#foray cart
Text
Forgotten
In which an unfortunate turn of events leads to Azriel forgetting his very pregnant mate.
Words: 2541
A/N - Hi everyone, this is my first foray into publishing work online and like everyone else I am preparing for CC3 by re-reading all of SJM's work. I've been inspired by all the lovely Azriel/Reader pieces I've seen on tumblr as of late and have decided to contribute my own.
Part Two ☪ Part Three
Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes
Azriel
Heavy waves of unconsciousness threatened to drag Azriel further, deeper into the abyss. The roaring in his ears drowned out rational thought. Tongue dragging against the roof of his dry mouth he reached out for something to anchor him, carting his hands through silk sheets. His skin burned.
“Azriel?” Elain’s sweet voice floated through the darkness. Azriel fought against the fatigue to open his eyes. The brightness strained and he tried to focus. Light filtered through the window, highlighting beautiful features and the golden hues of her hair. She leaned forward, taking a pitcher of water from the bedside table to fill a glass, holding it up to his lips so he could drink. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth in gratitude and he worked his dry lips around the rim. One hand came up to support the glass, holding it over Elain’s own, an excuse to feel her smooth sun-kissed skin.
He hadn’t seen her since the disaster of the almost kiss and his words, ‘this was a mistake’, had haunted him endlessly in his sleepless nights. The regret hadn’t stopped the images that plagued him. How she would look underneath him, or riding him, the faces she’d make as he brought her pleasure, the sweet songs she’d sing for him as she climaxed. Even Rhy’s warning hadn’t been able to tame the desire he felt for the middle Archeron sister; in his half delirious state he was content to take advantage of the closeness the opportunity offered. His eyes roamed her face, following the tantalizingly exposed skin of her neck down to where the bust of her pale pink gown hid her breasts from his view.
Satiated, he pulled his head away and managed to croak out a small word of thanks. Elain’s brows furrowed as she searched his face for something, finding it lacking.
“We’ve all been so worried about you.” Azriel frowned, finding it difficult to care about anything other than admiring her beauty in the light provided by the rising sun. He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and traced the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers where his large hand still dwarfed hers. She pulled back, placing the glass on the bedside table and he felt words of protest trying to break free. Come back he thought, his appetite to feel more of her supple skin under his own ignited.
Contentment rose in him as she leaned closer once more, this time placing the back of her hand against his forehead. Perspiration clung between their skin; Azriel resisted closing his eyes and basking in the warmth erupting in his chest. Memories of his mother flooded back, in a daze he felt himself being carried through the few times in his childhood when she’d been able to care for him as he had yearned for. This position brought Elain even closer to him, affording him a delightful view of what lay beneath the top of her dress with a downward cast of his eyes. He soaked in where the tan from her time in the gardens morphed into untouched alabaster and ruminated on how it would taste under his tongue.
“You’re still burning up, I’ll send for Madja.”
“No,” he reached to grasp her hand as she pulled back. “Stay.”
Elain worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth as she fixed her rich chestnut eyes on his face. Azriel couldn’t draw his gaze away from how the baby-soft skin looked trapped under her incisor, imagining how it would feel under his own. He watched as her eyes lost focus, she seemed to stare straight through him. He knew the look; could recognise the blankness imposed by communicating with daemati. Which meant that Rhys would be coming soon.
He sighed, perturbed by the impending interruption. He reached for his shadows, hoping that they would at least give him some advanced warning but found them missing. Frowning he tried to sit forward, tearing his eyes from Elain’s face he scanned the room. His room, at the House of Wind. All the times he'd dreamed of her in here with him, what they would do, he'd never quite imagined it like this.
“What happened?” He still clutched at Elain’s hand but lowered it to rest against his thighs. His chest was exposed, naked and flushed with fever. The muscles in his wings protested as he moved to unfurl them slightly and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. Such a small motion, but it brought the catalogue of pain to the forefront of his mind through the haze.
The dark silk sheets pooled at his waist and rubbed against the stark whiteness of clean cotton bandages. He could feel where the membranes connecting the sinewy muscle and delicate bones of his wings pulled tighter in places over almost healed wounds. The room smelt of antiseptic; underneath his own scent was stale as though he hadn’t stayed there in a long time.
“I don’t know all of the details, you’ll have to speak to Rhys and Feyre.” Elain seemed to falter under the intensity of his gaze. “You arrived a few nights ago, winnowed to the River House poisoned and half-dead. Madja’s been working on you for days.”
"You've been here all this time?"
He leaned closer to her, his chest warming at the thought that perhaps he hadn't destroyed this, not like everything else he seemed to touch. Elain was frozen under his graze, eyes wide and lips parted. He drew closer, inhaling the scent of jasmine and honey, unable to resist her magnetism.
"Oh." She started and moved back in her chair, putting distance between him and his advances. "No, I arrived about half an hour ago. Y/N needed to get some rest." Her face seemed to implore him to do something and his thoughts were drawn to the failed kiss at solstice. Perhaps this was a gift from the mother Azriel reasoned. An opportunity to do everything over.
His eyes fixed on hers and an unfamiliar sensation bloomed in his chest. Azriel frowned as he felt a tug, it seemed to come from inside his ribcage. He brought his free hand, the one that was still clutching at Elain's, to rub at the skin over his heart. Confused he trailed his eyes down Elain's face to look at the skin his scarred fingers danced over.
He started as he saw it, the thread of pure gold. He reached in a tugged, feeling the answering wave of love and relief. If Azriel felt like he was drowning earlier it was nothing compared to the joy and elation that threatened to swallow him whole. His eyes burned as tears brimmed.
"Elain," he breathed. "I can't believe..." He trailed off, fixing her with a gaze of awe. If he wasn't still suffering from the lingering sluggishness perhaps he would have taken more stock of her confused stare. His hand stilled against his chest and he continued to stare at her. Whatever permission he was looking for, he thought he found in her gaze.
He reached up to caress her neck, following the delicate arch upwards to tangle his long fingers into her curls. His other hand dropped hers to cradle her cheek.
"Azriel." Elain tried to move back further in her chair to escape his wandering hands but found no further retreat against the back of the hardwood. Azriel followed her, shifting forward on the bed so only a few inches separated their faces. His breath mingled with hers.
Taking a deep breath he closed the distance between their lips, fire pooling in his gut with anticipation of finally getting to taste her like he had dreamed of. Claiming her full bottom lip between his own he revelled in the sweetness of her mouth. He pressed harder, her soft lips yielding against his own as he moved to deepen the kiss by tracing his tongue over the swell of her bottom lip. Elain softened in his arms and her fisted hands moved up to rest against his bare chest, not pulling him close but not pushing him away either.
He pulled back slightly, her doe-eyes meeting his firey gaze as he smiled contently at her. His left hand was tangled in the roots of her hair exposing the delicate skin of her ear which he moved to trace with his nose. His breath grazed the supple skin of her neck and his lips danced over the skin of her neck.
"Azriel, wait." Elain seemed to be roused by his actions, opening her hands to press her palms against the plain of his chest. He paused his movement against her throat, inhaling more of her scent deeply as he began to pull back.
"Azriel?"
The voice was unfamiliar, husky and choked, holding back emotion. Hurt bloomed through Azriel's chest and it startled him away from Elain. Anger rose within him at this stranger's interruption, at the hurt they'd caused Elain. Elain who was his mate. His lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl, driven by instinct. His eyes moved towards the doorway. He felt naked, at a disadvantage without the shadows that had followed him for most of his life, always whispering, always alerting him to the movement of others.
His eyes fixed on the feminine figure in the doorway, taking a cursory gaze over the long golden hair that pooled to her shoulders. She wore night court attire, loose-fitting dark trousers, and a thin-strapped top that hugged the top of her form and flowed out over the obvious swell of her abdomen. The trousers cut off at the calves and a swirl of shadows danced around her feet. Azriel started. They were his shadows.
Elain jumped to her feet, the wooden chair pulled up beside the bed hit the carpeted floor with a thud as she made to move away from Azriel. His hands moved to grab her, to pull her behind him as he struggled to his feet, to protect her from this thief that had infiltrated his home.
"Y/N...This isn't...We weren't, it was..."Elain trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for how to continue. Azriel, now upright but still unsteady, staggered forward a few steps to place himself in between the stranger and Elain.
"Who are you?" He demanded. Elain obviously knew this woman. His mind spun, thoughts still heavy from the lingering fever as he tried to piece the information together. He gestured at the floor, a signal for his shadows to return. Some of them peeled away from winding up the calves of this stranger and slithered towards him across the floor. He took comfort in the familiar cool trail left as they crawled up his legs and chest, curling around his ear to report to him.
Safe, they whispered. Safe as you instructed. Azriel frowned, clearly they were mistaken. He fixed his eyes on the female again, drawn to her face. Chartreuse eyes, lined with tears and framed with long lashes and dark charcoal, stared back at him. They weren't fae he realised, they possessed the otherworldly quality he'd only seen when looking at Amren. There was a deep sense of other about this female that heightened his feelings of unease, coupled with the rogue shadows that flaunted his command and stayed at her feet like loyal guard dogs Azriel automatically grazed his thigh looking for the reassurance of the heavy weight of truth-teller. He found none.
Elain was speaking again, trying to move forward past him, and this time he successfully caught her arm, gently angling her away from the infiltrator to shield her with his body once more. The female's gaze moved from his face to fix where his hand remained on Elain's bicep, rucking up the delicate pale pink fabric as he gripped it with his scarred fingers. Her eyes widened more, Azriel studied as her pouted bottom lip began to tremble and the tears began to spill down her face. She took a step back from where she stood in the open doorway, retreating into the hallway. Azriel was torn between the instinct to follow, to press the advantage he'd unwittingly gained and staying to protect Elain.
Elain who was violently shrugged herself out of his grip, whirling to face him her face filled with anger he'd never seen on her delicate features before.
"What in the cauldron are you doing?" Elain's teeth were bared, her chestnut eyes blazed as she gestured at him widely as she continued. "Have you lost your mind?"
Azriel, surprised at her sudden anger, felt a deep sense of unease that he'd misjudged the situation somehow. His mind whirled, this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was so used to having the upper hand, having all the information, that without it he was lost for words. Elain continued to back away from him and his eyes darted from her to the doorway which now stood empty, no signs of the mysterious female remained. Azriel's eyes fixed again on Elain's face as they stared at each other. He tugged at the cord in his chest, hoping to receive a response, some kind of assurance that he hadn't imagined it.
A deep sense of betrayal coursed back through the bond, anger mingled with hurt, the sensation was so strong that it almost brought Azriel to his knees. As quickly as the sensation came it stopped, the thread no longer sung and Azriel tried to follow it to the source. A source, he realised flinching, that didn't end with Elain but seemed to trail off and lead elsewhere.
The clap as a pair of powerful wings moved through the air was the only warning as seconds later Rhys landed on the balcony. The doors flew open on a wave of darkness as he sauntered into the room, violet eyes scanning the scene. A dark brow crooked as he took in Elain's rage and his brother half-naked, still flush with fever his shadows swirling in agitation.
"What happened? Azriel, should you be out of bed? Where's Madja?" He addressed his brother first, but his eyes drifted to Elain as he cocked his head for the answer to the second question. Elain took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself, before closing her eyes - an obvious invitation, she wanted to show Rhys. Azriel decided that she could show him whatever she wanted. The more pressing issue, the unknown female, would have to take priority over whatever punishment the High Lord wanted to concoct over Azriel's blatant disregard for his orders.
"Rhys, the stranger - you have to find her. I don't know how she got in. I woke without my shadows and they were with her, she took them."
Rhy's eyes moved between him and Elain as he seemed to piece together the course of events. He took a step forward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as Azriel bristled.
"Az." His voice was low, comforting, like he was trying to soothe a cornered predator. "Everything is okay, why don't you take a seat. Feyre's on her way, I think we need to talk."
A/N I'm hoping to start working on Part 2 asap but not sure how long it will take, I have so many ideas for this and committing to them is so hard
#azriel x reader#azriel x female!reader#azriel x oc#acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel spymaster#elain archeron#elain x azriel
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
FFFF: Froggie's Fuckin' Fancy Foray
In a previous post I was debating whether I should go to the Sam's near me, which requires a short 11 minute drive, but the path to get there is quite stressful due to traffic and construction and frustrating detours onto narrow side streets.
There was even a time when a bunch of signs got knocked over or removed and I accidentally went down an unfinished road that dead-ended into a pile of rocks. That was a fun moment. Especially when people stared at me as I did some improvised off-roading to get turned around.
Like I said... STRESSFUL.
Or I could head the other direction across the river into Illinois.
A scenic 22 minute drive with empty highways to a much nicer Sam's. The extra 20 minutes of total drive time is a lot, especially after all the walking required to collect my groceries. And I feared it would test my energy limits, since I had to go to Sam's and Schnucks to get all of the groceries I needed. Sam's is great, but sometimes I just don't need seven dozen of something.
I was having a decent energy day, so the scenic route won.
My plan was to go to Sam's for the bulk of my groceries and then drive all the way back across the river, past my house, and go to the Schnucks that stocks my favorite new fancy Fitz's soda. Which would add another 30 minutes of driving. Though I figured if I wasn't feeling up to it, I could go to Schnucks another day.
But as I stood in the Sam's parking lot holding a five dollar rotisserie chicken, an idea struck me... "Maybe there is a Schnucks near here."
I opened Maps and to my dismay, there was a Schnucks just down the street and for three entire years I never thought to check.
Literally half a mile down the street.
I think we are all familiar with the concept of chain stores varying in quality depending on the area they are located.
There is a Schnucks only 1.2 miles from my home. It is what I would call "tolerable."
Let's deem this location "TS" for Tolerable Schnucks.
TS is clean and has all of the essentials but they try to shove ten pounds of Schnucks into a five pound bag. It is cramped and poorly stocked and the lighting is somehow extra florescent.
They managed to squeeze in a decent deli, but that is where the niceties end. They usually have one register open even if the checkout line wraps around the dairy section. I have yet to find a less busy time to go. It's always filled to the brim with people—morning, noon, and night.
And, frustratingly, they rarely stock my new botique soda obsession, Fitz's.
I allow myself one occasional sugary treat to manage the cravings and I never know if they are going to have it.
However, if I travel an extra 15 minutes then I can upgrade to the Schnucks I would call "nice." So we'll go with "NS" for Nice Schnucks.
Weirdly the NS is near the "tolerable" Sam's (no acronym because that would be confusing with Tolerable Schnucks (TS)). They are only 3 minutes apart but the store quality difference is pretty drastic. If I have the energy, I will try to stop at both places in one trip since they are so near each other.
NS is a much bigger store than TS and they even have a bigger selection to go with that extra space. I have to get my fancy soda there because I guess TS figured "let's just fill the aisle with Diet Coke and nothing else." NS has a much bigger deli and full bakery and a fish person and even a quaint little floral department. They usually have multiple registers open and they stay open past 8pm so you can go when it isn't busy. The lighting is a little better, they keep things in stock, and they even have half-sized shopping carts that are easier to push if you only need a few things.
I thought that was the gold standard for Schnucks.
As nice as it gets.
But then I discovered this new Schnucks near the Nice Sam's and that assertion was about to be shattered.
Let me introduce you to the FFS.
The Fuckin' Fancy Schnucks.
The first thing you notice at the FFS is the front has well-maintained landscaping. Like, proper shrubbery.
That's fuckin' fancy.
The second you enter the store you are greeted with a fully staffed floral department.
It felt like if Valentine's Day could manifest a jungle. Brightly colored flowers everywhere surrounded by mylar balloons wishing people happy whatevers.
Then I turned the corner to see the biggest Schnucks of my life. With one entire side of the store dedicated to bespoke food items.
They got a deli.
They got a bakery.
They got a fish person.
They got another fish person who just makes sushi all day.
They have an entire wall of prepared food items made at the store daily. Sandwiches and salads and pastas and full chickens. They even make their own frozen pizzas.
And then I noticed... the Meat Masters.
They have their own damned butcher on staff!
I found myself just going up and down all of the aisles and discovering new things the other Schnuckses never stock. The soup aisle was ridiculous. I was getting pretty tired and I was paralyzed by too many choices. So I decided to just get my normal boring soups and come back another time to explore the Fancy Soup Section.
The FSS at the FFS, if you will.
And the lighting was just so much more pleasant. It didn't feel like a 90s office building.
And look at that flooring. Did they hire an interior designer?
TS & NS just have generic square tiles.
I mean, I guess making some of them blue is something. But even the ceiling is drab comparatively.
And look at the TS Zapp's display compared to the displays at FFS.
I will say, TS takes much better care of their robot friend. FFS stuck their robot in a very undignified location.
This Roomba with a giant erection spends all day counting stuff and they stick him next to the men's room? Let him hang out with the Meat Masters or the fish people.
This is how a robot uprising starts.
The soda aisle was at the end of the store so I arrived there last. I was nervous they might not have my beloved bottled soda pop. Not only did they have it, but they also had 4 other flavors I didn't even know existed.
I guess you could say the FFS had an FFFS!
(Fuckin' Fancy Fitz's Section)
I got that same feeling when you unlock bonus items in a video game. I don't know what the difference is between cream soda and "cardinal" cream soda... but I'm gonna find out!
Update from Future Froggie: It's fuckin' tasty!
So...
Future Froggie approves of Fuckin' Tasty Fitz's Soda from the Fuckin' Fancy Fitz's Section at the Fuckin' Fancy Schnucks and is sad Nice Schnucks and Tolerable Schnucks Failed Future Froggie with their Lacking Fancy Fitz's Soda Section.
Or...
FF approves of FTFS from the FFFS at the FFS and is sad NS & TS FFF with their LFFSS.
Got all that?
I loaded up the FTFS and my frozen pizzas and my non-fancy soups and headed over to the registers. They had 3 lanes open despite hardly anyone shopping at the time. I didn't have to wait in the dairy section for 25 minutes. So I justified that extra drive time and then some. Because standing in line is harder than sitting and driving.
So I guess I answered my question about which path to choose. If only I had known about the FFS earlier I would have forgone NS and Tolerable Sam's and just drove the extra 20 minutes across the Mississippi River to and from MO & IL.
On the one hand, it is kind of depressing that just like public schools, property taxes dictate the quality of vital stores in our communities. I mean, these are stores run by the same company. I know the physical property can necessitate some variation due to size and configuration differences. But it's clear they are pumping a lot more resources into the FFS. Not just more cashiers with a bagger on every lane, but actual experts in flowers and fish and baking and deli.
And who knows how much a MoM costs. (Master of Meat)
On the other hand...
We live in a society and can't fix capitalism overnight and all that.
I need my FTFS and FSS at the FFS, okay?
203 notes
·
View notes
Text
London Will Burn - Chapter Sixteen.
Here it is, besties. The final chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read and offer such warm words of encouragement along the way. They mean the world to me! :)
Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen
Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed
Words - 3,910
Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.
“So, where has the ginger twat taken my granddaughter today, then?”
Rin closed her eyes, counting to ten in her head. “Woburn Safari Park. She told him how much she was missing all the animals back in Africa, so he said he’d take her to where she could see a few of the same.”
It was becoming tiresome, her mother’s unchanged attitude regarding the father of her child. “Mum, you honestly have to stop being so hostile towards him. It shan’t be good, going forward, with him being in our lives to the extent that he will be. I’m not asking you to like him, but a little civility wouldn’t go amiss.”
Diane was resolute, crispy turning the next page in the copy of Hello magazine before her on the island. “I will never be anything close to civil with that piece of shit.”
This did not bode well. Not since she and Sean were... well, Rin wasn’t entirely sure what they were, exactly. Dating? Co-parenting with extras until he earned her trust? They’d been out a couple of times by that point, two dates the week before, one that had ended up in a sleepover at his place. Not that they’d slept much. God, he’d given her such a thorough shagging, she was still glowing from it four days on.
Yes. It was dating, she had to admit that it was. Furthermore, she was enjoying every second of it, when her guard slipped enough for her to do so.
“It’s a pity that you can’t put your own feelings aside for Tiger’s sake,” she spoke, continuing to do her stretches. She and Sokoro were off for a run, Rin glad to have a Saturday morning to herself to do it at a reasonable hour for once, enjoying a blissful lie in until 8am that morning as opposed to being out of the house by 6am.
Her mother viewed her through shrewd eyes, cocking her head slightly. “Is it purely for Tiger’s sake, Catherine?” The slight colouring of her daughter’s cheeks sealed it, though Rin did not utter a single word. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re not, are you? With him?”
She was not in the mood for verbal combat that morning, but it looked like she was about to foray into it all the same. “I am, yes. I’m seeing how it goes with him. He’s genuinely sorry, mum, and I do see that. I need to get to a place of trust with him, though, and he told me he intends to prove himself there.”
“But what he did to you!”
“Is seven years in the past,” she interjected with, lifting her leg to the stool before her to tighten her shoelaces. “He would have absolutely nothing to gain from trying to be nefarious all over again. He has what he wants. I elevated him, made him rich and powerful once more, and he knows only too well what would happen to him, should he attempt to upset the apple cart. I do believe he is earnest, but I want to see if for myself.”
Diane snorted, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “I think you’re barmy.”
“Yeah?” Lifting her chin, she pulled the laces sharply, double knotting the bow. “And I think, mum, with all the respect in the world, it’s none of your bloody business. Look how far I’ve come under my own merit and judgement. I am not an eighteen-year-old any longer who fell in love with a man she shouldn’t have, a man who had the agenda of his father pressing upon him. Finn is gone; it’s just Sean now. Believe me, he isn’t his dad.”
“Wouldn’t have lost it all in the first place if he was.” Rin realised that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with her mother, so simply kissed her cheek and told her she’d be back later, heading out to find Sokoro in the courtyard, lightly jogging in place.
“Let us depart now, eh, boss? Let’s run past the palace, wave to the King and Queen on our way!” Ever since arriving in London, her dear friend had been hellbent on getting a glimpse of the royal family. He’d scared a poor woman half to death one time while in Waitrose, asking very loudly if she was the Princess of Wales. She had not been, merely bearing a very uncanny resemblance to Princess Catherine.
“So, I hear you and your mother having shouting's this morning before we leave, eh?”
Having shouting’s. How she loved his turns of phrase. “We were, yes. We indeed had words with one another.”
“Over the ging... over Sean, yes?”
She liked that, that at least Sokoro was trying hard not to be hostile towards the father of her child, no matter how protective he was of her and Tiger. “Yes, over Sean. She’s very hardheaded, my mother. What kills me is the fact I think even my dad would have softened by now, and you know how ferocious he could be.”
Sokoro raised his eyebrows, wiping his clammy forehead on the back of his arm. “Kevin was nothing if not a force to be reckoned with, eh?” Pausing as they turned the corner, beginning to run down The Mall approaching Buckingham Palace, he then continued. “But I do agree, eh, I think that he would see how much he has taken to the role of Tiger’s father and not condemn him as your mother does. He ah, he did say something to me, back when she was a baby.”
Immediately, she slowed, jogging in place. “What?”
Sokoro looked uncomfortable, like he wished he’d have thought on his last sentence prior to its delivery. “Ah, I should probably not say, eh. Even though he is gone, I do not want to betray your father’s confidentiality.”
“Bollocks,” she spoke strongly, her eyes widened a fraction. “I’m here, he’s not. Tell me.”
Sokoro shook his head, his own in place jogging coming to a halt. “Okay, okay. We break here. It has been five kilometres.” Moving to a bench at the side of The Mall, he took a seat, swigging from his bottle of water.
“Your father, after Tiger was born, he pull me aside and he tell me all about it, how she came to be, how Sean betrayed you, etcetera. He tell me he was not only heartbroken for you because he know you love the man who got you pregnant despite what you tell him to the contrary, but because he always like Sean.
“He tell me he see him as perfect suitor for you, before all the shit with the sex video, eh. He tell me that if he ever could see you with anyone, it was Sean Wallace, because you are both so similar. But he say most of all, he see you with him because Sean would never stop you from being who you are. We stood outside of the lodge and I remember, he say he wanted to tell him about the baby, because he thought it might change him for the better, make him a good man for you again, but he would not do that to you, not ever. But he say it, Catherine.”
His words hit her square in the chest, the opinion her father held in secret. He’d wanted them to be together, but for the sake of her heart in all its damage done by Sean, never told anyone that other than Sokoro. It left her feeling like something was opening up within her, letting the light in to where she had been shadowed and jaded for the last seven years.
Her father, as it happened, was not as hardened as she’d thought. He’d seen the true Sean too at some point. He’d known that the man he was, and the one he was moulded into by Finn were truly not the same person.
“Did he say anything else?” she pressed with, Sokoro shrugging lightly.
“He say he hate him for what he did to you, this is natural of course, eh. But he also say he know he put him between a rock and a hard place, and with the weight of Finn Wallace bearing down on him, he know, and I quote, “the kid cracked under the pressure, and made my Catherine the fall when I doubt he really wanted to.” I think your dad, he see the same you do in Sean. A man who did what he did so he did not sink under the greater weight.”
It was hard to take in, the enormity of what Sokoro was telling her. Part of her wanted to shred him to pieces verbally for keeping it from her for so long, but most of her saw clearly that he was simply being a man of his word. Her father had shared his thoughts in secret with him, and Sokoro was nothing if not a bona fide confidant.
In all of this, her father’s opinion was something she had desperately wished she could call upon, to know if she was doing the right thing. Now, she had it. It wasn’t first hand, but she knew now that should her dear dad have still been with them, he’d have likely welcomed her and Sean finding a way back to one another.
“Are you okay?”
Sokoro’s question roused her from the daze she’d fallen into, Rin shaking herself with a small smile as she turned to him. “I am, you know. I really am.”
“Come on, let us continue. I feel Queen Camilla at the windows waiting for my jolly smile and wave!” He nudged her with a soft elbow as she got up, laughing and sipping her water before on they continued towards the palace. Their jog landed them back at Mulford Hall just before 10:30am, both immediately heading upstairs to take a shower each, Rin returning to hear the usual Kenyan merriment in the kitchen.
“What are you lot giggling about?” she asked, moving to the fridge to get out some fruit and yogurt, Sokoro, Marcus and Silas all sitting around the island, huge grins fixed in place.
“We are discussing the slang of your motherland, boss,” Marcus spoke, still partially hissing with laughter. “We see on Twitter somebody call Donald Trump a fuck billed twattypus and we all say, it could have been you! It sounds like something you say!”
“We learn so many British cusses from you. Knob, shit bag, twat, bloody fucking bastard,” Silas then weighed in with, counting them off on his fingers as he chuckled with glee.
“Or when she call you twat waffles and you thought it is some kind of British breakfast cereal,” Sokoro chimed, Marcus waving his hands in dismissal as the men roared.
“It sounds like it, though! I had no idea that twat was slang for the female anatomy until we met Catherine!” he laughed, Rin in absolute stitches as she closed the fridge door. They kept her entertained as she went about preparing her breakfast, Sokoro sorting himself and the other guys with gigantic vegetable omelettes and toast.
With a day to herself, she decided to relax before her masseuse arrived, Jenna giving her a much-needed rub down and easing of tension from her locked up back, several knots clicking and cracking under her expert hands. It was a day of pure bliss, her child not arriving back until 7pm, Sean stating that he was also taking her to the museum and out for dinner as well, carrying a very sleepy Tiger into the house. He looked completely shattered himself.
“I’ll take her,” Diane bustled coldly, fixing him with a glare. No, Rin’s words hadn’t sunk in any further. Luckily, Sean didn’t react with any negativity whatsoever.
“Thank you, Diane. It’s nice to see you again, you’re looking very well.”
She turned away from him, her lips slightly pursed. “I wish I could say the same.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
Rin reached for his face, giving him a kiss. “Maybe one day she might finally thaw.” While he expected as much from her mother, he did note that Rin seemed to be behaving more freely with him, making the first move to offer affection. “So, did you and our baby have a good day?”
Right on cue, he yawned. “A tiring one. I’ve been up since 5am, she decided she couldn’t sleep so we took Butch for a walk for an hour, one I ended up carrying her on my back for half of before dropping him off with Minnie for the day.” Hugging her, he rested his chin on her head, Rin laughing softly at the fake snoring noises he began making. “She has abundant energy, though. I don’t know how you cope full time.”
Emerging from beneath his chin, she smoothed her hands down his chest. “I’m used to it, as you’ll become, too. Can I get you a coffee before you fall asleep on me?”
He nodded, kissing her forehead. “Please.”
“Alright, go and rest your weary bones.” He moved to the sitting room and she the kitchen, taking a seat on the sofa and beginning to browse his phone. It might have been a Saturday night, he might have been shattered, but he had a few work-related emails he needed to at least check in with, planning on putting in some time the following morning in his office at home to be nicely ahead for the coming working week.
“Oh, you’re here.” Looking up, he met the narrowed eyes of Diane, the matriarch of the Cavanaugh household taking a seat on the adjacent sofa, eyeing him with her usual level of distain.
“Hello again, Diane,” he smiled, attempting to at least be cordial with the woman. The truth was, he had little to no issue with her, but goodness, she certainly gripped tightly upon the grudge she held towards him. “How are you?”
“I’d be much better if you weren’t here.”
He expected little less than such hostility, but knew he couldn’t meet it like for like. “I understand that, I do. I will be here, though, in your lives. Your daughter and granddaughter are very important to me.”
She picked up a copy of Tatler magazine from the coffee table, huffing as the pages were flicked through with mild irritation. “Until the next chance to use her in your quest for power presents itself. Men like you don’t change, Sean.”
He felt his temper flicker into life, the corner of his mouth twitching. He wouldn’t let her spark it into roaring flame, though. She was probably trying deliberately to wheedle such a response from him, purely so she could point her finger. “As I explained to Catherine, I am in no position to do that. Your daughter has elevated me to my former status, more so, in fact. I have my company, I have my standing, and I have a hell of a lucrative income because of her. I don’t truly have what I want the most, though. Trust me, fucking her over would not be conducive to me attaining it.”
“Oh, wouldn’t it?” she spoke, each word biting in its chilly delivery.
“No,” he spoke with a shrug, his smile widening, “because what I want most is her. I love your daughter, perhaps the most honestly and genuinely I have ever loved anyone. Trust me, my intentions towards her are not what you assume them to be. Far from it.”
He didn’t know, but out in the corridor, Rin stood, coffee in hand, grinning like an idiot to hear him coolly standing up to her mother. She might have known it already, but hearing him state that what he wanted most was her almost provoked a squeak of pure joy.
“Well, I shan’t be doing that any time soon, Sean,” she bustled, just as Rin walked in.
“That’s up to you, I suppose,” he replied, taking the coffee from Rin. “Thank you, darling. I think I might need three more just to stay awake. So, are you still coming with me when I go back up to Manchester on Thursday? We could take Tiger too, make a weekend of it once I am done with Friday’s meetings. We could take her to the art gallery, with her flair for the artistic I’m sure she’d enjoy it.”
She beamed widely. “Yes, great idea, I’d love to. It’ll mean getting her out of her pit early, I suppose. I was surprised you told me she’s been up since five this morning, that child loves her kip.”
“Isn’t this all so very cosy,” Diane muttered sarcastically, shaking her head. “Forgetting conveniently what that vile shit of a man did to you.”
Rin’s hand clenched into a fist where she rested it upon Sean’s thigh, her eyebrows knitting as she sighed. “Which is a mistake he both admits and apologises for, mum. I’ve let it go. You need to as well.”
“I can’t! Not when...” she began, the Tatler magazine cast aside. She didn’t get very far in her retort, though.
“Enough, mum,” her daughter spoke, with quiet firmness as she stared at her. “That’s seriously enough, now. I’m sick of dealing with your attitude. What happens between Sean and I is honestly none of your business, and I am fucking tired of you making it just that. This is my life, you need to but out and stop treating me like a child. That’s the end of it. Sean, come on. Let's move locations.”
He stood gladly, taking his coffee and following her out without further word, Diane sitting there floundering at being shot down so efficiently by her eldest child. “We both stood our ground with her, and didn’t raise our voices once,” he observed, moving up the grand staircase beside her, pausing to gulp back a little more coffee, save it spilling and Diane becoming furtherly vexed towards him.
Rin raised her eyebrows. “We must be growing up, at last.” Arriving in her bedroom, she swung the door open, walking through to where she’d had a little bit of a makeover of the large room, the former section dedicated to her desk and workout items over at the far side by her window now containing a small sofa and television set on the mantle above the fireplace. The space most definitely had more of a grown up feel to it than it had when Sean had been in there last.
Sitting down beside her, he finished his coffee while they chatted on how best to handle her mother, both agreeing to be staunch without rising to her need to argue the toss constantly. The coffee was sadly no match for his tiredness, though, Sean waking with a start hours later to darkness, finding himself draped in a comfortable throw. The bed his sleeping love occupied looked much more comfortable.
“I was wondering if I’d have a companion at some point,” she murmured, turning to cuddle up to his nakedness after he’d undressed and gotten under the covers. “What time is it?”
“Half past two. I’d say time to go back to sleep, but I’m wide awake.”
She grinned into the darkness as his hands felt their way to her, pulling her even closer, lifting her leg to rest over his hip. “Mmm,” she hummed, feeling the hard of his cock press against her abdomen. “Yes, you definitely are, aren’t you?” Her hand reached between them, curling around his cock, working him lazily as she felt the sleepiness slipping away, ducking her head to begin placing hot, open-mouthed kisses upon his neck.
He lay there in a daze of sexual fog clouding him for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of what her hand evoked within before his own reached for her, stroking her softly, feeling her begin to dampen his fingers. Pushing them inside her, his mouth then founds hers, her teeth crushing a soft bite upon his lower lip. Those kisses, all sugared embers and need, began to gain rapid heat, hands working upon one another with more vigour until Sean turned her, slotting himself between her legs and arrowing into her fully with one fluid motion.
She swallowed back his moans as their tongues swirled, her groin prickling pleasantly, nerve endings singing their bliss against the thick swell of his cock as he dragged her walls deftly. It was heavenly, wet velvet softly flexing around hot steel, their veins warming, Rin crying out softly at feeling him burying himself within her again and again.
With his mouth at her neck, consuming her with such all-encompassing force, all that existed was him, that moment, the sound of his groans in her ear as his tongue glided across the column of her throat. Him, just him. He was all she wanted, and to hell with what her mother thought of that.
Trembling against the lean bulk of his chest, the lightning bounced beneath her skin, the weight of him centring, driving himself into her plush wetness, causing moans she barely recognised to be hers. How she had longed for a lover with this kind of skill while they’d been parted, but beneath him there in her bed, she realised she could look forever but never find in a single other person what she had with Sean.
His hips arrowed down purposefully, giving way to a slight rotation that had her floating in the stars, her fingers raking through his hair as she arched up against him, teeth nipping his thick shoulder as her nails grazed his back, digging in and clawing when he began to gain momentum.
She was molten beneath him, singed by the wildfire of his fuck, her walls beginning to flutter around him as his soaking cock pounded her hard, mouth lowering to suck at her nipples, making her come apart beneath him with surging force, Sean coming just moments after her.
They fell asleep that night entangled, swathed in the blanket of one another, Rin awaking early the following morning. The sunlight streamed in, the sound of the Westminster bells softly tolling, yawning as she stretched. Looking up, she was greeted by the sight of smiling blue eyes, shifting up a little to place a soft kiss upon his lips.
There they were again, just as they had been seven years before. Sunday morning, bell song and sunshine.
“I love you.”
He smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “Finally.”
Finally, indeed.
Finally, they had everything they’d been looking for. Finally, they had love and peace, and finally, although it took her almost two years after that morning to see that Sean was entirely genuine, they had Diane’s support. After all, the mother of the bride couldn’t very well have a sour face on at the wedding of her eldest daughter. Not after she’d bared witness to seeing just how happy the man waiting for her at the altar had truly made her.
In fact, Diane’s tears of joy as they were pronounced husband and wife were the greatest of all the guests, watching Rin held tightly by her new husband, and the complete and utter adoration they viewed one another with. Neither noticed it, though, lost in one another as they kissed, Sean stroking her face with his thumbs as he rested his forehead to hers, repeating the word he had spoken two years prior, when they had truly reconnected.
“Finally.”
The End.
#sean wallace fanfiction#sean wallace smut#gangs of london fanfiction#gangs of london#sean wallace x ofc#sean wallace fanfic#sean wallace fic#joe cole#gangs of london fanfic#gangs of london fic#london will burn#sean and rin
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
F L A U N T
TRAVIS FIMMEL
Girl's Gotta Eat
There are paths seen and unseen. There are paths taken. There are the Midwestern housewives who sit at home, who formerly popped bennies and ran topless through every jam band show at the local amphitheater. There are the vagrant, longhaired transients who receive stares as they push their cart of nothings around sweaty Southern towns, that formerly received stares only because they were professing at the front of a philosophy class. There are the attention-deficit young men, oft chastised for their inability to focus, but given open creativity, become playwrights and screenwriters. There are the balladeers. There are the celebrities. There is the you. There is the me. And there is Travis Fimmel, sitting in a hotel room in Vancouver, freezing his balls off. His is a story of barefooted farm boy turned bare-bodied model turned actor.
“It’s bloody cold,” he says in a relaxed Australian drawl. Of course it is. Fimmel grew up helping out on the family farm in a small town on the fork of two rivers in the middle of sunburnt Australia. He’s currently in the benumbed west Canadian port city filming Duncan Jones’ Warcraft: a film of epic proportion and expectation. But despite the video game-based spin-off, one gets the feeling Fimmel is the kind of lad who would much rather be chopping wood than mashing plastic buttons on a gaming controller. “I’d never heard of it,” he freely admits.
The path begins. When I ask about his early foray into Australian-rules football, he concedes what stymied the course, “Yeah but I sucked at it, man, I was very bad.” And thus he skipped the sporting life and tried college, “I didn’t pass any classes becauseI didn’t end up showing up—I was doing project managing for construction, like a foreman. Architecture and commerce [was the] main part of the course, I didn’t really want to go to college, I was just trying to fill in time…but then I ended up going overseas.” Fimmel wasn’t meant to be a paper-pushing desk jockey; just as Paul fucking Newman wasn’t meant to sling charred chicory at nine-to-fivers. With those baby blues and gilded locks it wasn’t long before Fimmel was modeling, most notably for Calvin Klein and most times wearing not a stitch. Previously Fimmel has played down his years of modeling, crediting favorable lighting, advanced cameras, and Photoshop for his looks and success. In fact, it’s speculated—and blatantly obvious upon viewing—that Fimmel was the inspiration behind Samantha’s washed-out brick-bod lover—“Jerry” Smith Jerrod—on Sex and the City.
The path winds. “Wound up in L.A., got into an acting class and then that’s where I started acting. I had no idea, never wanted to do this stuff, still don’t really want to do it, mate,” he admits. Fimmel is even-keeled, he exudes a thoughtless vibe, and as much as Fimmel plays it all down, one even has to question how hard he worked to get to his current status. Sometimes his nonchalant nature can come off as arrogant, and it’s easy to imagine he’s often misunderstood, but couldn’t care less; he’s just riding the wave. At first, Fimmel took jobs everyone in Hollywood thought would pay dividends but floundered [see: WB’s Tarzan] until he grew a beard and started swinging an axe. Ah, the farm boy swinging the axe again. It’s in History Channel’s Vikings that Fimmel found his niche, receiving acclaim for his portrayal of the contemplative but merciless, Ragnar Lothbrok, a deep-thinking maniac from Viking Age Europe. There is a swagger to his character that is maintained somewhere within Fimmel. When I ask about his association with Ragnar, he states, “Every guy that I know that fights is always the quietest guy in the room; I just try to think more than talk. You’ll always learn more by listening rather than being the loudest guy in the room. And whatever you do, you do because you enjoy it, so I try to make my character enjoy fighting.”
The path straightens. And so we find ourselves back in that Vancouver hotel room, freezing our balls off with Fimmel, as he’s in the midst of shooting the biggest film of his career. With all the aloofness Fimmel radiates, it piques one’s interest to know what he really is passionate about: “Farming, mate. That’s whatI want to do. I love the country. It’s hard to explain. When you grow up in the country you just enjoy it so much. I love animals and I love trees and anything country.”
And, lastly, that beard that’s quickly becoming his trademark: “It just grew I guess, I couldn’t for ages. I would have loved to grow one when I was a kid, I would have loved to have gone to prom and school and shit with a beard.”
Nothing to do with shedding the barefaced image of your Calvin Klein days? “[Audibly scoffs] Shit. I couldn’t grow one then. Otherwise I would have had one.”
That would have been a different path.
15 notes
·
View notes
Note
Care manual for your Fluff:
Allow access to heated blanket
Access to pet-able pokémon
Snack in easy reach
Sunlight if desired
UV lamp for bad days
Neoprene braces in easy reach
Allow for at least 4 hours for cooing over Pokémon
Allow time for gathering interesting rocks
Time for indulgence in special interests
Keep some painkillers in reach
anon i am literally taking notes. if i ever need a live-in caretaker, you are hired. also? augh my bedside table is so messy, it's practically a hospital crash cart.
most of the interesting rocks i gather are from underground forays-- i'm bad at identifying them, but i like to take them back and clean them up. I don't really believe in a lot of crystal mysticism-- I guess there's no room in me left for faith. But I do believe that they will cure me of my desire to have pockets full of rocks! I think it would be cool to make them into an art project someday; maybe I could learn wire wrapping and make jewelry?
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Man from Black Water, Chapter 16
A/N Alright, we’re moving into the home stretch, but first, someone really needs to give Murtagh a bath. Plus, Hamlet needs to be found. Whoever is up to the task?
Previous chapters are available on my AO3 page.
“It isna bad, a goistidh. A far cry from the gutrot ye usually make.”
Jamie and Murtagh sat in the shelter of the older man’s wagon, three booted legs extended towards a blazing fire. Nearby, the River Ericht burbled ceaselessly. The night was cold enough to see one’s breath, but the peaty whisky Murtagh poured into their tin cups more than compensated.
“Do ye still have the bottles I gave ye?” Murtagh inquired.
“Aye. I havena had the chance tae see about selling them.”
Murtagh rose stiffly and hopped to the cart, sliding out a wooden crate that clanked as he made his way back to the fire.
“Take them wi’ ye tae Dundee,” he advised, pushing the crate of bottles against Jamie’s thigh. “They willna be enough fer the lass’ dowry, but t’will give ye a good beginning.”
“Now hold on…” Jamie began to protest, knowing his godfather lived on next to nothing and had worked most of his life to produce this first batch of decent whisky. Murtagh held up a hand to forestall Jamie’s protests.
“Yer father and I built tha’ still t’gether. Twas he that brought the copper pot o’er the pass from Braemar. As his only heir, that makes ye a full partner.”
Jamie shook his head, moved once again by his godfather’s practical but heartfelt generosity. He knew from experience that there was no point in further protest, so he simply took another drink, enjoying the smoky burn in the back of his throat. It really was quite tolerable stuff.
“Ye reckon there’s enough profit tae split twa ways?” he teased, leaning over the crate and counting nine bottles of various sizes.
“Better drink up,” the old man advised. “Could be all yet get from the partnership.”
The next morning the two men rolled into Dundee, having decided to sell the whisky together so Murtagh could stock up on provisions before the winter. Instead of steering the cart towards the nearest tavern, Jamie guided them instead to a filthy alley that smelled of piss.
“What are ye up tae, lad? We need tae sell this liquor afore the law gets wind o’ what we’re about and locks us both up.”
Jamie asked for five minutes of forebearance, dismounted Donas and trotted away. Not three minutes later he was back with second wooden crate, this one full of clean glass containers, identical and empty.
“Are ye daft, boy?” Murtagh lamented. “We already had jars an’ now ye’ve gone and spent profits we dinna have…”
Murtagh broke off as he watched Jamie carefully decant the whisky into the new bottles. Because of their uniform size, they now had twelve bottles, not nine. The old man grunted in acknowledgement. Not quite done with surprising his godfather, Jamie then brandished a pen. Lips pursed in concentration, his bold cursive soon adorned the plain label on each bottle. Murtagh picked up the nearest bottle and examined it. Watching his godfather out of the corner of his eye, Jamie saw his face go slack.
Sassenach Whisky
Glen Isla, Perthshire
1885
The dual meaning of the name had come to Jamie the previous night as they sat in quiet companionship beneath the stars. A Sassenach woman had inspired Murtagh’s foray into spirit making. God willing, her Sassenach daughter would benefit from the result.
“Now we dinna have tae hide from the excisemen,” Jamie said once he had returned the pen to the owner of the mercantile store. “An’ we can charge more fer each bottle.”
“We may make a whisky smuggler o’ ye yet, lad,” Murtagh said with pride.
***
The following night the two men once again sat at their camp by the Ericht, considerably cleaner and well-fed. The whisky enterprise had netted them five pounds each, more money than Jamie made in a month as a labourer. He’d insisted they spend one night in a hotel, where Murtagh had been introduced to the unaccounted joy of indoor plumbing with heated water. Jamie had been concerned he might have to forcibly remove the old man from the tub, so intense was his delight. With a trimmed beard and freshly laundered clothes, he was barely recognizable.
“Ye’ll be awright?” he asked for the third time, concerned for his godfather’s welfare all alone during a Highland winter. Normally Henry or Jamie would look in on him every few weeks, always disguising their purpose with a semi-plausible excuse of needing the old man’s advice or some implement from his assortment of tools.
“I’ve been lookin’ after myself since afore ye were in nappies, lad. Dinna fash,” Murtagh repeated his standard answer.
Jamie opened his mouth to retort, but a snapping branch sent him to his feet, eyes peering into the darkness.
“Dinna listen tae him, lad,” the darkness spoke. “He loves it when folk fuss o’er him. Fair glories in it.”
The lean form of Hugh Munro stepped out from between the trees, his features menacing as they caught the firelight and at odds with his hearty laugh.
“Thought I would find ye here,” he spoke as he shook Jamie’s hand. “Lookin’ up at yon mountains.”
“The only hame I’ll e’er ken,” Jamie confirmed, feeling the twist of homesickness in his gut. If it weren’t for Claire and his promise to make Lallybroch suitable for her, he’d be up in the vales and glens already.
“Shouldna ye be leagues from here, Munro?” Murtagh groused as he slid over to make room next to the fire. “There’s no cattle here for ye tae drove.”
“I’m headin’ back tae Netherton,” the wayfarer confirmed. Jamie leaned forward, suddenly much more interested in what the man had to say. “An’ tis no’ cattle I’ll be searching fer, but a horse.”
“What?” the two other men spoke as one. Hugh explained that Beauchamp’s prized colt had been set free, and now a call had gone out across the county for men willing to ride out and recover him.
“I reckoned ye might want tae join us,” he directed at Jamie.
The young Scot scoffed. “I’m no’ sucker fer punishment.”
“Tis a shame,” Munro said philosophically. “Beauchamp is sayin’ twas ye that set the horse free.”
“What!” Murtagh exclaimed.
“Me? An’ ye expect me tae come tae his aid? Tis askin’ too much o’ a man.”
Murtagh and Munro exchanged a significant look over the young man’s copper curls.
“Man, ye say?” Murtagh questioned.
“Tis what my faither raised me tae be,” Jamie replied petulantly.
“They say ye’re good wi’ a horse,” Munro interjected. “What do ye do when one bucks ye off.”
“Ye dinna let it get the better o’ ye,” Jamie retorted with no little heat. “Ye get right back on.”
Hugh Munro nodded sagely. Jamie sighed, realizing he’d been beaten by his own words.
“Beauchamp willna want me anywhere near his… property,” he voiced one last feeble objection, not happy with the prospect of seeing Claire again before he had made good on his promise.
“Let me worry about that, lad,” Munro reassured him.
***
The Netherton stableyard was abuzz with the bodies of several dozen men and their horses, all milling about and speaking in raised voices. Into the centre of the crowd rode Henry Beauchamp.
“Gentlemen, I thank you for answering my summons. As you know, my two-year old colt, Hamlet out of Masquerade, was nefariously freed the night before last. Tracks show him fleeing into the hills. Now, I’ve sent out scouts who will signal at the first sign…”
Henry tapered off as Hugh Munro cantered up.
“Munro, thank you for coming.” The Highlander acknowledged the Englishman with a nod, but Henry Beauchamp’s attention was drawn by another figure approaching on horseback.
“What the devil is that outlaw doing here. Come to inspect his handiwork, I suppose,” Henry muttered. “Dougal! I want that man off my property!”
Before the foreman could dispatch his orders, Hugh Munro spoke up.
“If he had done it, he wouldna be here.”
“You don’t really believe that…”
“I asked him along.”
“You did what?” the landlord asked in shock.
“I want him along,” Munro insisted.
Henry Beauchamp shook his head in disbelief. “Have it your way, Munro. He’ll dig his own grave.”
Without wasting any more time, the Englishman rose up on his stirrups and shouted to the crowd.
“There will be a reward, to be distributed amongst you as you see fit, once the colt has been recovered. One hundred pounds!”
A roar went up from the assembled riders. They turned as one and rushed to be the first down the narrow lane.
Jamie held Donas back, knowing there was no point in exhausting him this early in the chase. A slight figure in a simple daydress made her way across the yard to where they stood.
“You’ll be careful?” Claire asked, one hand resting on his knee.
“Aye, Sassenach. Dinna fash. I ken my way around the Highlands blindfolded,” he reassured her with a smile.
“It’s not the Highlands I’m worried about. Dougal and his crew would do anything my father asked, without question.”
Jamie realized she had a point, but he felt confident in his ability to avoid sabotage. He glanced towards the road, where the cloud of dust kicked up by so many horses was moving steadily away.
“Here,” Claire urged. “Take these.” Into his outstretched palm, she dropped three sugar cubes.
“Rollo, guard yer mistress,” he commanded his dog, and with a cheeky smile he cantered down the lane.
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
This is my first foray into the world of drabbles but please gimme allll the feedback! 😊 I just couldn’t get this damn chair idea out of my head so hope y’all enjoy, let me know XD
Summary: You normally aren’t the type to go home with a handsome stranger from the club but today is different. Stressed with life and a long day at work, you let loose for once! But what will the morning after bring?
Pairing: idol!Taehyung x cashier!f!reader.
Rating: PG13 ig lmao
Genre: idol!au, strangers to lovers!au, fluff,
Word Count: 1,787
Warnings: swearing, 2nd hand embarrassment, making out, some hair pulling, mentions of smutty night before, customer service job (yes that’s a warning lmao), sleepy pure bean Tae
You have been living on your own for about a year, and so far, so good until you started your new retail cashier job at a little-bit-of-everything store. It isn't the worst job ever, but it tends to attract all kinds of people in varying shades of odd, so it can be quite mentally draining in addition to all the Karens you encounter. Feeling more tired than usual, you don't even notice the tall, handsome customer walk in and head straight to the back clearance corner where the weird things you might find at a garage sale live.
Until the rest of your coworkers leave for the day, and you are alone because your dumbass manager doesn't know how to make a schedule. So, he has no other option to check out besides you. The sound of approaching shopping cart wheels alerts you to look professional. Still, you almost lose your balance once your eyes focus on this customer. Though his appearance is barely seen with a baggy hoody, baseball cap, and a mask, you can tell this is one handsome dude. The flustered sensation fades slightly once you see him place the only item in his buggy up on the counter to be scanned; a chair with more cake than most people that you threw in the back months ago. Gulping hard at the familiar object, you ask,
Y/N: *turning the chair around to find the tag to scan* “Wi..will this be all for you today, sir?"
CM: *raises an eyebrow with an amused look and chuckles* "Yeah, that's it, but you don't need to be so formal; it looks like I'm not much older than you."
Y/N: *you blush b/c omg he looked at me lmao* "Oh…okay… I didn't mean to offend you; just part of my job. *Bags up the item and places it back in the cart* "Have a nice day…well, what's your name Mr. not old."
CM: *has a fake annoyed look on his face* "Someone is quick-witted, I see… well, sadly for you, I'm not keen on revealing such personal things. Not like this, at least. See you around, Sassy." *Leaves store*
You sit back down on the bench with a hand on your heart beating out of your chest from the mere presence of that man, much less you had playful banter?? And did he just give you a nickname?? Taking a deep breath, you are energized by this interaction and start cleaning up the store so you can leave on time to meet your friends at a new club tonight. One other person comes in before closing, so you can leave work at 8 o'clock on the dot for once! Much as you try not to, you just can't help replaying that mysterious stranger in your head the whole drive home. Once you get home, you blast your upbeat boss bitch vibes playlist as you freshen up and get ready to head to the club.
Entering the club, you spot your friends, and instantly, the stresses of life fade away in the aesthetic lights and boppy music blaring through the stereo. It doesn't hurt that you feel fine as hell, either! After about 2 hours of songs and 2 shots, you sit down at the bar for a breather and some water as you were too busy for dinner, so a couple of shots don't necessarily agree with your stomach despite your attitude feeling fantastic. You close your eyes for a moment as you enjoy the crisp water going down your throat, feeling the cooling sensation all the way down. The relaxation doesn’t last long until you feel a presence beside you. This isn't odd since you are in a public space, but it has the energy of someone waiting to talk to you. Turning to your left and swiftly standing up to show you were stable to whoever was near you didn't work out according to plan. Your legs buckle as soon as you are upright, and you can feel your balance slipping from getting up too quickly as you aren't buzzed enough to be unstable. Thankfully, a solid but gentle pair of arms catch you before you hit the ground and slowly turn you to face him to ensure you are okay. Before any words are said, you recognize him as the customer from earlier today. Your eyes widen suddenly, and you are very nervous about how good you look because most men you've met in clubs have been scum. You start to dart away, but his honey-like voice pulls you back.
CM: "Hey, hey, it's okay; you're safe, alright? I was worried when you came to sit down, so I was on standby to protect you.
Y/N: *is confused* “But wh..why? You don't even know me; why do you care?" *slight pause* "Oohhh, right, you're a guy. I bet you are just trying to play the hero card to get in my pants."
CM: *frowns* “I am a guy, but everything else is wrong. Do you not recognize me from earlier? You are the same cashier, right? Sheesh, that'd be embarrassing if you weren't…."
Y/N: *astounded he recognized you* "Woah… I did, but I didn't think you'd remember me!"
CM: *chuckles and shyly rubs his neck* “I mean.. how could I not? Hard-working, funny, and beautiful, it'd be a crime to not commit you to memory."
Y/N: *bibi di nobody bo you’re a tomato* “I..well.I’m flattered.” *looks down, biting your lip, then head snaps back up with hands on your hips* "Wait… so can I know your name now?? You already know mine because of my stupid uniform name tag, so it's unfair."
CM: *tilts head in, 'You have a point'* "Fair enough, the name is Tae. Nice to formally meet you, y/n."
Y/N: *butterflies a flurry in your stomach, hearing him say your name* "Trust me…the pleasure is all mine. So I have to ask, do you really think I'm beautiful? Like, I know I look hot right now but earlier, different story. "
TAE: "I mean what I say and vice versa, gorgeous. I normally don't do this, but I've been going a little crazy since the store. Sooo, would you be okay if I.. again, it's fine if not, I just wanted to ask because..”
Before he can finish the sentence, your arms are thrown around his neck, engaging in a passionate kiss. You don't break away to breathe until about 10 minutes of your hands roaming all around each other’s bodies and through your hair without a care. Communicating wordlessly, you bolt out of there hand in hand to his car, where the makeout continues for another 5 minutes before you agree to take it to his place. You usually are never the type to have a one-night stand, but something just feels so right with this guy. You feel safe enough to let go of your worries and let something other than your vibrator give you release for once.
*TIME SKIP TO NEXT MORNING*
Waking up in a new place in a baggy Celine t-shirt, the events of last night slowly replay in your head as you goofily grin, feeling elated for the first time in a while. Looking over, you notice Tae is not in bed still. It shouldn't worry you, it's a hookup, after all, but you can tell he's not that type of guy. Curiosity getting the better of you, you wander out of the room, greeted by the cutest little fluffball of a Pomeranian. Squatting and letting it sniff you, it instantly jumps into your arms; walking into the living room, you meet Tae's shocked eyes.
TAE: "He let you pick him up? It normally takes several meetings for him to be comfortable with someone."
Y/N: *shrugs as you release the upper, excitedly panting for his dad* "I've always been good with animals, honestly. What's his name?"
TAE: *picks up the dog and kisses head* "Names Yeontan but I call him Tan for short."
You melt at all the cute you have witnessed in the last few minutes, then you stare off into space, looking shocked about something.
TAE: * waves hand in front of your face* “Hey, y/n, you okay?”
Y/N: *doesn’t blink* “You…you’re…The.. as in motherfucking Kim Taehyung Tae????? I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn't sure about you looking undercover as fuck in the store and then the low lighting at the club. Holy shit… tired brain went away and immediately put the puzzle together, and I… I need to sit..”
He guides you to the couch and rubs your back, making sure you are alright but also thinking your reaction was adorable and is honestly surprised his disguise was that good. Once he feels your breathing stabilize, he kisses your temple and pats your leg as he gets up to make the two of you breakfast. As he turns around to face the stove, he notices you look like you've seen a ghost.
Y/N: “Tha..that wasn’t a gift? You actually wanted that for your own house.. oh my god, what is life...”
TAE: *follows your gaze to the ass chair he bought yesterday and looks confused* "I mean, yeah, why wouldn't I? It's unique, and I liked it so voila! What's so odd about that? Plus, it's Jimin's designated seat when he comes over because, I mean…booty and harder for him to fall out of that one, haha."
Y/N: *shakes head, trying to process* "No, I get it just..ugh, I swore nobody would know this, but here we are… that used to be mine. So the fact that our tastes are this similarly odd and you own something that my ass used to be on is just a little overwhelming since you may or not be my ult bias since I was like 15… “ *blushes and twiddles fingers nervously*
TAE: "Everything you just said made me that much giddier, and I wasn't sure that was possible… I don't mean to weird you out, but I'd like to see you again. Outside of work or the club, maybe go get boba tea and a snack this weekend if you're free?"
Shocked that this is how your life is playing out but not questioning it too long, you agree. That date leads to another and another until 6 months later, you are officially dating and the happiest you've ever been. You do a lot for and with that man, but no way in hell are you ever using that chair again or getting over the fact that he actually bought your ass chair from you and proudly displays it. He's lucky he's adorable, but even still, you wouldn't want him any other way.
#btsff#btsfluff#drabble#btsxreader#everydayidolthings#idolaubutdoingnormalstufflikeshopping#taehyung#onenightstand#clubbing#morningafter#asschair#doublecheekeduponathursday#jimin#yeontan#tan#strangerstolovers#usermaggie#ughreads#eoieopda archive#usertaeyungie
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Match Review: Manchester United 2-1 Chelsea
A... a good performance? A good TEAM performance? With this side? Seems sus - start testing piss.
A double dose of Scott McTominay put a disjointed Chelsea to the sword at Old Trafford on Wednesday night as Manchester United overcame Pochettino's Chelsea to claim a much needed three points.
The under pressure home side started the game strongly, and United were rewarded for their early intent with a goal for Scott McTominay inside the box on the 19th minute.
Erik Ten Hag has every right to be pleased and frustrated though, with United having several opportunities on goal that the likes of Antony and Garnacho really should have scored.
Match stats (above) show that Chelsea held more possession, but with a midfield three of Enzo Fernandes, Moises Caicedo, and Cole Palmer it was to be expected that they would have more of the ball when against the trio of Bruno Fernandes, Scott McTominay and Sofian Amrabat.
It was the Moroccan who really surprised United fans last night, putting in a shift that probably deserved Player of the Match. The midfield pivot for the night looked very assured in possession and for once actually fit - a potential season-changer for a United desperate to replicate last season's Casemiro who himself hasn't appeared this season (and is also injured and thus unavailable yet again).
The match was scarily end-to-end at times, reminiscent of a basketball game. The lack of control may have Ten Hag worried, but playing Scott McTominay always encourages such lack of possession. He is not there to shuttle the ball around - Mount, Casemiro, Mainoo and Amrabat are. McSauce is basically another 10 like Bruno, though personally I think his lack of flexibility should mean he takes the CAM spot and Bruno sits deeper - which I think his passing vision suits.
Beyond this it was another quiet night for Rasmus Højlund - but not for a lack of trying. One Twitter user said "I didn't realise it was Ramadan in Manchester because Højlund is starving and all he can do is pray". Garnacho's assist for McTominay's second was lovely wing play, and Højlund also went for that ball, but it's not enough service for the centre-forward. Moreso from Antony too. Both wide men had good games for United and worked hard; tracking back, making runs, playing quick 1-2 passes... but more attempts at crosses and through balls to the striker have to be found. He needs to start scoring, and that confidence will improve his in-game actions too. That snowball effect will buy a few extra percent improvement when it comes to duels, dribbles, and the odd extra goal comes from that. Not just that, but opposition defenders will actually start to fear a United striker again. We saw what Purple Patch Rashford was doing to defenders. It was sheer terrorism. We need more of that.
I don't think it's any coincidence that United put in what was probably the best senior level performance (we don't count Palace in the cup) and it's with Shaw back from injury and Amrabat fit. Ten Hag's style of football requires certain players to activate it, and beyond the first XI there are very few appropriate deputies at the moment.
This is where the issues of behind-the-scenes management come into play. United have the short-term issue of resurrecting their season and the long-term issue of overhauling the squad in the image of one manager. Erik Ten Hag has had his way with transfers, but there have been some failings, and this on top of poor results has got many fans on his back.
Sir Jim Ratcliffe & co. may be able to fix the latter, but we'll see. For now, Ten Hag needs to grind out results to quash the sacking/replacement rumours. Next up is Bournemouth. Another win will keep the confidence up ahead of Bayern, and a Champions League miracle there might upset the apple cart with our scary foray away at Anfield the weekend after.
Time to go Cherry picking.
#manchester united#man u#man united#man utd#manchester reds#erik ten hag#casemiro#sir jim ratcliffe#ineos#antony#andre onana#luke shaw#sofian amrabat#scott mctominay#alejandro garnacho#rasmus højlund
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
dema!!! for Niva x Solas, 'I will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me'??
Thank you for the prompt lovely! A fun first foray into @dadrunkwriting
I will be watching for your enemies, to let them know that they contend with me
He haunts the edges of her life like a ghost.
Sometimes, in dreams, she catches a glimpse of him – a wolf's eyes peering at her in the dark, or a flash of movement between the trees – but in the waking world she is oblivious, believing herself alone. It is almost disheartening, how easy it is to convince her that he has vanished without a trace. That he’d abandoned her.
No, he did abandon her. But not wholly.
His power traces over the stones of Skyhold like fingertips. He has eyes and ears everywhere, lurking behind masks and mirrors, in inquisition livery, in merchants’ carts, in petitioners with pretenses of kissing a new Divine’s ring. It is disheartening how completely his former companions trust the spies in their midst, how guileless they are, how unsuspecting. All but Niva, who casts her furtive glances at every shadow, who always seems to find him, even without knowing. (His Niva, he thinks, ever perceptive, and forever a mere breath away from the truth.)
Her eyes meet his across a distance, then skirt away.
It is disheartening, but he cannot blame her; he is wearing another’s face.
Even his acolytes do not know him in this shape. Neither Fen’harel nor Solas, but some elf mercenary in drab leathers and mud-spattered boots and an ill-fitting helm that covers him from forehead to chin. He looks exhausted and waifish, among so many who have come to his fortress seeking shelter. Just another mouth in a sea of them. No-one spares him a thought, least of all the Inquisitor, who loops her arm through her Commander’s and scales the steps to the keep. He watches them for longer than he should. Catches her looking, brows furrowed, over her shoulder at the crowd.
It is an effort to remind himself that he has a purpose, here.
One of Leliana’s scouts passes too closely, colliding with his shoulder, and amidst the perfunctory apologies and admonitions he finds a scrap of paper pressed into his palm. Solas scratches at his forearm, slipping the paper beneath the leather straps there, and ambles off to a cellar where he knows he won’t be disturbed. There are two elves inside; his. When he removes his helm, letting his features flicker a moment, they startle.
"Ara seranna-ma, we did not know you, ser."
He inclines his head. Without being bid, they collect their things and make for the hallway.
"Sulevin ghilana hanin," they whisper at the door, and he repeats it distractedly, frowning at the note in his hand. At the name, scrawled in hasty script.
Abernache.
He stares at it for a long moment, a silverite gleam rippling across his gaze, before he crumples the paper in a fist and casts it into the nearby hearth. When he looks up, his expression is hard as ice, and twice as cold. Intercepting the noble’s retinue on the road from Skyhold would be a simple enough matter – he needn’t dirty his own hands. But given the nature of the crimes, Solas finds himself inclined to make an example. After all, there is one thing the enemies of the Inquisition must be made to understand:
Anyone who dares to threaten the Inquisitor will find themselves at the mercy of the Wolf.
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'd love to hear about Helmi and Rico's relationship 💖
Thanks for the ask!
Firstly, since I've not gone fully into anything about Rico just yet, let me start with a little on him.
He owns the Salty Collier tavern, which is one of the places to drink in Overlook. It used to be owned by his brother, but Rico inherited it when his brother died. He took on the tavern as well as the completely above board business that he just happens to not talk anyone about unless they already know about it.
Rico knows a lot of people, and he cares a lot about those close to him. While he was travelling back to Falguard Watch with a new shipment of ale, he had to drop a few kegs to be able to get a half-Brymir woman onto the cart, but the bigger problem was actually lifting her on. Although he was in his early thirties, and she in her mid-late teens, she was already bigger than him.
Rico helped Helmi recover, but there were things that he couldn't help fix up for her: She'd eaten the meat of a creature that had permanently damaged her sense of taste, and she'd been disowned by her mother because she hadn't been able to kill as easily as a Brymir warrior should be expected to.
It was clear to Rico that Helmi wasn't cut out to be a warrior at all, and in the absense of a parental figure, he decided to try to help guide her and fill that role for her. He helped her iron out her language, and taught her more about Veilan culture. He would tell her stories, such as the creation story of the Celestial Sister Queens, and the heroic tales of the Patron Martyrs. In return, she ended up teaching him quite a bit about Brymir culture, as much as her mother had taught her, at least. As time passed and she grew under his care, he started to see her as his own daughter.
Unfortunately, Helmi was a child of the Brymir Invasion less than 20 years prior, and scars of this are still fresh, especially in the hearts of the people. Rico would always stand up for Helmi against this prejudice, and did her best to reassure her and help her through it. When she started helping at the Salty Collier, he lost a lot of custom from people who said that Brymir people are savage and violent. Helmi always felt awful for these conflicts, but Rico would always say he didn't want or need the custom of someone who would insult his daughter like that.
Although he could protect her within the tavern, she always felt out of place around town, and he couldn't always look out for her. She was always getting looks, people stepping away from her. So, she started spending less time around people she didn't trust, which was unfortunately, most people. In a stroke of seeming genius, she thought to go to the mine around the hill, where she could put her natural strength to use, help out her dad (since it was a salt mine, and salt was always desired, even by Rico himself), and also keep herself away from strangers. Rico was naturally concerned about this, but he trusted her to take care of herself, and knew her natural fortitude would keep her safe.
Cutting forward, Helmi starts to be more independent, but keeps helping out around the Salty Collier when she can, and especially during The Shroud (Full moons, the sun doesn't rise, otherworldly creatures come through, people take shelter). She gets more comfortable around people as they get more comfortable around her, coming to see her as a reassuring safety figure as she helps protect the tavern during The Shroud. Otherwise though, she starts living at a cabin by the mine, much to Rico's disappointment (though she's not far, its probably about a 10 minute walk - the tavern is called The Salty Collier because it originally catered for the people who used to work at the salt mine.)
She never stops depending on Rico though, and when anything comes up, she will always go to him straight away to ask for his advice. Such as she did when she found a comatose knight Sofia during a foray into the mines. Skipping forward a bit, she becomes close friends with Sofia, who had somehow missed the last 40 years and therefore had no predisposition about Brymir people - but this isn't about those two.
However, Rico's always looking out for his daughter, even when she's apart, and as soon as it becomes evident that Sofia will be sticking around in her life, he starts to keep an eye out for her as well, to make sure Helmi's life remains as stable as possible. He wants to make sure, now that she's happy, cheerful, and outgoing, that he'll never have to see her broken like when he found her.
Hope that puts a bit more light on their relationship for you! I've not really had to describe relationships between characters like this before, so hopefully its what you were hoping for!
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
i can vividly remember my first foray into erotic art.
i was about 6. i asked my mother for permission to draw a picture of naked people. i mumbled something about the human body being natural & beautiful, probably a line i'd been told at my progressive preschool. she said it was okay for me to draw naked people; autism led me to interpret this as a one-time permit, not carte blanche to draw nudies whenever i wanted, though she definitely wouldn't have cared.
i drew a depiction of adam & eve in the garden of eden, though by this point in my life i'd never once set foot in a church. i gave them so much pubic hair their genitals were obscured entirely.
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
while i did love the paramedic au, i’m gonna have to ask about ‘mise for bradley? v curious what that’s about!
mise!! it’s short for mise en place - which just means everything in order before a la carte service
aheh well that was a silly little thought I had of making bradley a chef at a small restaurant, and the reader is a new waitress there, it’s not planned out much but it’s sort of based on my own foray into waitressing, with very cute and flirty chefs who will be a pain in your ass until a guest treats you bad, and they turn into the most protective and sweetest people ever. letting you cry on their shoulder in the kitchens and making you chocolate cake and telling other waitresses to cover your tables as you calm down a little - they’ll call you cute pet names, and compliment your outfit before you change into uniform 🥹 sweet talking you into getting jugs of black coffee for them if they’re working a double, and having you sneak them a “cleaning beer” for when you’re closing up
And then you’ll send in a long ticket with some changes on it and suddenly it’s back to gruff idiots who curse up a storm any time something isn’t exactly as it says on the menu shdhdj
Anyways!!! That’s a little thought I had and I’m not entirely sure it will see the light of day! Thank you for asking 🥹🥹💞💞
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Starbucks Write Night 06.23.23
Tonight was a tame one.
Characters: Yazoo & Aerith
Prompt: Arranged Marriage: Royalty
Though dutiful, neither Yazoo Valentine nor Aerith Faremis were blind followers of their parents’ wishes, no matter how beneficial to the empires they would be. They had each requested, in their own ways, to meet their intended. The monarchs agreed, deciding to host a ball to celebrate the coming union of the two kingdoms.
“Mother I…I will be fine,” Yazoo pressed, lifting his mother’s hands from his lapels and gently lowering them to her sides, “I have a valet for a reason.”
“Your valet is an unmarried man who I very much doubt has ever courted a young lady,” Marie sighed, gown rustling as she circled him, adjusting the ribbon that held his hair in place at the nape of his neck, “he doesn’t know what they want to see.”
At his other side, his father gave him a silent once over, a man of few words, and afterwards his eyes followed his wife, flitting and fretting about his son’s appearance.
“The man dresses gentlemen for a living,” he reminded her, “Yazoo is fine.”
“He dresses me for a living,” the prince corrected, “and I’ve never been short on the attentions of young ladies.”
Conceding, the queen stepped back, wringing her hands. They were right. Still, she hadn’t seen Gast and Ifalna in nearly two decades. While they had all remained allies—friends even—neither had seen their respective children firsthand and Marie did not wish to disappoint, especially with this being her first foray into the marriage market as a Mama.
“What if she doesn’t like him?” She whispered, pulling her husband’s arm close as they walked down the corridor, making their way to the ballroom to be announced.
“She’ll like him,” Vincent replied, adding with a mutter, “he’s likable.”
It wasn’t that he thought badly of the other three, but of the three children they had, Yazoo was the most diplomatic, the friendliest despite his initially quiet nature.
The least violent.
A few steps behind his parents, Yazoo kept quiet as he so often did, pretending not to hear what they were whispering about him. He knew he had been a tactical choice and he took a slight offense at the idea that Aerith may not be warm to him and not the other way around.
What if she were ugly? Yazoo was not above pretending he didn’t care about such matters. What if she was uneducated or simple? Like his father, he didn’t speak much, but he did converse when he had something to say or when a topic was of particular interest to him.
Worse yet, what if she was like his mother, and spoke too much?
He thought about how boring it would be to have a wife, a princess who bowed to his every whim, a docile mouse of a woman who might jump at his touch. There were plenty of those at court, bending over backwards to please him in the name of loyalty or admiration.
He was a prince. He always got what he want. Nothing was a challenge.
But when he walked into the ballroom, as the party lowered themselves to the royal family, he saw her. She wasn’t kneeling, much (he noticed) to the distress of her parents, not as low as the partygoers, but respectfully prostrate.
She had found her way onto a decorative flower cart, using it as leverage as she hugged one of the marble columns, watching him with a delighted curiosity as he processed into the event. She didn’t make herself known otherwise and the gown, hair, and jewels all perfectly in place suggested she wasn’t trying to make a rebellious statement, but a playful one.
Yazoo was not so bold, but he smiled ever so slightly as he locked eyes before returning his focus to the thrones before him where he was set to perch until he could escape.
She would not be boring.
Characters: Cloud & Tifa
Prompt: TURK AU
A file came across Cloud’s desk, hand delivered by Rude. When the taller man didn’t step away, Cloud looked up, an annoyed scowl across his face.
“Can I help you?”
Rude pushed the folder closer, not saying anything but encouraging Cloud to open it, which he did, with an annoyed huff. What he saw surprised him and he sat back in his chair, staring at the photo of his childhood best friend.
Did Rude know the connection they had? He didn’t have any particular reason to know, but then again, they were TURKs. It was their job to know everything about everyone.
The objective was to simply observe and report, so Cloud tossed the file back onto the stack he was already sifting through and spun his chair away slightly.
“That’s your mission, isn’t it? If you’re looking for a partner, I’m not interested.”
Still, Rude didn’t move from the desk.
“I thought you might be…given your history?”
So he did know.
“There’s no history,” Cloud clipped, making a show of pushing the file even further back towards his comrade.
“Inseparable as children is an interesting way to say ‘no history’.”
Why was he pushing this? Rude was the one who made a point of keeping his head down, staying silent and doing his job. He was irritatingly chatty today.
“It’s easy to appear close when there’s like three kids in the whole town,” he replied, brushing it off again. “I doubt she’s up to anything interesting. Enjoy your boredom.”
It wasn’t worth pursuing anymore, so Rude took back the folder and said no more. He had been hoping Strife would be the one to accompany him. He’d independently taken up an interest in Tifa Lockhart, learning about her heritage—and her proximity to Cloud—long before the official request to do so had been issued.
It was Rude’s own misfortune that as much as he frequented this bar of hers, a fondness had grown. He’d allowed it. After all, there was nothing in his job description that said pretty bartenders were off limits.
The paperwork under his arm, however now very clearly stated that the particular bartender he pined for was very much off limits, suspected of involvement with AVALANCHE.
Well wouldn’t luck have it that way. He was 0 for 2.
The problem now…if Tifa really was involved in something sinister, he would have to act against her.
He might have to hurt her.
If Strife would join him…it would be easier. Easier to what, he didn’t know. Easier to look the other way? Easier to sabotage a mission based on personal feelings?
Lowering himself down into his chair, Rude let out a sigh. He’d have to have Reno come. This was the first time he didn’t want to involve Reno and he felt guilty for it, straddling the line of friendship, love, and business all at once.
Was it love? Well maybe he wouldn’t go so far, but he felt strongly enough to keep Reno in the dark about it.
It wasn’t an hour later that a shadow came over his desk, not a particularly large one, but when he looked up, Cloud was there, unsmiling.
“Fine.”
It was all he said, but before he walked away, he swiped up the mission file and Rude felt a weight lift off of his chest. Tifa Lockhart would be safe under their watch, whether she deserved it or not.
#while the prompts weren't wild the activity at starbucks was#always some interesting characters downtown#cloud strife#tifa lockhart#Aerith Gainsborough#rude of the turks#final fantasy vii#ffvii fanfiction#ffvii fanfic#ff7 fanfic#ff7 fanfiction
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
So I am currently doing pony play research so that I can do a half-way decent job of the Garvez pony play smut I'm writing.
I've known about pony play for years but this is the first time I've done any serious reading about the the scene, the gear, and the best practices for those wanting to engage. So far, while I know I am just scratching the surface, I have made some interesting discoveries (some personal and some more about the scene).
Read on only if you are curious <3
1. I officially am much more partial to the "more horsey" genre (human chooses to be a horse) than the "more human-y" genre (where the human is "forced" to behave like or become a horse) within the context of consensual play. I can see why each would have its own appeals though.
2. There are some full face masks made for folks in the scene which some of the most beautiful things I have seen on the planet. Hoof shoes too. Seriously gorgeous. Some of the artisans who do the masks are so talented it's breathtaking. I feel like the dress up part and the "becoming" is what will appeal to Penelope. I'm less clear so far as to what will appeal to Luke - but I am leaning... for the purposes of the story for them both to play horses - likely in full beautiful face masks (oh I do not respect their bank accounts) and Penelope will definitely have to wear a pair of hoof boots because she is a shoe queen. I am not sure about things like bits and ties and crops yet... we'll have to see what the muses say. All I know is I do not want to write a scene where humiliation features prominently - I don't think Penelope would enjoy that in private - but more - I don't think I would enjoy writing it.
3. Also - and this the "why have a fish when you could have a hamster" part of me - but if I was going to engage in pony play I would definitely want a soft suit - maybe stretch velvet with a nice pile vs latex or leather...although a mask paired with a more traditional corset or lingerie appeals to me as well. But honnestly - since one of my favourite things in the world is patting horses (especially their extra soft noses and beautiful strong necks) I would want that to be part of any scenario where I or someone else was pretending to be a horse.
4. When I think of pony play - I have always just thought about the dressing up as/pretending to be a horse but there's a whole host of "human" roles in the pony play world (of course!) - it just amazes me that I never gave much thought to them. It makes total sense that some people would enjoy being ponies while others would prefer to play a rider or a vet or a cart driver or a trainer or an owner...
5. Like most areas of human activity there is a broad range of participation - from dabblers to folks very committed to the activity as a lifestyle or their main reason for keeping going. I think that is both fascinating and beautiful.
6. I am a sucker for any story where someone has joy being their "true self" in a way that lets them live a better happier life and so far, as with all my forays into researching sex stuff, I've come across a few lovely ones about folks that who found that joy within the pony play scene.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Major Differences Between My T7S Titanic AU (called Ship of Dreams) and the Movie:
*The addition of Eric and Donna, while bringing Kitty into the fold, give Jackie and Hyde some firm first class allies.
*Aging up the characters throws kids into the mix, creating a different dynamic. I wanted a carte blanche narrator here, unlike Rose in Titanic, who can explore a sea of differing perspectives. While pushing the brief foray into the future closer to present day.
*The narrator, Eric and Donna's daughter Sadie, was very close to Jackie. She has compiled a bunch of accounts over the years, as a form of coping, but often neglects her own. Said accounts have culminated into a rough draft of a novel, which Sadie has stuffed amongst her belongings.
*There is one major thing Rose does while Titanic is sinking that Jackie would not do, changing the course of the last fifth of the story.
#that 70s show#that 90s show#jackie and hyde#eric and donna#jackie burkhart#eric forman#donna pinciotti#my essays#sadie forman
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Gen 6 was my first Gen and I love it so much!! Tho when I was little I Desperately wanted soul silver more than I knew how to express- I could never find it tho,,
gen 6 is SO GOOODDDDD.
like most people, i think it was too easy- the gyms in xy and oras are almost all wimpy as hell, but i think that flaw is too overblown. kalos is a gorgeous region, filled to the brim with amazing pokemon, an interesting story, fun characters.. it and oras are incredibly fun games and were so fantastic for being the first foray into 3d graphics for the core series.
and yeah, the availability of hgss is so sad :( legit carts are worth over a hundred nowadays.. but there ARE reproduction carts that are apparently almost the same in functionality to legit ones, though! not to mention good old custom firmware 3ds' and emulators like desmume.
8 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ruyayogami
ruyayogami
sexybtsv
제목 없음
dollieclaws
Just a URL holder right now!
annemayfair
Raccoon tells sad tales
shellygurumi
shellygurumi