he seemed appalled, but his body language and sly grin made me think he wouldn’t be. He folded his arms across his chest. I noticed, as I had several times in the past, that they were toned and looked strong.

“Well that’s interesting,” he said, still with a hint of a grin. He turned and leaned his back against the grill of his truck, looking at me sideways. “Though I’m not entirely sure what that entails.”

I didn’t have the chance to explain further. One of the crew from inside the building stuck his head out the door and hollered something at him. He straightened up and said he’d be right in, though his gaze only darted away from me for a second. He extended his hand towards me for a handshake, which seemed funny and formal given our comfort level and especially what I had just hinted at. I took his hand though and gave him a sly look, wondering what he was playing at.

“I wanted to explore a handshake,” he said and winked at me. It wasn’t dorky. It worked. “I’m gonna see what he wants. I’ll talk to you soon.” He placed his other hand on my upper arm briefly as he walked past me toward the building.

A few days later there was a meeting at T’s office that I attended along with one of my higher up bosses. It was business as usual other than T was acting a bit different. He opened doors for me and as I stepped past him into the conference room, I felt his hand lightly on the small of my back for just a second. When I asked a question as he sat to my left, he leaned intently toward the project budget in between us, putting us in close proximity. His eye contact was strong and I matched it. As I headed to my car after the meeting, I hoped my boss hadn’t noticed what seemed to be some chemistry.

My phone chirped with a notification as I was getting to my car. It was a text from T.

“You look great today, as usual. I’ll say it since no subcontractors are around to imply it.”

I smiled at my phone. I had on some snug, grey skinny jeans, a black form fitting shirt with some pink flowers scattered on it, and black, high heel ankle boots.

“You seem to be more direct than subcontractors. I like direct. You didn’t look so bad yourself.”

He had been wearing his typical jeans and polo look, which I liked. He had an extra twinkle in his eye this time though.

“Well thank you. As we discussed, electrical is done and we’re on hold for drywall. I’m gonna head over there later today to check it out if you want to join.”

There was no actual project related reason that I should join him to check out the electrical work and I wasn’t even real sure that he needed to go check it out. It seemed like just an excuse to see each other at the building in between subcontractors being there. But I didn’t care.

A few hours later I pulled up in the parking lot. His truck was there and he was not in it so he must have used the lockbox key and already gone inside. Maybe he really did need to check on electrical work. I went in the unlocked door and hollered across the forest of framing studs. He responded from the other side of the building and I headed that direction. There was a long corridor in the floor plan and I saw him emerge at the other end of it. I added a tiny bit of strut to my step as I closed the gap. He leaned a shoulder on a soon-to-be wall and watched me approach. I couldn’t help but notice he looked tall, kinda sexy, and slightly mischievous. I was not clueless to the change in his demeanor since the parking lot conversation the other day and found myself curious and expectant.

There was a bit of conversation about electrical work and upcoming drywall as we walked from room to room. It seemed a bit posed, forced, like a facade. I was pretty certain by this point he had used this as an excuse to get me alone. We paused, ironically, in what would be my future office. I had wandered over to a window to look out. He came up behind me, somewhat close. He stopped talking about technical building stuff.

“Tell me more about your ‘freedom to explore’”, he said abruptly, yet softly.

I turned around to look at him. His closeness startled me, but not in a negative way, and I involuntarily took a step backwards. My back was against the window frame. He matched my step and was standing inches from me. My high heel boots left me only a few inches shorter than him.

“It means I’m not going to tell you to back off right now,” I said, slightly breathless, looking up at him. My pulse had quickened. Was this really happening? I was really ok with it.

“How about now?” He closed the gap between us and put his right hand lightly on my hip.

I straightened up from leaning against the wall, which caused our bodies to touch, and I ran my left hand slowly up his arm. I watched him follow the path of my hand with his eyes, then meet my gaze. He got the hint and took the bait. His other hand reached around my waist and he pulled me to him as he dipped his head slightly. He pressed my body against his as he kissed me, almost cautiously at first, then more intently as I brought my other hand up to his shoulder and around the back of his neck.

It was an illicit embrace that was wildly inappropriate given our professional roles, yet neither of us seemed to care in that moment. He kissed me fervently as he ran his hands along my back and hips. His lips left mine and moved instead along my cheek and to my neck. One of his hands rested gently on my collarbone, his fingers along the back of my neck.

“God you’re sexy,” he mumbled close to my ear, then straightened up a bit and looked at me. “I’ve thought so from the first site visit, before I had even landed the job.”

I grinned at him. He sure was making me feel sexy. He seemed to start to say something else but my lips met his, cutting off his words. He gently pressed me back against the wall, his arm around the small of my back being a bridge of comfort between me and the rough studs. I moved my hand up his arm, let it rest along the side of his face for a moment, then into his hair, not caring if I messed it up. His arms felt strong around me and I liked it.

Eventually we slowed. Who knows who let up first. But the intensity of his kisses settled into a more sensual version, though the chemistry between us remained. He took a step back.

“I have to go to a meeting at another site,” he said in a husky voice. He looked at me inquisitively, as if to try to gauge my mood given what had just transpired, and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered on my cheek for just a second and I leaned into his touch. I bit my lip, a signal of contentment and attraction, but he didn’t know that about me yet.

“Go ahead,” I said softly and smiled. “I don’t intend to keep you from doing your job.” The statement hinted simultaneously at a potential need for boundaries as well as the possibility of continued...distraction...beyond this particular encounter. He leaned in one more time for a much shorter kiss, then straightened up and grinned at me.

And then we were exiting the building, business as usual, appropriate space between us and no hint of any misbehavior. He locked the door and put the key in the lockbox then reached out for a handshake. I met his hand with mine and his eyes with mine. He winked at me and I smiled.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and turned toward his truck.

“I sure hope so,” I answered.

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theanticool · 6 years

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Fixing Women's Bantamweight Part 2

Back in 2015 I took a look over the women’s bantamweight division, talking about how the UFC was neglecting the long term health of the division in favor of making a conveyor belt for Ronda Rousey’s title challengers. And we know how that turned out.

Just over two years later: Tate is retired, Rousey is in the WWE talking about never coming back, and Holly Holm is teetering. And now the UFC has with a champion (Amanda Nunes) they are openly unhappy with, whose contenders list is running short. Their reluctance to even attempt to build a featherweight division drives talent at 135lbs up a weight class to get fed to Cris Cyborg, derailing any momentum or potential buzz they might have created for themselves competing at 135lbs.

There are currently 23 fighters in the Women’s bantamweight division according to Wiki (I’m including Tonya Evinger and Yana Kunitskaya who are listed at 145lbs). But then there’s Amanda Lemos was suspended by USADA after her debut, who’s probably going to be a flyweight if/when she returns. She’s gone for 2 years. GDR, Correia, and Evinger are all hurt with no clear indication of return. Pena is on maternity leave. Evans-Smith is moving to flyweight - don’t see that being permanent. All of a sudden, the division has about 17-18 active fighters. But active is a word I use very loosely - of the 18 active fighters, 11 WBW have 4 or fewer fights in the UFC.

And until the UFC and major MMA gyms start going to the international women’s wrestling/judo/TKD competition and the WCWA championships and sign every woman who comes off the mat looking sad, we’re going to have to do some digging to find talent.

So in honor of Women’s History Month - here are 21 women the UFC should consider signing to jump start this division. Read after the jump

1. Sarah Kaufman (19-4) - Former Strikeforce Bantamweight Champion - For the life of me, I’ll never get the logic behind letting the Sarah Kaufman go. Yeah, I get that she isn’t the kind of fighter that is gonna make a card a must see. But she’s dependable. You know what you’re going to get out of her every time out. She’s a top ten quality women’s bantamweight that could be in interesting fights. She’s too good not be in the UFC. And I don’t buy that she’s going to be knocking off prospects in the UFC as a reason to leave her on the out because she’s already doing that on the regional scene where it’s honestly more damaging imo. Plus it’s not like there isn’t a circuit for her - fights with Cat Zingano, Tonya Evinger, Julianna Pena, GDR, and Holly Holm make all the sense in the world. She’s the best Canadian fighter available to the UFC at the moment with GSP in injury induced hiatus and RoryMac going for double gold in Bellator. She’s currently penciled in to fight for the Invicta FC bantamweight title against Katharina Lehner in May at Invicta FC 29.

2. Kelly Faszholz (4-2) - Faszholz was a victim of the UFC’s 135lb division having like 10 fighters in it. You get to the UFC with only 3 pro fights worth of experience and all of a sudden you’re fighting former Invicta FC bantamweight champion Lauren Murphy and fellow up and comer Ketlen Vieira. With some proper matchmaking, I think Faszholz would be a top 10-15 fighter right now. She’s a good sized bantamweight at 5’8 and she’s an exceptional striker (in development). Instead she went 0-2 and got the boot. She has since rebounded from her UFC stint by beating fellow UFC veteran Elizabeth Phillips. Hopefully with a good active 2018, she gets the call again.

3. Larissa Pacheco (11-2) - Pacheco’s first UFC run was terrible. She got stopped twice in completely one sided affairs, BUT her first two fights in the UFC were REDONKULOUSLY strong (even at 135lbs) Jessica Andrade and elite kickboxer Germaine De Randamie. Also, she was only 20 years old during her first run. I might have missed my mark on her potential back in the day but I still think she’s going to be a solid fighter at 135lbs and it’s insane to think she’ll never be anything good. She very recently returned to competition, submitting another top Brazilian bantamweight prospect in Karollina Rosa.

4. Antonina Shevchenko (3-0) - World Champion Muay Thai fighter - The older sister of former title challenger Valentina Shevchenko, Antonina is a stand out Muay Thai-kickboxer in her own right. A former Lion Fight Champion, she has breezed to an easy 3-0 in MMA so far. While I have no idea if she has the credentials in judo and wrestling like her younger sister, her understanding of the striking game leave her miles ahead of 97% of the women’s 135lb division. Like three others in this category, she lacks experience with credible opponents but the bottom of 135lbs isn’t short on women who I think she could beat. The 33 year old will be fighting on the Dana White’s Tuesday Night Contender Series this Summer. Helwani has hinted she’ll compete at 125lbs but I can’t see her making the weight consistently.

5. Luz Vazquez (2-0) - Olympic Freestyle Wrestler - There are two women on this list that I believe are genuine blue chip, potentially elite fighters. 29 year old Luz Vazquez is one of them. An Olympic freestyle wrestler, Vazquez is one of the more well credentialed women floating on the regional scene. Vazquez has only had two fights (and one was from 2010), but even those short samples it’s pretty clear she is a next level athlete. She’s out here knocking women down on spinning back kicks. She’s picking other women up above her head with ease for slams. She’s so much faster, stronger, and more dynamic than most women’s talent at 135lbs, it’s kind of hard not seeing her as an eventual contender with more experience. Hopefully the UFC signs her soon (and their upcoming show in Chile could be the perfect place for her to debut), or at the very least Hector Castro gets her on a regional show here in North America.

6. Marina Mokhnatkina (4-1) - 5x Sport Sambo World Champion - The other blue chip prospect on this list is Marina Mokhnatkina. A 5x time champion in sport sambo, Mokhnatkina brings a completely unique martial arts background to the women’s bantamweight division. She is an absolute force on the mat, racking up submissions in both MMA and sport sambo competition. She’s particularly fond of leg locks, winning repeatedly across the two sports with an array of knee bars, heel hooks, and ankle locks. Mokhnatkina could send a shock through the a division that is made of primarily strikers. The only thing stopping her is she signed a six fight deal with Fight Nights Global back in January. I’m not sure of FIght Nights Global’s current relationship with the UFC. She would be great for the UFC’s debut show in Russia in September if they could get her. As demonstrated in her loss to Liana Jojua, she’s got a lot of problems with her game: high risk style of grappling based entirely around leg locks and armbars, fundamentally poor striking, not a positional grappler, questions about wrestling/judo game, etc.

7. Morgane Ribout (2-0) - Judo World Champion - Next up we have a Judo World Champion in Morgane Ribout. Now while Ribout is a very accomplished judoka, it’s important to note she won a world title at about 125lbs. She’s likely to drop to flyweight should she ever make it to a big organization, and I’ve read people who follow judo say she could probably make strawweight. The reason I’m including her at all is because her two fights so far in MMA have been at bantamweight (one for the CEF bantamweight title). With French fighters like Ngannou, Duquesnoy, and Taleb finding recent success here in the States, it is time we see more women make the jump. And we’ve already seen what a good judoka can accomplish in this division. While I worry more about how here abilities transfer over than I am Vazquez and Mokhnatkina (I haven’t seen any of her fight footage outside of judo), she’s got a decade of training at the highest levels of her combat sport - a sport we’ve seen another woman enter from to great success. She seems to be taking the jump to MMA very seriously. And with how well respected Judo is in France, Ribout’s success could be the next step to getting the sport legalized in France.

8. Rizlen Zouak (3-0) - Judo Olympian - Rizlen Zouak is the first woman to ever represent Morrocco in the Olympic for judo. She’s medaled in numerous international competitions in Judo all over the world. She trains out of the MMA Factory in France, home of UFC fighters Francis Ngannou and Tom Duquesnoy. There is a lot to like about Zouak. At 31 years old, she’s still got time to develop into a really good fighter. Women’s bantamweight is weird like that. I’ve only seen her fight with Leah McCourt in Cage Warriors (her debut) so it’s hard to know for sure if she’s ready for the UFC, but based on the small sample size she probably needs the most time out of this category to get there. Hopefully she takes a few fights in 2018 and is ready for a call up by next year.

9. Liana Jojua (7-2) - The 22 year old Georgian has a lot of Pennington/Pudilova in her. She’s dogged, will fight you in every position, and seems to have a natural comfort and pose in a tough, grueling fight. It’s what carried her to a win over 5x world Sambo Champion Marina Mokhnatkina to capture the Fight Nights Global BW title. She’s doesn’t have a standout skill set like many of the pedigreed fighters, but she does everything well enough and with enough physicality to never really be out of a fight. At only 22, she’s got a lot of time and room to grow. She’s also only been fighting since 2015, so she’s not shopworn yet. She wouldn’t be an instant shot in the arm of the division, but she is young talent that 135lbs desperately needs. Don’t let the number fool you, she should be high on Maynard’s “to sign” list.

10. Katharina Lehner (7-0) - Katharina Lehner is a 27 year old fighting out of Germany. A four year veteran as a pro, Lehner has gone 7-0 in MMA including a successful debut in Invicta that involved her knocking out Alexa Conners. Oddly enough, that’s Lehner’s only finish though. The best comparison I have for her is a more aggressive Sarah Kaufman. She’s not a fast fighter. At all. She’s a hittable target but her pace, brute strength on the inside, and combinations make her someone who’s really hard to keep at bay. Despite not being a big KO artist, she’s got some pop on her hands and her arsenal is pretty solid with the elbows she uses to close distance. I can’t help but feel she benefited a lot from Invicta’s tiny cage in her debut and I’m curious to see how her style would fare in the much bigger UFC cage. She’s going to fight Sarah Kaufman for the Invicta FC bantamweight title at Invicta FC 29 in May.

11. Julia Avila (4-0) - Julia Avila is undefeated through her short MMA career so far with wins on her resume over currently ranked bantamweight Marion Reneau and current UFC women’s flyweight champion Nicco Montano. You’d figure with a resume like that, she would have been signed already. At 5’7, she’s a pretty long 135lber that makes pretty good use of her size. She’s a pretty darn good kicker that can stay on the outside and score points with a variety of well timed kicks. I don’t think her boxing game is quite there yet but Avila’s long reach makes helps her to get the better of long exchanges at times. Does a good job of catching people at the end of her crosses (She fights both orthodox and southpaw from what I can tell). Plus she can throw a wicked knee up the middle when she’s got her timing down.

12. Shanna “Shannimal” Young (4-0) - Shannimal is a good nickname for Shanna Young. Young is a former wrestler for King College, where she did well enough to earn 6th place at the championships and get herself ranked with Team USA. She’s also got a deep background in Karate. The 27 year old really gets after the takedown. While she hasn’t rounded out many of the other parts of her grappling game, she is a dogged chaser of the takedown. Her biggest win to date was probably beating Invicta featherweight Pam Sorenson. Honestly, the edge her wrestling and raw strength gives her would make her a solid fit at the bottom of the division. I think she should be getting the call up.

13. Pannie “Sexy Scramble” Kianzad (8-3) - 26 year old Swede Pannie Kianzad has hit a really rough patch in her career. She’s already been fighting for 5 years, so she should in theory be nearing her peak as a fighter. Not a good look than that she’s lost her last three to admittedly strong competition (Kaufman, Evinger, and Pa'aluhi). Still her youth and size (5’7) make her a good fit for the UFC division which currently needs young 135lbers who won’t (can’t) drop to 125lbs when things go south. Hopefully she can rebound to grab a couple of wins in 2018 and get a call to the UFC.

14. Marciea “Black Widow” Allen (6-2) - Despite some early career setbacks, Allen has rattled off three straight victories. I do think she has Reneau-esque run to the top of the division but she’s 36, she’s on a good run, and she’s one of the more experienced 135lb woman on the local circuit. Bring her in to test a fellow UFC debutant. And if she ends up actually looking good, all the more power to her.

15. Gisele Moreira (7-3) - 37 year old Brazilian Gisele Moreira is similar to Marcia Allen. She came to the sport very late, not really starting until she was 33-34 years old. She’s racked up a record fighting who she can on the regional scene while losing to some of the better prospects on the Brazilian regional scene (Talia Santos, UFC vet Bernardo, and Bianca Daimoni). Again, I doubt she ever becomes a contender but she’s still early enough in her career where she should be improving, she’s got experience a lot of women on the regional scene don’t have, and even if she doesn’t pan out she should still be the right test for someone is making her UFC debut.

16. Maiju Suotama (8-3) - Suotama is the type of fighter you need in building a division - a strong, come forward grappler veteran. While she may “only” have 11 fights to her resume, Suotama is has been fighting as a pro since for almost a decade. She took off for 6 years in the middle, but according to her she was training the entire time she was away. Hopefully, she’s avoided the wear and tear that comes with a decade of professional sports training by taking a hiatus. At 32, she’s probably not going to get a ton better or take off athletically but she can be a solid addition to the middle of the division in ways 135 needs right now.

17. Raquel Pa'aluhi (6-6) - At 27, it might seem like Pa’aluhi got another gear in her but she’s probably right about where she’s going to be for the rest of her career. And despite her .500 record, I don’t think that’s an indictment against her skills as a fighter. 4 of the women that Pa’aluhi has lost to have gone on to fight for UFC titles (McMann, Nunes, Kunitskaya, and Pennington). She might not be more than a journeywoman, but those are valuable when a division only has a handful of fighters. Fights need to get booked, younger fighters need a bridge between fighting some local Jane Doe and getting tossed to a Tonya Evinger. Pa’aluhi serves as the perfect bridge. Who knows? Maybe she gets some of that UFC money, can afford to train full time and hits a corner like Magny did.

18. Taila Santos (14-0) - A can crushing record but winning 14 in a row is still something in the depleted global women’s bantamweight scene. Plus she’s only 24 years old. Took 2017 off because of pregnancy, but she’ll be back soon. Recently won a regional BJJ competition in Brazil.

19. Alexa Conners (4-2) - The two losses on her record aren’t as telling as it seems. One was a robbery in her debut and the other was a TKO loss to Lehner who came in 4lbs over weight. Conners is a powerful puncher with a decent kickboxing game. Hopefully she gets some wins in 2018 and gets the call up.

20. Mayana Kellem (7-0) - Kellem is a Brazilian bantamweight fighting out of Manaus. Has fought more than a couple of women with .500 records but has managed to win 7 straight to start career. That’s a good sign.

21. Karolline Rosa (8-2) - Recently suffered a submission loss to Larissa Pacheco but is otherwise a talented young bantamweight.

#UFC #Ronda Rousey #Holly Holm #miesha tate #MMA #Opinions #SHIT I WROTE

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karalianne · 6 years

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Hypermobility

I am definitely hypermobile. My Beighton Score is a 4 or a 5 (both pinkies, both elbows, possibly right thumb but depends); and I meet the Brighton Criteria with one Major Criterion (my Beighton Score) and two Minor Criteria (myopia--nearsightedness--and pain for more than 3 months in 1-4 joints).

So let me break this all down for you. What follows is a list of all of the things that I deal with that are probably due to being hypermobile.

I’m double-jointed. Not in a really bendy, contortionist kind of way, but I can lock my fingers and my baby toes and my jaw (left side). My right ring finger locks when I play my clarinet. It doesn’t hurt and doesn’t affect my ability to play, but it freaks out other clarinetists.

I have poor body awareness (as in, I’m not always sure where my body is in space).

I bruise easily and rarely recall where the bruises came from.

I have poor core strength. I sit on a leg (preferably my left) as much as possible and when I was a kid I would regularly sit in lotus position (and walk on my knees for kicks... man, I miss doing that now, I should try it again). I like to sit cross-legged (criss-cross applesauce or lotus sometimes) in office chairs and dislike it when the arm rests are too low to fit my legs under for the pose.

My hand gets sore in my palm (base of thumb) and on the back (ligaments and joints for ring finger and pinky) when I write for a long time; hot water relieves the pain and loosens me back up. [When I was in a long psych class as a student in 2001, I would leave after about an hour to go to the bathroom across the hall and hold my hand under hot water to loosen it up so I could continue to take notes for the rest of the class. Pretty sure that’s actually not normal.]

I overpronate and have flat feet as a result (but would have high arches if they weren’t collapsed).

I have had plantar fasciitis in both feet now; the first time I had it on the left and got physio and it helped somewhat, the second time it was on the right and I did nothing for like two years, then got physio and never did the exercises and it just went away on its own somehow.

I used to sprain my ankles regularly. Once I fell off a sidewalk onto the grass (I didn’t actually fall over, I just missed the sidewalk and landed funny). I didn’t realize how bad it was because turning my ankles was so common, and it took me a month to realize I should probably go to the doctor and get physio for it.

I popped the cuboid bone out of my foot in 2007 when I tripped coming out of a tent, and it hurt about as much as a sprained ankle. My physiotherapist at the time was surprised because her husband was in tears when it happened to him.

I think I’m getting arthritis in my index finger (knuckle) on my right (mouse) hand.

I have tendinitis in both arms.

One of my physiotherapists said I have pinched nerves throughout my upper torso; I kind of wonder if all of that is due to hypermobility.

Since I was in my late teens, I have had knee pain and hip pain that has never been treated properly. They said I had patellofemoral syndrome in my knees. I think the hip pain has mostly been my IT band. Sometimes this dull ache extends into my ankle. They said orthotics would help with the knee pain; they didn’t, and they were hard to get into shoes given my feet are already a weird width and hard to fit (I need a deep toe box and have a narrow ankle, plus I’m a C width so wide shoes are technically too wide since they’re D width).

That’s a lot of stuff I deal with that is all likely related to being hypermobile.

Like, I totally get why I was never diagnosed with hypermobility before, because it’s a specialty type thing and I have never actually described all of this stuff for a physiotherapist before. Unlike some of my other health things, I’m not upset about this.

But I would very much like to get properly assessed and diagnosed and then maybe get some help with some of these things from a physiotherapist who actually knows about hypermobility, because I would not be at all surprised if some of my previous physiotherapy actually hurt me even though it seemed to be helping at the time.

#original material #text #hypermobility #my life

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a-spaghettiday · 7 years

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After

A CharDee contribution...taking place after “the event” in “The Gang Misses the Boat.” Also readable on Ao3.

Shit. Dee’s joints creaked as she attempted to unfold herself from the love seat cushions.

Draped at the knee over the couch’s back, Dee’s right leg was free-est. She winced as she straightened it – her foot and ankle cracking much louder than expected. You should do yoga. In an instant, she saw a grid of faceless ultra-fit housewives…moving “as one” into poses named after insects – while some bullshit off-brand Enya song played in the background. Dee grimaced. Well, you should at least get some yoga pants. That was half the job. More than half, really.

Her left leg proved she could do yoga fine without Enya...bent up underneath her, it had been cut off circulation for a while. She was pretty sure lack of circulation was a gauge of successful flexibility. Dee released a whinny at the spiky warmth which flooded forward as she maneuvered the leg over the closest couch arm.

She then turned her attention to her own arms. Her right arm was comfortable enough – bent upward and behind her head, like she’d passed out mid-yawn.

Hah…“passed out” – You wish Sweet Dee. She groaned deep in her throat – because, shit that’s right – she’d been sober last night. They both had.

Which brought Dee’s thoughts to her left arm… an arm which, at the moment, was the most complicated of her endless limbs.

She remembered threading her arm through Charlie’s, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. No one had been threatening to do something stupid – she didn’t have to restrain him, he wasn’t trying to restrain her. The gang had…as of a couple days ago…disbanded – so no scheme had forced them into extreme duress. And they were definitely in Dee’s apartment, alone. Meaning they hadn’t been hiding, or doing a bit for the benefit of unaware onlookers.

So how the hell did her elbow become locked with his? And why was she thinking about how his well-muscled arm’s freckle-tan looked against her freckle-less arm – despite not yet having opened her eyes?

Goddammit Dee…well-muscled? Really? Shit.

There was of course the simple explanation – that it was just what a person did, a normal way to reciprocate affection. But if there was anything Dee knew about herself – it was that she wasn’t normal, and she wasn’t simple.

The weird dolly couch was way too small – even after he’d kicked off the spare pillows. Damn that’s right – you and Frank have got to remember to stock-up on spare pillows. Ever since harvesting the cotton from their last ones, the two of them had been playing fast and loose with their pillow situation – if someone were to sabotage their futon one night, they’d be screwed.

There was something soft between his face and the dolly couch arm – partially opening his eyes, he surveyed a cloud of blonde obscuring his immediate vision. Oh shit…so that happened. It smelled like blossoms. Dee’s hair always smelled like blossoms.

Deeeeee – right now, she was a plain ol’ regular D, plucked on a harpsichord. A sleepy Dee. Deeee.

Charlie stifled a yawn.

If he thought about it, dolly couches were really the opposite of futons. With a futon – you’ve got a pretty sweet couch to begin with, and then if you and your pals need to do some collaborative sleeping – you’ve got a fold-out bed that’s twice as big.

Charlie lifted his head a bit to let some of Dee’s hair fall loose – so she wouldn’t pull it if she needed to move.

Meanwhile toy couches were crappy couches to begin with – crappy couches which became even crappier when used as a bed. Not ideal for collaborative sleeping at all.

This brought Charlie a peculiar pulse of pride. Because you know what – we made it work. Him and Sweet Dee, that is. Deeeeeee.

Sometimes, Dee was D sharp, sometimes she was D flat – sometimes he heard her played on a saxophone, other times a harmonica. It had been like this for a while – so far as Charlie could tell, it was all about how Dee seemed at the moment. Depending on that, he would imagine her note.

Deee. Last night, Dee was D…sharp. A mid D Sharp played on a keyboard. Deeeeeeeee…A smiley note – but the kind that was smiley without being stupid.

All bright and yellow. Like her hair. Twirly and layered like Europe noodles. He reclosed his eyes. Ohhh look everyone – here comes Queen Dee…all hail her fancy pasta hair. He smirked.

Next to him, he felt Dee struggle to extract her leg out from beneath the couch throw. She did this in fractional movements – not wanting to wake him. That’s what Charlie assumed at least. Hah, well, too late for that…he’d woken up two minutes ago when Dee cracked like a dozen joints in two seconds.

Still, he appreciated the gesture…he didn’t want them to officially wake up either.

Under the guise of unintentional sleep movement, he decided to test the waters – undoing their interlocked elbows, Charlie stretched his arm outward – nudging the side of Dee’s ribs. Her breathing paused for a half second – before Dee used her legs to lift her frame, allowing Charlie’s arm to continue beneath her.

Charlie was holding his breath now – Dee could flip over the couch and head for her own bed…leaving Charlie in a position to get his shoes on, steal some apples and dish soap – and then sneak home. Or…

Gently, Dee began to replace her frame’s weight onto Charlie’s outstretched arm – rearranging herself so as to face him. Charlie felt a waitress-y flutter – and without premeditation, cupped Dee’s back. She stopped breathing for a moment again.

In the same falsely sleepy movements Charlie had just employed – Dee folded inward – flopping one arm onto his chest, and resting her head on his shoulder. Charlie used a fake yawn as an excuse to squeeze her closer, and move both of them further into the couch.

Dee letting him do this provoked a flutter that was even stronger – and which somehow managed to sustain itself. It was acutely waitress-y. Charlie couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

Ohhh shit. This is going you bite you guys in the ass so bad…He shook it off – there’d be plenty of time to deal with that later.

Instead, Charlie let himself nod off again.

He supposed the dolly couch wasn’t so bad. Sure, it was no futon…but he had enough space, didn’t he? And Dee…Deeeeeee…well, she was no pair of long underwear.

Still…he was definitely warm enough, right?

Dee peered sideways at the smirk hiding under Charlie’s “asleep” face.

Hah. You aren’t fooling anyone – Charlie.

Not that she could talk. Although she knew Charlie was pretending to sleep, she also knew that he knew she was pretending to sleep.

Whatever...Sleeping, not sleeping – same difference.

Unconsciously, Dee settled her face into Charlie’s shoulder – and as he gripped her, she felt the same buzz which had lit her up last night.

Let’s not think about it. Instead, she focused on the moment...the warmth, her stupidly confident sense of safety – the sound of their breathing, the smell of their…

Dee crinkled her nose.

Charlie’s hair…smells like dish soap. Her dish soap. Has he…? Dee didn’t have to finish asking herself the question. Of course he has.

Suppose it’s better than nothing.

Dee sighed, deciding to follow Charlie’s cue – and actually fall asleep again.

He’s stronger than you expected…seemed all that rat bashing, sewer traversing, and under-the-bridge pillaging yielded more than blood, rings, coins, and denim. Charlie Kelly…a product of the modern rat-apologist’s gym.

Well, whatever he was doing…it’s effective.

Goddammit Charlie.

When did looking like a bird become a bad thing anyway? Charlie watched his sneakers kick gravel as he took the long way home. It was dangerous to lack peripheral vision this early in the morning, but Charlie only had himself to lose.

In other words – you ain’t got nuttin, partna. Unperturbed, Charlie shook away the beratement voiced (for some reason) by his inner Oil Tycoon. Didn’t matter. He’d be able to huff his head quiet soon enough. Somewhere, a Carolina chickadee was chick-a-dee-dee-deeing. Charlie harmonized with its last note, releasing a high Deeeee in a low voice. It was a nice sound.

He shook his head again, this time in incredulity. Seriously man – what was wrong with birds?

Birds could do all kinds of impressive shit. Like fucking fly, for one.

Charlie kicked a rock into a passing sewer grate. It was a cool shape, but he didn’t want to bring it home without discussing it with Frank first. This way he’d know where to find it.

And even when birds couldn’t fly, they always had wings – which basically was them telling the world “Yeah…my ancestors could totally fly and shit…it was sweet, but eventually they like transcended the whole ‘migration’ scene and decided to settle down.”

Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple he’d lifted from the shimmery bowl on Dee’s kitchen table. Deeee. Pausing to examine its color in the early daybreak, Charlie smiled at how the apple gleamed purple – a product of the blue dish soap covering the apple’s red. It was a nice color. Sure, maybe he should have squirted the soap in a different pocket than the one he was using to hold apples – but hey, if you had done that, you might never have made accidental-pocket-purple.

Not wanting to waste the soap, Charlie rubbed the apple in his hair. If he was lucky, he’d get splashed by a passing truck, and his hair would be washed before he got home. He started to eat the apple, residual soap and all. Mac would be freaking out…but maybe the soap counteracts the apple-skin’s toxins? Whatever. Charlie did poison all the time. Ate it…drank it…huffed it…pretty much every day.

Not last night though...not before he and Dee had –

Deee. When he’d left her sleeping, she was a high D flat plucked on a harp – chipper, but bittersweet. That sad kind of happy…that was Dee this morning – all bendy and long and asleep on her tiny couch.

Charlie felt a flush of heat through his system as he recalled just how bendy her arms and legs proved to be. Like one of those Jacob’s ladders things…they just kept folding and folding and folding and folding…all around him. Clinging and bending…to – toward – him.

He’d looked at her a long while after filling up his pockets with apples and soap. She hadn’t woken, and to Charlie, her sleeping form seemed the tiniest bit hopeful. Because at that point, Dee didn’t 100% know yet that she’d be waking up alone…maybe she 98% knew, maybe even 99% – but until she woke up, she couldn’t know for sure.

Looking at her then, Charlie hadn’t known for sure either.

You could just get back in the couch. Or he could make breakfast – turn on some music, and greet Dee with a sweet def rhyme whenever she finally awoke…

It’s daybreak – so we break fast – burning bread on a grill – for a taste that’ll last –

And then she could keep it going – and drop a sweet line of her own. It could happen. If he just stayed, if she just let him. He knew it was possible…so why did it seem so pointless?

Instead – for reasons he looked forward to never understanding – Charlie had shoved a couple pieces of bread into Dee’s toaster, set out two plates and glasses, and left.

Shit.

At this point, Charlie was rounding the alley corner near his building. Swallowing the last of the apple core, he chewed on the stem for a little while – checking for tastes he knew he wouldn’t find – before spitting it onto the sidewalk. A pigeon waddling nearby gave the stem a couple experimental pecks, likely discovering the non-taste with which Charlie was already well-acquainted. No shame in trying, buddy…

Charlie started up his building’s stoop. Birds were birds. Some were scrappy survivors, others ass kicking patriots – some were simple and pretty, others complicated and weird.

And some were all of the above…

He was in his room now. Without a thought, Charlie grabbed his glue and took a deep breath inwards.

It was like inhaling the light that came to your eyes and head when you stood up too fast – except it lasted longer, and tinted everything with cheap euphoria. Charlie laid down.

The window’s brightness spilled outside across his vision, now unconfined by its parameters. Soon the rest of the room’s colors followed suit…abandoning their objects – merging into and out-of one another with increasing frequency. In the swirling, Charlie saw all sorts of wings – a flock tessellated overhead. Flapping and flapping and flapping…

Nah…there…there was nothing wrong with birds.

He passed out wondering about the marketability of dish soap covered fruit, assuming the soap made the fruit an awesome color.

Somewhere not too far away, Dee woke up to the smell of burnt toast.

Huh.

She ate it.

If you liked this...consider leaving an Ao3 comment...thank you!

#Charlie Kelly #Dee Reynolds #CharDee #it's always sunny in philadelphia #iasip #wrote something #About 2000 words #Dee and Charlie's Perspective

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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When Roses Bloom (Trixya) Chapter Two - Bramble

A/N: I hope updates will be kind of regular and be every Monday but some weeks might be slightly late or missed depending on workload. I really do hope people are liking this fic as it has slowly taken over my life. Enjoy!

The rest of the night is spent between forcing Trixie to make drinks, eating food and getting to know each other. They had spent around an hour talking to Trixie at the table before Shea finally got fed up by herself when the rush of customers came. Ginger and Trixie had hit it off right away, bouncing jokes – mainly targeted towards Katya, but not in malicious way and they even had her chuckling – back and forth. They learned all about Trixie’s shitty living situation and agreed immediately she’d start packing tomorrow. Ginger saw it as being a knight in shining armour and Trixie didn’t do much to deflate her ego. Katya, for the most part, sat quietly enjoying watching the dynamic between the two grow whilst getting to know more about the busty blonde.

By the end of the night Katya discovered she was the only one laughing at Trixie’s more left field jokes. On the walk back home, Katya can’t stop smiling. She doesn’t know if anyone else notices it but they don’t say anything about and she is forever grateful for it. She’s surprised with herself because of how easily she bonded with Trixie, she didn’t make friends easily, and yes, Trixie is nowhere near being her friend yet, but she wants her to be.

“See? It wasn’t that bad, look at how happy you are,” Courtney states walking beside her. Katya keeps her eyes focused on where she was going but she nods her head.

“Not at all,” Katya confesses before sighing deeply.

“I feel like everything is going to change for you, you know?” The Aussie mutters looking right ahead of her.

Katya looks at her when they stop to wait to cross the street. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She questions raising her eyebrows.

“Changes are scary, but I hope for you that it’s great.”

When she gets home Katya realises what Courtney meant by things were going to change for her. There is an immense change in disposition within her.

She notices feelings that weren’t there in the beginning of the night, ones only present with the vivid memory of Trixie in her head. It goes from her lips to her eyes, from her wide smile to her nervous expression, and it goes from her words to her actions and all that is in between.

Katya has always been in check with her own feelings and it scares her when she doesn’t know what one of them means. This feeling? The one Trixie makes her feel? That feeling is scaring the hell out of her. Not because she doesn’t know what it means, because she’s not stupid, she knows what it potentially means. But because soon Trixie would be living with her, under the same roof 24/7. Katya has never been the best with romantic feelings, she tends to push them aside but with Trixie living here in just under 24 hours, Katya doesn’t know how she’ll manage.

The sun pours through the cracks in the blinds that Katya really needs to replace and cascades light onto her face. She can’t deny it was a nice wake up, if only it wasn’t currently seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. On Saturdays she normally slept until around nine before getting up and doing her usual routine. She has to shut off her alarm before it rings out later at a blaring rate and ultimately wakes Ginger up before noon, something she has learned she better not do – so now she has gotten into a habit of waking up before her alarm. Her body was used to waking up five minutes before nine but not two hours before. My morning routine will have to be adapted for today, she thinks to herself as she stretches her arms as high as she can above her head before bringing them down to her toes. She does this every morning and then afterwards she pads through to the kitchen and brews a fresh pot of coffee. She’ll pour her first of many cups of coffee and carry it back to her bedroom. As she drinks the coffee she’ll flick through a few pages of her current read. This month’s book is a lengthy autobiography by a man she’s never heard of but she picked it up because of his cool moustache. Turns out he isn’t that interesting but Katya has never not finished a book she picks up.

When her mug is empty and she can’t bear to think any longer about astrophysics she closes her book, places the book back in its place on the nightstand, and cracks her back. It’s such a bad habit, her mother always told her growing up when she’d do it after practise, but she never did listen to her mother much. Checking her phone Katya groans when she sees it’s only eight.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Katya pushes herself up, grabbing the empty mug and walks back through to the kitchen. She places the mug in the sink to be washed later and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, something to occupy her for a little while.

Sitting on the couch crossed legged Katya switches the TV on and instantly goes to turn the sound down, not before scrunching her shoulders up and nose in disgust at the volume of the TV. She settles on a news channel, it’ll give her something to go off on a tangent about in between practises later. She occasionally takes bites from her apple as listens vaguely to whatever the people on the news are saying, by this point the TV is merely background noise to Katya as she is in deep thought. She’d probably see Trixie tonight and probably have to perform in front of her. If not when she got home from work some of Trixie’s stuff would be there probably alongside Trixie.

When the clock in the bottom left corner of the TV screen read eight-thirty Katya decided enough was enough and she’d just go to work earlier today. That’s when her usual morning routine was back in track. After discarding the apple core in the bin, Katya poured herself another cup of coffee, this time with a lot more milk and sugar. She hated black coffee, but it woke her up whatever the time was in instances like weekends, she’d find herself needing the black coffee first thing. Any cup after that was had to be to her liking, a shit ton of milk and a generous sprinkling of sugar. The amount of caffeine Katya consumed in a day was borderline unhealthy.

Raking through the almost bare breakfast cupboard Katya managed to scavenge enough cereal to survive her until she’d get her lunch at Chuck’s. She leaves Ginger a note before she leaves that they would have to go shopping tomorrow before carrying her bowl, along with her second cup of coffee, to the living room. If Ginger was awake she’d scold Katya for sitting on the couch with her breakfast instead of at the table.

Katya wasn’t the type to take too long eating breakfast, when people pointed out her speed at eating she’d explain how bored she got. Resting her bowl on the coffee table next to her mug she took another sip of her coffee. Sliding off the couch Katya landed with a soft thud on the floor. Growing up doing gymnastics her mother always made her stretch in the morning, and it was something she carried on to adulthood.

Reaching her arms above her head she brought them down to touch her toes, she flexes her toes as she tries to pull her nose as close to her knees as she can. After she has held that pose for around thirty seconds she straightens her back but keeps her legs out in front of her. She cranes her neck whilst rotating both her wrists and ankles.

Katya continues her stretching for another fifteen minutes before grabbing her dishes and walking through to the kitchen. She always liked to do her dishes before leaving to save Ginger a job later on. Two mugs, a bowl and a spoon later and Katya is heading back to her room to gather her stuff together.

Once Katya is ready to leave she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder, grabs the pack of cigarettes on her dresser along with the lighter balancing on top of it and shuts her bedroom door behind her. She isn’t sure if she’ll be here when Trixie first comes by so she decides to close the door in case she isn’t. It not like her room is messy but she has an odd attachment to her room being somewhere strictly for her, and her only. Even Ginger would rarely go in her room. Walking through the hallway Katya gives the living room the once over before straightening up one of the cushions on the couch and picks up her car keys. She has time today to fuss around with her car that is on its last legs, if she doesn’t get it to a garage soon it’ll most likely completely give out on her.

The drive to Chuck’s takes double the time it takes her to walk there and Katya knows she should have probably just walked but she was planning on killing two birds with one stone and go shopping for some things to tide them over until tomorrow. Not to mention she felt intimated by the knowledge Trixie was officially moving in on Monday and would be dropping off her stuff over the next two days. Katya needed for this time to go better than it did with Vanessa so she was determined to make the effort, buy things with Trixie in consideration, and show Ginger she is capable of doing it. But with Trixie it already seemed less daunting, like there was already a strong connection.

Walking through the back-door Katya could hear the bustling in the kitchen already taking place. The staffroom smelt faintly of coffee and cigarettes when Katya walks in. She is stuffing her duffel bag into her locker when she hears a low-whistle. Turning her head so she is looking over her shoulder she sees Shea holding a magazine. She is still fighting with her duffel bag when she sees Trixie walk into the staffroom. Whipping her head back around so she doesn’t meet Trixie’s eyes, Katya lets out a high-pitch noise as her duffel bag comes crashing down on top of her. Sighing she drops her head as she tries desperately not to run. She hears Shea’s cackle ring in her ears and can only guess she is bright red right now. A few minutes pass before she sees an arm reaching for the duffel bag and the arm picks it up off the floor. Katya lifts her head and watches as Trixie closes the locker and locks it. The taller blonde turns around with a smile on her face as she extends the hand holding the keyring. “Here you go,” she says with a light giggle. Katya can’t help the small smile that creeps onto her face as she hears the sound.

“Thanks,” Katya rushes out taking the keyring out of Trixie’s hand in more of a snatching fashion. The smaller girl quickly left before she could embarrass herself further. Maybe it wasn’t going to be easy to live with Trixie.

Walking out to the bar Katya’s eyes found Peppermint sitting with Max on the stage. Katya hurriedly walked to the stage and took the last empty stool. “Hello, Katya.” Max greets the blonde as she sat down. “Hi, Kat.” Peppermint beamed.

“Hey, guys.” Katya huffed as she pulls her legs up so her feet are resting against the bar of the stool.

“You’re here early.” Peppermint states as she looks at her watch. Katya shrugs as she picks at the tight fabric of her yoga pants. “Woke up earlier, I’m not clocked in yet,” Katya drifts off.

“Find Trixie yet?” Max asks with a kinked brow. Katya was slightly confused until she realises Max is doing the same thing Ginger normally does. She groans as she looks up at the ceiling. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“I literally ran away from her after she witnessed my duffel falling on me,” Katya sighed. “Great impression I’m making of myself.”

Peppermint and Max both share a look before laughing at Katya’s misfortune. Katya, meanwhile, just holds her head in her hands. “You two done yet?” Katya asks a few minutes of them laughing at her, this only makes them laugh slightly more.

“Sorry, it’s just it’s so you, Kat, it hurts.” Peppermint smiles once she stops laughing. Max stops just after Peppermint does.

“You should get lunch then clock in.” Max suggests before turning to his phone.

Katya nods for no one in particular as she stands up from the stool and heads to the bar where Shea is now standing. Shea has a smirk on her face when Katya approaches. “Not going to drop a bag on your head again, are you?” Shea teased as Katya took a seat on a bar stool.

“Shut up,” Katya grumbles. “Just get me my lunch.” Katya says sternly.

“Ouch, someone’s grouchy.” Shea mutters before she walks back into the kitchen. Katya plays with a napkin, tearing it up into small pieces, to pass the time until her food is ready. Around ten or so minutes must have passed before Katya hears footsteps approaching her. Looking up Katya instantly wants to hide again, of course Shea would send Trixie out with the food.

“I’m safe to leave you with this plate and you won’t drop it, right?” Trixie giggled, her teasing wasn’t like Shea’s though, she was more joking and light-hearted with her comment. Trixie pulled up the stool behind the bar and took a seat. Taking a leaf of lettuce into her mouth, Katya stares at Trixie. Great, Katya thinks as she watches Trixie lean on the bar. “So, what are you doing at work so early?”

Katya swallows her mouthful of lettuce before speaking, “I normally come in at around this time to rehearse and sound check.” Katya explains picking up her sandwich to begin eating. Trixie nods playing with the straws in the container in front of her behind the bar. The pair sit in silence while Katya eats her lunch. “So why are you here this early?”

“Shea wanted to show me what the early haul was like, plus it is easier for Ginger to come get me.” Trixie explains.

“How much are you planning on moving into the apartment today?” Katya asks as she pushes the plate to the side so she can lean on the bar.

“Hopefully most of the stuff aside from the stuff I’ll still need at the old place,” Trixie says. “Then the rest of the stuff I can just bring with me on Monday but if it’s ok, I’ll come unpack tomorrow.”

“That should be fine, we’ll be going shopping tomorrow to get some stuff so just tell Ginger anything you’ll need and we can get it,” Katya begins. “But for now, I should go clock in and start prep work for tonight.”

•

Trixie leaves not long after Katya starts. She leaves without remembering to ask for Katya’s number, the night before she was given Ginger’s number but got called back to work before she had a chance to get Katya’s. It, however, came in handy having at least Ginger’s number today so she knows when she is good to start moving in. She leaves when Ginger texts her saying she is on her way to pick her up. She says her ‘see you later’-s before clocking out and exits by the back door. Ginger shows up a few minutes later wearing a shit-eating grin on her face as she sits behind the wheel of a white van. Trixie opens the passenger side and slides in, “If I didn’t meet you yesterday I’d be concerned you were going to kidnap me with that smile on your face.”

“You should be thankful I even have this van, Katya took her car to work today.” Ginger fires back before putting the van into reverse and driving back onto the road. “Now, where to?”

Trixie tells the other women her address and it isn’t long before they’re on their way at a good speed. They encounter some lunch time traffic along the way but the journey is full of chatting and music. Finally, the pair pull up on the road right by Trixie’s apartment. “I have some of my stuff packed, I just have a little more to do,” Trixie explains as they walk into the apartment. Books are strewn everywhere with little piles of stuff littering the floor and one of the couches. The apartment looks something similar to Vanessa’s old room, and Trixie’s soon-to-be room, yesterday.

“You own more shit than I anticipated,” Ginger nervously laughs scratching her head.

“We only have a few more hours until I have to be back at work, so if we can get as much as we can move today and I’ll swing by tomorrow to start unpacking or move the rest of the stuff.” Trixie says as she steps towards one of the piles sitting by an open box.

Ginger does the same as they begin to sort out some things. It shouldn’t take soon the too long as long as they work together and don’t spend too much time faffing around they could easily get it all packed in less than half an hour. But they don’t finish in under thirty minutes, they take forty-five. They carry box by box to the van until it’s full for its first trip. They end up taking two full trips, with Trixie holding a potted plant on the second in the front, before all of Trixie’s stuff in at the apartment. She only has the essential things left behind as she says goodbye to Ginger and heads back to Chuck’s for the night.

•

Katya’s rehearsals went well after clearing her head from her embarrassing encounter with Trixie. It’s not like she had a lot to rehearse for tonight, just a sound check to run and a little warm-up to complete, she did manage to get a new set sorted out. Now she’s relaxing on the lonely stool behind the bar as Shea wipes down the counter. “You looking forward to Monday?” Shea asks with a small smirk on her face as she looks at Katya, who is sitting with her head slightly tilted as she racks her brain. “Trixie’s moving in,” Shea says prying a reaction out of the blonde. “Did you really already?”

“No!” Katya rushes out as she sits more upright. “I mean, I don’t know, I-”

“She’s really done a number on you already, huh?” Shea questions as puts the cloth and spray back underneath the bar, she swivels around and leans on her hands which are on the bar. “She’s just different, getting along with her is easy.” Katya huffs as she looks at the clock absentmindedly checking how long is left before Trixie’s shift starts. At least with her being there will maybe ease the situation.

It doesn’t.

Trixie comes bumbling in muttering about rain as she shakes her head. Water droplets fly everywhere as Trixie smiles at Peppermint with a sad expression, Peppermint seems to understand what Trixie is trying to convey and walks with her into the bathroom. Katya trains her eyes to stare at the stage as she desperately tries to not think about the fact Trixie will be watching her perform for the first time. The early set of customers begin to stumble in as the opening act for the night, Trinity, takes the stage. Katya remembers when she first met Trinity, she could barely understand what she was saying. Trinity was a good performer, lip syncing, dancing and comedy sometimes. She was a good opener for Bianca. Their enemies-to-friends relationship was amusing for outsiders to watch. Katya can recall the night backstage where Peppermint and she would have a good chuckle at Trinity’s and Bianca’s arguments. Bianca often poked fun at Trinity in her sets, usually it was in a cruel intention but now it was meant strictly as a joke. Trinity had truly grown on Bianca like a rash.

Halfway through Trinity’s set Peppermint and Trixie emerge from the bathroom. Trixie looks different now, her makeup is touched up – no more running eyeliner or mascara – and her eyelashes are bigger – probably due to false eyelashes. She’s scraped her hair back into a ponytail and it somewhat drier than it did before. Most noticeably her white shirt she was wearing has been traded out for a pink jumper that’s been rolled up at the sleeves. “How much did we miss?” Peppermint asks with a small as she sits in front of the bar.

“Not much, right Katya?” Shea encourages as she makes herself busy at the other end of the bar. Trixie looks at Katya with a raised brow before looking at the stage. “Trinity’s just warming them up, she’s probably got about half her set still. I should probably go get ready,” she states, excusing herself as quickly as possible from the situation. Walking through the crowd is kind of like a minefield, expect less dangerous. Katya has to dodge the people coming in to see Bianca and the others heading towards the male bathroom, but eventually she makes it to the backstage dressing room. It’s small and cramped and Katya knows Peppermint and Shea are both mentally laughing at her because they know how she only goes into the room after hearing Bianca’s opening joke. But she doesn’t care what they have to say about her behaviour, she needs to focus on getting ready and clearing her head of a particular blonde.

Katya is usually not right about how people are feeling but she is right about Shea and Peppermint in that moment. At the bar, Peppermint smiles endearingly at the direction Katya rushed off in, she looks almost like a mother trying not to laugh at something so adorably awkward that their kid did. Shea, on the other hand, can’t contain her laughter as she full on laughs. Trixie is confused by what is so funny but quickly a flood of customers piles up at the bar to distract her.

Once she has served maybe her tenth customer of the night Trixie has some time to properly pay attention to Bianca’s comedy set, which began somewhere in the middle of the wave of orders. Trixie figures sets must last too long because Trinity hadn’t seemed to be on the stage too long. “After this it’s our girl,” Shea leans over whilst wiping a glass dry and quietly speaks. Trixie nods as she settles down the glass she had just wiped and looks intently at the stage. She didn’t quite know what to expect from tonight. “It’s usually a bit wild and unpolished on a Saturday,” Shea adds with a smirk as Trixie lightly nods.

•

Unpolished was definitely a word Trixie might use to describe the performance she had just witnessed. Other than that, she doesn’t quite know how to describe what she is feeling. She can sense Shea by her side and she can guess she is probably wearing her signature smirk as Trixie stands rooted to the spot with her mouth hanging wide. “You’ll catch flies,” Shea teases as she goes to serve a customer. Trixie luckily didn’t drop the glass she was drying when Katya started her performance. In total she did three numbers, each progressively getting worse compared to the last, and worse was not good for Trixie who had a job to hold.

She sees a blonde ponytail bob as the energetic women it belongs to comes bouncing back to the bar. Katya seems to be in a better mood than she was before maybe getting whatever tension she seemed to hold out in her set helped. “Traaaccccyyyy,” she sings as she moves to sit on the bar.

“What can I get you?” Trixie can’t help the small laugh that escapes her lips as she looks at the smaller women in front of her.

“My usual,” Katya grins as raises a hand to push back her fringe out of her face. When she fails Trixie reaches over and gently tucks the loose strand behind her ear, her fingers linger carefully behind Katya’s ear for a few seconds before the taller women realise how intimate the situation looks and retracts her hand as if she had been burnt. Lowering her head Trixie mumbles something about the usual as she goes to busy herself. Katya looks to Shea and sees her giving Katya a knowing look. Trixie comes back a few minutes later, drink in hand. “Here you go,” she says as she slides the drink to the other women. “Anything else?”

“What did you think of the first night of set performances?” Katya inquires before taking a sip of drink through the straw.

“They were good.” Trixie responds.

“What about mine?” Katya seems more uncertain about whether or not she wants an answer to the question. Trixie stands up straighter as she shifts on her feet. “Well, honestly, I’m a little disappointed.” Trixie says wearing a blank expression and Katya wants nothing more to shrink away until Trixie adds on with a chuckle, “Shea promised me wild, and I felt it to be quite tame.”

Katya looks at her with a smile, “Tame, huh?” She wheezes slightly as she grasps onto the bar for support. Her knuckles turn white from how hard she’s grasping and Trixie can’t help but zone on the way the muscles in Katya’s arms flex and contract as she moves. “Anymore critique distinguished judge?”

“Well actually know you ask, I feel like the whole Britney thing you were going for fell flat. I’ve seen it done before back in college and now watching you was like Britney at 45.” Trixie says in a monotone voice before cracking and throwing her head back as she laughs. Katya is wheezing too but stops before Trixie in just enough time to see her adam’s apple bob as she laughs. She knows it’s best not to ask, so she doesn’t, she just silently acknowledges it and moves on.

“You got me there, bitch!” Katya replies with a wide smile.

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