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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning: it’s filler. I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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platinumnib · 7 years

Text

Metalfest was an excuse

Working title: Sharja fuck to celebrate metalfest.

NSFW.

Duh.

Enjoy.

June 4th, 2017 - Plzen, Czech Republic (I know it’s called Czechia now, but a lot of Czech people apparently think that name is really shit. And this is my story, anyway.)

Every few feet on their way to the dressing rooms, Tarja, giggling with love and still high on the rush of a crowd of screaming thousands, pushed a powerless Sharon against the wall to kiss the soul out of her. Thus, it took them longer than expected to reach their respective doors, but no more than five minutes later, both were out wearing whatever they’d reached for first and enormous sunglasses to hide most of their faces from cohorts of rabid fans.

An SUV was waiting for them, ready for the hour-long trip to Prague, where their reservations had been made for them.

The Four Seasons. Finally. The backseat had begun to seem too small for their mischievous play - and the driver, not quite keen on hearing the noises they couldn’t hold.

With a last, somewhat hasty liplock inside their suite, each of them took to one of the bathrooms to freshen up before a special celebration of a show well put on.

Tarja rid herself of the sweat and grime collected onstage with a refreshing shower full of vigorous scrubbing. Once dry, she pulled on a pair of lacy teal French panties that somehow managed to make her rather modest backside quite alluring, and a matching satin crop top. Her hair, she simply parted down the middle and let it fall to either side. No polish or makeup of any sort, save for some black brushed on her lids and lashes. Sharon liked her women - woman, the one and only - “natural” and simple and so, Tarja would accommodate.

When she came out, Sharon still hadn’t. She headed for the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, getting excited already and just relishing the prospect of a good, well-needed session of dirty lovemaking. That, and she had a brand new toy to try out.

For two months, she’d had to make do with her own hand in front of a video chat window where her wife was doing the same. It never quite did, and more often than not, she had to enjoy the sight of Sharon’s climax instead of the feel of her own.

But now they were together, she’d take care of Sharon first and work her own self up all throughout. And when Sharon was sated and done with, Tarja would use her to finally cum proper.

She licked her lips, craving the real thing.

“Tari…”

She raised her head and there the real thing was striking a pose right in front of her eyes.

Her eyes cast the saucy look of a temptress. Her hair, all undone and gathered over one shoulder, fell down to cover a black, tighter-than-sin dressing gown, knotted at the waist with nothing underneath. The silk had the decency to cover her nipples and center, but so barely as to be even more of a beckon for curious hands than if she were stark naked.

She stalked towards Tarja on the balls of her feet, almost balancing on red-varnished toes (the same deep and sexual shade as her fingernails) to give her hips a hypnotic and inviting sway from side to side. Behind the thin fabric pretending to hide them from Tarja’s lustful ganders, her breasts noticeably bobbed up and down with each step.

As she closed in on her speechless girlfriend, her perfume - Rose Ikebana, sweet and pink and priceless, same as her - wafted through the air and filled Tarja’s nostrils with every intake of breath, numbed her mind until she could only see, smell or think of Sharon and, beyond her, nothing that mattered.

Tarja was the sort of woman who had a “favorite gym” in every European capital, but Sharon was a living reminder that however many hours she spent on a treadmill running after a perfect body, she would always be outdone.

Sharon was on par with goddesses and she made it look frustratingly effortless.

Tarja huffed a short breath; she could behave no more. She stood and covered the last step between them and, with a commanding growl, pulled her straight into a fiery kiss. Sharon’s eyebrows rose at once in genuine surprise. She kissed back not to be outdone, but the little woman still very much had the upper hand. Her tongue didn’t explore, it wrapped bold and confident around Sharon’s and scoured every corner of her warm mouth.

In loving unison, they filled the air with languid moans and sighs then after a second-long reprieve, delved in again with even more hunger.

It seemed as if they’d never be done until their mouths, both out of breath, finally parted for good and they opened their eyes. Tarja’s lips settled into a tender smile as she brushed her thumb across Sharon’s flushed cheek.

“You look so, so lovely…” she couldn’t help but whisper.

Nothing made her more excited than the thrill of being with her colleague-turned-lover; or was it lover-turned colleague?

Yes, that was definitely it.

She kept Sharon in her arms for a few moments longer, taking in some more of her heady scent, kissing her exposed collarbone. Soft hands drew a trail down the curve of Sharon’s back and her hips, and lower.

“Tari,” she said playfully. “Are you sure your hand should be there already?”

Though she did enjoy a very slow buildup, it was nothing but blatant teasing; even if Tarja’d taken her hands off, Sharon would have put them back herself.

“You’re a lurid beast, not a schoolgirl. My hands should be all over you, my gorgeous lady.” She punctuated her words with a firm pinch and Sharon bit her lip not to squeal. “My sweet Sharon… my loveliest angel.”

Those names never failed to make her lover’s knees go weak. Tarja had a wonderfully flattering way about her of making a woman feel wanted and precious.

“Now,” she murmured, fingering the tight-fitting silk down Sharon’s arm, “why don’t we get this off you.”

Sharon nodded with a coy smirk and let herself be slowly disrobed. The belt was pulled undone, the robe slid off and wound up in a pool of fabric on the carpeted ground.

Tarja drew a sharp breath at the sight in front of her. Aside from the familiar and thoroughly explored curves and hollows, the tautness of her belly and the birthmark near her hip, there was a new addition to Sharon’s body. Two additions, that was, one on each of her breasts.

Solid gold barbells went through her nipples, carrying rings that hung down to the bottom edge of the areola.

“Are those for me to play with?” she frowned, nudging one with the back of her index. It was enough for Sharon to shiver.

“Pull them,” she replied in a sexy whisper, “and you can have whatever comes along.”

Tarja hummed with a satisfied little smirk.

“Clever girl…”

Carefully tugging on a ring, she led a moaning Sharon by it to the nearby king-size and pushed her down onto it on her back. Obviously, she had a few ideas already.

She leant down and planted a kiss near Sharon’s navel, struggling to decide whether she wanted to lick her way up or down, before the light tinkle of the twin rings proved too enticing to resist. Sticking out the tip of her tongue, she pushed it flat against the pale skin and slowly dragged it up, making Sharon wriggle and sigh.

She reached the full, perfect mounds and pushed her tongue up the valley in between, went on to find Sharon’s throat and her licks turned into bruisingly hard kisses.

After a minute, she’d left two or three rosy red marks and Sharon was getting desperate to feel her elsewhere.

Tarja wandered all over each of Sharon’s breasts before latching onto a nipple to toy with, swirling her tongue around it one moment and suckling hard the next. Her fingers went to work much the same way on the ringed nub that was still untouched, until both had turned as firm as diamonds. It slipped out of her lips with a pop, equal parts lewd and adorable.

“You know, I’m always jealous of those,” she said with firm, pale breast flesh spilling out of her small hands. “Whenever you’re dancing around and they are too… it makes me lose my mind.”

Sharon only moaned - the sensual treatment hadn’t left her capable of much else - and ran her fingers through Tarja’s hair.

“Take those off,” she asked and slipped a finger underneath Tarja’s waistband, but her hand was swatted aside.

“Not yet. I keep my clothes until it’s my turn to get off.”

Tarja straddled one of Sharon’s thighs and shuffled forward until they were pussy to pussy with only thin silk between them. She leant down and took Sharon’s lip between her own to suck on while her middle slowly began to gyrate.

A moan escaped her lover’s mouth only for Tarja to mute it with hers. She kept her hips rocking, building up over long moments to a steady pace she’d hold until the end. Her hands were roaming all over Sharon’s body, stroking and squeezing, pinching, helping her hips along in their task. Her lips were ajar, her look deep and soulful and locked onto Sharon, who thought she just might drown in all the love gathered in Tarja’s eyes.

The roughness of fine lace dragging against her nerves, every move resonated through her body in ripples of torturous pleasure that left prickled skin and tense muscles in their path.

Both lubricated freely, and the heat and the wetness they exuded welded them together at the middle.

“Oh, Tari…” she moaned. “Not much longer to go.”

Tarja’s hand cradled her jaw the way she always loved to do, and stroked her cheek and mouth with a gentle thumb. Sharon reflexively parted her lips to lightly suck on the pad of it. Moments like those always lasted a lifetime.

“How close are you?” Tarja asked.

“Almost there…”

“Good, good…” she crooned. “Hold it ‘til I tell you.”

Sharon nodded - convulsed, more like.

Tarja reached for the bedside table - without once slowing the maddening movement of her lower body - and pulled out what seemed like a large egg covered in pink silicone. At the push of a button at the bottom of it, the thing began to shake and quietly hum in her hand.

She brought the egg down towards Sharon’s pubis, touched it to her skin for a moment and saw her body quiver out of control as she moaned long and low.

The egg slid down an inch and buzzed right against Sharon’s most sensitive spot.

“Oh God…” the words came as a strangled whimper out of her throat.

“Not yet,” Tarja hummed, very much approving of the reactions. Her own voice was strained and husky, but nowhere near as much. She was having fun; Sharon was having more than she could take, but she’d obey all the same.

The moment the wicked device slipped inside of her well-lubricated entrance, Sharon’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. The cry she gave was positively pathetic and no one, heartless though they may be, would have prolonged her agony.

“Now, you can cum.”

Just then, Sharon arched her back into a bow ready to snap.

If she was coming or going, she hadn’t the faintest idea, but it felt like nothing else in the world. She cried out and shook against Tarja, gushing liquid all over them both.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” she muttered, all of her body quaking at the vibrator’s whim.

The thing was merciless and powerful. Too powerful. She screeched for it to be taken out but by the time Tarja tugged it free by its string, Sharon had already launched into her next climax.

And Tarja was rolling and grinding against her all throughout, filling her eyes with the obscene spectacle, and carrying her from one orgasmic wave to another, until she washed ashore, dripping wet and wrung out.

Slowly, she curled up into a fetal heap of searing, sweaty flesh shaking with little gasps and sobs.

Tarja smiled fondly at the poor sight of her and lay down by Sharon’s side to cover her face in unhurried kisses until she’d gotten herself back together.

“How are you feeling?”

“Half-dead,” she sighed. “I love you, you know…”

“Have you got it in you to show me how much?”

Sharon rolled her body on top of Tarja in a manner most sloth-like and cradled her face.

“What would make you happy?”

“I’d like to take your pretty face for a ride… and we’re set up the wrong way for it, it seems to me.”

In a flash, Sharon found herself underneath, and Tarja was straddling her chest. She pulled her skimpy coverings off in a second and rode up until Sharon was nuzzling her well-kept bush of soft, dripping wet curls (“natural”).

“How good can you breathe?”

Tarja was short and as slim as a healthy woman could allow herself to be; her weight was nothing at all to bear. Sharon stuck her tongue out, gave a lap to try the waters and Tarja flinched in response.

She didn’t need much more to start rocking her womanhood onto Sharon’s face.

“Get to work, then!” she groaned, clutching a fistful of the black mane scattered all over the pillow as an incentive for its owner.

It worked, going by the way Sharon’s tongue darted into her folds to lick up their wetness as best she could. Up and down it went again and again at a feverish rhythm, along the offered entrance, teasing the engorged, nervous bud at the top then going back to licking between her labia. Tarja’s savage cries and her juices were pouring out so fast Sharon thought she was drowning. But she kept working bravely, ever the one to please.

Her rider was panting and grinding without a hint of mercy and pulling her up by the hair to burrow further into her pussy lips, spread wide and showing the bright pink beyond them.

“Drink me, Sharon, eat me fucking raw!” she groaned, almost delirious.

Orders were superfluous, as Sharon was very willing and hungry for her lover’s cunt, but even if she hadn’t been, there was no way she could do otherwise; the strong thighs either side of her face were clamping up as the inevitable was nearing; they almost had her in a headlock.

Sharon latched onto her clitoris and began to suck to the pace of Tarja’s rocking hips. She let out a long, low wail, which quickly turned into a loud scream as a gushing orgasm drenched Sharon further than she already was. In a moment, it was over and Tarja was boneless and empty.

She heavily rolled her body off Sharon’s face and, between raucous pants, managed to soundly kiss her mouth and taste her own pungent flavor.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she inquired in ragged breaths.

“I thought you just might break my nose.”

“Oh, sorry about it, dear…” she cooed, dropping a repentant kiss onto the tip of said nose. “Your pretty face does make for a very nice sex toy.”

Sharon flushed all at once and pulled her hair in front of her face to cover it in mock shame while Tarja giggled and amorously gave her lips a sound buss.

“You taste like pussy,” she noted with a grin, almost proud of herself for such a thorough face-fucking.

“Your fault.”

That much was indubitable.

A knock was heard at the door, followed by a hesitant “Room service!”.

Tarja tilted her head askance but Sharon only smiled and stood off the bed, reaching for a robe to drape around her naked self.

“That’s our mouthwash.”

As soon as she opened the door, Sharon saw in the groom girl’s eyes how well-fucked she had to look. Skin all flushed with love-bites showing, hair tousled, wet with more than her own sweat and barely covered by the robe hastily knotted, revealing much of what should have remained hidden. She tightened the garment quickly over her chest and looked away in shame, as did the girl out of propriety.

“You know who’s with me,” Sharon whispered as she slipped the employee a bill and took the bottle, ice bucket and glasses from the trolley to set them on the nearest table. “I would be grateful if no one else did.”

The girl smiled with a furious red blush and handed back a small white card - one of the hotel’s business cards - along with a pen.

“Maybe I could be swayed with an autograph? Management wouldn’t give me the night off, so I couldn’t make the show,” she explained.

Sharon signed the paper and gave it back before shooting the fan a parting smirk. She shut the door to find Tarja (who’d taken the time to put on a dressing robe of her own) had popped the cork and was pouring them two chilled goblets.

Sipping the exquisite wine, they made their way to the balcony hoping to catch the first rays of daylight. A sunrise was less romantic than a sunset, perhaps, but they had champagne, the stunning sight of Prague and a massive suite that smelt of sex. Surely that was romantic enough.

#fanfiction #sharja #tarja turunen #Sharon den Adel

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writerspink · 5 years

Text

K-12 Words

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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its-love-u-asshole · 7 years

Text

Pull [fic, sfw]

Pairing: Awashima Seri/Hirasaka Douhan

Rating: T

Summary: That's how she always was. Calm, collected, maybe even a little cold at times (at least that's what the boys said).That's how it seemed at least. In the end though, she still had the mind and body of a teenager, and all the embarrassing things which came with it.She swallowed, trying to focus on the serve which was coming her way, but her eyes kept drifting, her vision consumed with green and flashes of milky white thighs when the cheerleader twirled...

Ao3 Version

I did it lmao, I wrote lesbians for rarepair week. This was super fun, I’m glad I got to participate in this event ffff AUs are ofc my shit, so how could I resist? Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

Enjoy!

The sounds of volleyballs hitting the court were deafening, but she was used to it, usually too into the game to really pay attention as she spiked the ball successfully. She bit her lip, eyes flickering to the side lines for what must've been the thousandth time during the match.

The practice match was proving to be quite the challenge, but Seri had expected it. Her team had played this school many times, and they were quite skilled. Despite the rivalry between Principal Munakata and Principal Nagare, the schools met up often for training camps and the like. It was most likely more out of necessity than anything else, seeing as it was the closest neighboring school.

She should've been used to it, playing on this court. But, certain things always seemed to catch her calm, blue eyes, and today was truly exceptional.

She moved on instinct to receive the ball again, and luckily, it went up. She got a few yells of encouragement, of praise, but for once she was hardly concerned. As soon as the ball was out of her field of vision, her eyes flicked back to the sidelines again.

Seri never liked the green uniforms of the neighboring school. She never much liked the color at all. It was bright, bold, standing out more than the players did on the sleek, shining gymnasium floor. The color never suited her tastes. It looked sickly to her, hardly appropriate for a school or...anything really. She hardly wore it, finding the color in her wardrobe was like finding a needle in a haystack--the haystack being her enormous closet filled to the brim with gowns and coats. Ah, but there was that too. That was the other thing which may have bothered her...

Somehow, the color seemed to fit. The high school was wealthier, more affluent than some of the others in the area, and it was almost as if the color proclaimed 'greed.' She hated greedy people, people who took advantage of others or asserted their status for nothing other than to demonstrate superiority. Authority wasn't to be abused, wealth wasn't to be paraded. She never liked to generalize of course, she'd met some very nice and polite people during her visits to Jungle, a nickname given to the high school for its strange theme. However, she'd had her fair share of bad ones as well, mostly with some of the entitled rich boys who tried to pick her up after games, or girls which sneered at her as she walked in the hallway.

It was mostly alright, she had a thick skin after all, but Seri had always tried to be amiable and civil in most situations. It was simply how she believed people should behave. Respectful, kind until given a reason not to be.

But oh, how some Jungle students tested her patience....

Seri spiked the ball, cursing when it hit out of bounds. The rough sound of the ball slapping the floor felt mocking almost, and it felt worse than a usual missed spike. She lowered her head apologetically while her teammates waved it off, telling her not to worry, but it didn't help her nerves. She sincerely hoped the team captain wouldn't notice she was out of it.

Her eyes went back to the side as another play began, and she caught a flash of blonde hair which was two seconds from falling out of a neat, polka dotted bow.

They were in the second set, Seri was all sweaty, her hair was a mess, but she shouldn't have cared. Really shouldn't have. She'd never before. After all, she played sports, it was perfectly normal to sweat and look a little ruffled during a game, being attractive wasn't the goal.

But...

No. Pay attention.

Seri prided herself on her level head, on her ability to separate her emotions from logic in her mind, her ability to think before she acted and keep her thoughts under control. That's how she always was. Calm, collected, maybe even a little cold at times (at least that's what the boys said).

That's how it seemed at least. In the end though, she still had the mind and body of a teenager, and all the embarrassing things which came with it.

She swallowed, trying to focus on the serve which was coming her way, but her eyes kept drifting, her vision consumed with green and flashes of milky white thighs when the cheerleader twirled--

"Awashima!" She turned back just in time to raise her arms in a futile attempt to get the ball--it sort of worked.

The ball bounced off her arms at a bad angle, hitting her chin hard but managing to go up, and it was only after her team scored the point that she was benched for the rest of the set. She wasn't injured badly, but her coach had apparently mistaken her lack of response time for sluggishness, scolding Seri for playing when she might be sick.

She wasn't, and the fact made it all the more embarrassing, even if she was the only one who knew.

Sighing heavily, she wiped some of the loose strands of hair from her face and pushed them back in agitation, grimacing as Jungle's team scored another point. Not like she would've been able to prevent it had she been on the court, not with her current mindset.

Yeah, Jungle students really did tend to test her patience, just...not so much in this way.

As subtly as she could (and by that, she meant turning her head completely to stare), Seri's eyes drifted over to the current thorn in her side.

If she could even be called a thorn. If she was, she was the thorn on the prettiest rose in the world, and--oh goodness, now you're being ridiculous.

The thorn in question was one of Jungle's cheerleaders, one with calm green eyes and purposeful movements. To a quick observer, it probably looked as if she was the least energetic of the bunch. The other girls were doing their best to put on a show, breathing heavily, cheering with every leap and tilt of their hips. Not her though. Her clear face, which looked lightly dusted with some sort of blush, was kept in a neutral expression, her glossed lips quirking every once in a while as she reacted to the game. She wasn't as bouncy as the others, unless the routine called for it, her twirls were kept controlled and brief (sadly), the bow in her hair shifting more and more until--ah, it fell out. Blonde curls jostled against her shoulders, shining against the green and it looked anything but sickly. She twirled again, and Seri eyes followed the movement, catching the hint of abs as the cheer uniform rode up. And yet, even after a few more complex moves, the girl still looked put together. It wasn't that she wasn't energetic or athletic though, and that's maybe what drove Seri 'up the wall,' as one would say. No, the cheerleader's movements were done with purpose, executed flawlessly with no excess effort expended. She certainly looked the least winded, though Seri didn't fail to notice the light heave of her chest from the rapid movements, the girl's slightly annoyed expression when she had to tug down her shirt to keep it from riding up too high with a pom-pom in hand.

She swallowed, mindlessly reaching for the water bottle beside her as her vision drifted to the girl's legs, watching as the skirt rubbed against them, revealing a flash of patterned spandex underneath. I wonder--

Suddenly, the whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, and for whatever reason, it all but jerked Seri out of her thoughts with a force. Automatically, her eye shot back up to the girl's face, as if her subconscious was curious about her reaction more than the score of the game itself, but Seri didn't even have time to ponder that. Her entire throat closed up, her breathing choked as green eyes bore into hers, the cheerleader's mouth slightly open from her harsh breathing, and all Seri could feel was guilt.

Guilt, because she had been staring, and it hadn't been for the most appropriate of reasons. She felt embarrassed, maybe worried too, hoping and wishing it looked like Seri had simply zoned out in the other's direction.

She cursed herself. She was usually so much more aware of things, so much better at keeping her composure.

So unacceptable...

She whipped her head away from the cheerleader as her teammates came to the bench, happy from their win, and all she could do was smile robotically, mind on autopilot as the coach gave his speech and the girls stretched. All the while, Seri swore she could feel someone staring at the back of her head, the sounds of pom-poms rustling behind her as the other team went to the locker room first.

I can't believe this...

Seri couldn't even fully regret her staring, and she stood up with a sigh as her teammates left the bench. The girl was beautiful after all, a bit mysterious, dangerous looking, but...so cute at the same time. From the polka dot bow and patterned spandex to the ankle bracelets she'd been wearing, the cheerleader was lovely and enticing all wrapped up in a petite package.

She wondered...

Stop that. It doesn't matter. What you did was rude, leave it alone. Move on. End of discussion.

Glaring at the polished gymnasium floor, Seri nodded to herself in understanding. Right, it was best to be smart about this. Rocking the boat was never something she did.

Luckily, it was doubtful the cheerleader would read Seri's peeping as anything romantic, considering she was a girl, but Seri's gut still twisted in humiliation as she walked briskly out of the gym.

Most of her teammates were already in the school's cafeteria, being treated to lunch courtesy of the school's coach, but she hadn't been hungry enough to rush like they had. Instead, she'd taken a much needed rinse, and changed slowly, trying to rid her mind of images of blonde curls and green skirts, and now the locker room was deserted.

The sounds of her sneakers squeaking bounced off the walls, but they still weren't enough to drown out the ruffle of pom-poms which kept replaying in her head.

Honestly, you're not usually like this. Get it together.

She stuffed her uniform in her bag angrily, knowing she couldn't avoid the crowds forever by holing herself up in the locker room. Hoisting her duffel over her shoulder, she made way for the exit closest to the cafeteria with a slight frown. She shouldn't have been worried. No doubt she'd be distracted by her friends and other students of Jungle when sat down to eat. She could only hope the girls from the cheer squad wouldn't be join--

"You're not usually benched."

Seri all but dropped her bag from the calm tone which pierced the silence, and she couldn't stop the startled gasp which left her lips as footsteps approached from the other side of the lockers.

Oh great.

Maybe it was a member of the other team there to gloat, or some random student who didn't like her. Either way, Seri wasn't exactly in the mood for this type of confrontation, no matter how cold she could make herself be.

But when the speaker finally stepped out from behind the lockers, Seri's brain all but stopped, and she thought maybe a confrontation would've been better.

There, standing elegantly with a fluffy pink towel wrapped around her neck, was the cheerleader which would surely occupy Seri's fantasies (if she would admit to herself that she even had them).

Seri's jaw fell for about half a second before she set her face into a neutral stare, trying not to back down from the piercing green gaze. There was a tense silence there, one Seri didn't know if she was imagining or not, before the other coughed expectantly.

Oh, she spoke to you.

Swallowing thickly, Seri tried to keep her eyes on the other's face, and not the jut of her hip as she leaned against the lockers. "O-oh, I wasn't feeling well I suppose."

It wasn't a lie.

It just wasn't necessarily the whole truth.

The girl seemed to find the answer amusing for whatever reason, lips quirking up only slightly while she hummed. Seri didn't care to be analyzed, though she'd be a hypocrite for saying so. She did a fair amount of people watching, though usually not for such primal reasons...

God, don't blush. That will not help at all.

When the other continued to not speak, Seri took the initiative to try and hold the reins of the conversation. Control was better, she could navigate better if she led the conversation. "Who are you, if you don't mind?"

Seri ignored her increasing heartbeat when the girl's legs crossed, the anklets jingling and practically urging Seri's gaze downward.

No. Nope.

"Hirasaka Douhan." Wow, that's lovely. Seri couldn't quite fight the blush this time.

Douhan smiled slightly, her head tilting forward as if to ask the silent return question, and Seri felt the reins slipping away once more, giving into the pull.

"Awashima Seri." Her voice sounded small, the usual edge and sternness completely gone.

"Hm, I know."

Huh?

Seri bit her lip when the other smirked, because honestly, she couldn't handle all these new expressions at once.

"You play here a lot, and you're a starter," Douhan informed breezily, kicking her leg back and forth as she went on. "So I picked up your name at some point. That's why I was surprised when you got benched. It isn't like you."

Seri didn't know if she was reading too much into things (which was unlike her), but something about those words felt different, almost...accusatory, and the tension in the atmosphere kicked off higher.

It caught her off guard, the air, Douhan's small smirk, those legs, and Seri realized she'd never had the reins to begin with. The reins hadn't even been remotely close to her. She was on a whole different wagon for crying out loud.

"Oh...yeah," Seri said, chastising her lack of eloquence as Douhan stepped away from the lockers once more. "I mean, people just have off days sometimes, even starters."

There was a twinkle in those green eyes, and Seri's narrowed, like she was now being cornered and she didn't know how.

Douhan tugged at one of her blonde curls absentmindedly, as if in deep thought, but Seri could tell it was done mostly for show. It worked still, because anything the girl did was like a show to Seri, every tilt of her head or sway of hips, and Seri realized how in the danger zone she was when the other started to open her mouth.

She tried to take the conversation back one last time, but she should've known better. "We should really get--"

"Hm yes, I guess most people have moments like that," Douhan said airily, as if the concept of having an off day was completely foreign for someone like her, and Seri was suddenly all too aware of the other coming towards her, stopping just short of two feet away. "But, maybe if those people didn't have wandering eyes, they'd be more productive."

Seri's brain short circuited, and the guilt from before came crashing back in a tidal wave, and she knew she'd lost. Douhan knew it too, judging from the smug expression, and Seri felt her own wagon drive right off a cliff as those plump lips curled into a smile.

She knew.

Oh no...

Seri inhaled quickly, too quickly, judging from how she coughed roughly afterwards, but she couldn't help it. Douhan knew. Right. Of course she'd known, Seri had been painfully obvious, and the cheerleader was obviously more perceptive than most people, but Seri still felt humiliated for thinking anything less.

How was she going to get out of this?

She got ready to bow in apology, make up some other excuse that didn't revolve around how gorgeous Douhan was, but the other beat her to it.

"I'm pleased you finally looked my way," Douhan said, shoulders sagging in mock relief, followed by a snort which spiked Seri's blood pressure way up. "I was getting tired of wasting my favorite accessories for practice matches."

Seri's jaw dropped fully this time, and it didn't recover.

Seri's grip on her bag was murderous, and she almost thought about asking again if she'd heard the other correctly, but what was the point in that?

Seri could hear just fine, could pick up hints, and she stepped forward out of her own conviction. Her mind flashed back to other practice games, searching for a glimpse of the other, but there were none. Douhan was right, Seri had never looked her way, but maybe she should've.

No way...

"I'm sorry...what?" Seri felt the grin breaking out on her face before she even got confirmation, because as flustered as the cheerleader made her, Seri wasn't dense.

"You don't seem like the kind of person who needs repeating," Douhan whispered, voice shaking only a little as she tentatively brought a hand to Seri's neck. The tension hit a boiling point, and Seri found herself leaning in impulsively before Douhan was even finished. "I can think of another method though."

It wasn't like Seri to do this, was completely out of character, but the fact that a girl as pretty and intelligent as Douhan had been seeking her affections was downright overwhelming for the teenage part of her brain, and she couldn't resist. She hadn't even fully pieced it all together yet, but she could scold herself later, whatever.

She leaned in, dropping her bag to the floor.

The first thing Seri took into account was that Douhan's lips tasted like lime, of all things, tart and addicting in a way which seemed more than appropriate for the other. The next, was the sticky texture of her lips as they fit against hers, and Seri couldn't stop the pleased noise she made when she realized the taste must've been the other's lip gloss. Douhan's hand dropped the other pom-pom, her fingers moving to rest on Seri's shoulders tightly. The pads of her fingers pressed on the lines of tension there, and Seri couldn't hold back a small groan, angling her head to capture those lips more fully. Seri almost couldn't believe it was happening, but her senses screamed at her, drowning in ecstasy as she took in the cheerleader. The scent of fruity perfume and laundry detergent pulled Seri in more, only adding to the mix of enticement which was Douhan Hirasaka, not minding the light smacking of their lips as kisses grew less and less innocent.

Seri moaned softly when Douhan's tongue slid along her lips, and Seri's hand instinctively grasped the other's hip to steady herself. Douhan seemed rather pleased with the response, sighing softly while she pulled at Seri's lower lip in a teasing manner, and well, Seri was never passive.

With a surge of confidence and the need for control which had always characterized her, Seri's other hand flew up to tangle in Douhan's locks, moaning at the softness as she pulled the cheerleader closer, silently demanding more of her taste.

She didn't get the chance though.

"I don't know, I can't find her anywhere."

"Maybe she went to the bathroom?"

Seri pulled back in a frenzy as the voices of her teammates drifted from the hall, and she was once again very aware of where she was. At Jungle. A school. In public.

She stepped away reluctantly, and Douhan didn't seem to take it the wrong way, stepping back herself with a small smile.

It did unhealthy things to Seri's heart.

"Awashima, are you there?"

Seri cringed at the voices getting louder, coming closer, because she didn't want to leave this bubble. She wanted to stay with Douhan, talk to her...there was still so much to say and ask. What now?

"I, well--"

"Yeah, I know," Douhan whispered, skipping forward and slipping a neat, decorated piece of paper into Seri's hand. It was pink with green accents, and it made Seri melt. "Call me, okay?"

Seri didn't have to be told twice.

The bus ride back to school was usually so boring and silent that Seri drifted off to sleep, but as her phone pinged with another new message, she found that she wasn't tired at all.

#awashima seri #hirasaka douhan #k project #krarepairweek2017 #alternate universe

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dorothydelgadillo · 5 years

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The 2 Big Influencer Marketing Lessons from “Operation Varsity Blues”

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few days, you’ve heard about “Operation Varsity Blues,” the uncovered college admissions scandal where wealthy families used bribes to get their children accepted to elite universities.

Although there were over 50 people charged with connections to this scandal, a lot of the fall-out has centered around the involvement of actress Lori Loughlin and her daughter (a social media influencer) Olivia Jade Giannulli.

The story, while raising a lot of concerns about college admission practices, also spotlights a lot of concerns when it comes to influencer marketing.

If you’re unaware of the story, Lori Loughlin and her husband Mossimo Gianulli are accused of paying $500,000 in bribes to get their two daughters admission to USC.

Both girls are still students at the school - but their youngest daughter, Olivia Jade, has quickly become the “face” of this controversy, due to her large social media following.

The 19-year-old social media influencer is known for beauty and fashion videos on her YouTube channel, which has almost 2 million subscribers. She also has an equally impressive audience on both Instagram and Twitter which has lead to many brand deals from big companies including Sephora, Amazon, TRESemmé, and HP, among others.

After new of the scandal broke, many of these companies faced backlash from the public, urging them to cut ties with Olivia Jade as a result of the allegations.

While there are many, many lessons to be learned from this scandal - we’re here to talk about marketing.

These events go to show the risk brands take when having public figures endorse products and also reminds influencers of the importance of trust and maintaining a public image.

The Lesson to Marketers: Choose Your Influencers Wisely

While Olivia Jade wasn’t charged as a conspirator in the case (and it still hasn’t been confirmed she was aware of the alleged conspiracy), that hasn’t stopped the public from taking action against her and the brands she worked with.

In response, Sephora announced on Thursday that they’ve decided to end their partnership with the influencer, “effective immediately.” They’ve also removed the “Olivia Jade x Sephora Collection Bronze & Illuminate Palette” collaboration product from their website after a slew of negative reviews about the scandal from commenters.

“Remove this product immediately. She and her family should be ashamed of themselves, and so should Sephora if you continue to carry this product. I will never shop at Sephora again unless you drop this like a hot potato.”

Clearly, the brands are not at fault for what occurred, but unfortunately, that is a risk associated with influencer marketing.

While this is big news right now, this is far from the first Influencer scandal that has negatively impacted brand partnerships.

YouTube stars like Logan Paul, Laura Lee, PewDePie, and many other well-known figures have been involved in controversies that have put brands in a tough position.

Risk vs. Reward with Influencer Marketing

When a brand decides to partner with well-known figures, they’re associating that person’s public persona to with the values and reputation of their brand they’ve worked so hard to build up.

Typically, this is a good thing. Your brand has the potential to reach a bigger audience, and now has the “stamp of approval” by someone they admire.

This tactic has helped many companies build their reputation and boost sales, which is why it quickly become so popular.

But as we’ve seen with Olivia Jade, it can backfire quickly.

Bad press around a partner can put your brand at risk for being “guilty by association,” leaving your brand vulnerable to any criticism the Influencer faces.

The bigger the influencer, the more people you can potentially reach - but it also means more damage to your brand if a scandal occurs.

For this reason, many brands try and conduct thorough research about any potential partnerships to ensure the Influencer is “brand-safe” enough to endorse their products - but unfortunately, you can’t predict everything.

Honestly, I’m a huge YouTube nerd, and I’ve watched Olivia Jade’s videos from time to time.

Before this news broke, she was about as brand-safe as they got. She was never involved in any controversy, has a likable personality, had the advantage of having a famous mom to boost her following. I mean..what could be more brand-safe then Full House?

My point is, brands can do their homework on a person, but there's no guarantee that a brand-safe influencer will stay brand safe for the duration of your partnership.

The Lesson to Influencers: Trust is Everything

That being said, there are also risks that come with being an influencer. Just like with brands, a simple error can have big repercussions when you live under a microscope as an influencer or thought leader.

Scandals arguably impact influencers more significantly than they would more mainstream celebrities because when you’re an influencer, your public persona is your brand.

Operation Varsity Blues scandal shows that no matter how polished your image is, one small mistake can cause the public to lose trust in you. Even in cases like Olivia Jade’s, where she’s not directly responsible for the activities of her parents, her reputation and audience’s trust in her has suffered.

This controversy also demonstrates why influencers need to be very careful about what they say and do.

Because social media is so personal, many forget that they’re sharing these thoughts with millions of people - and any content they put out into the world can come back to haunt them.

An example of this is the now infamous video of Olivia Jade talking about how she “really doesn't care about school” in a YouTube video.

#LoriLoughlin's daughter @oliviajadee admitted that she was going to school for the partying, not academics: “I don’t really care about school, as all you guys know.” | 🔗 Full story: https://t.co/CBfFEJe0s6. pic.twitter.com/A8LAuCz5kI

— GV Wire | News & Politics (@GVWire) March 13, 2019

She later apologized for her comments, but it goes to show that whatever you put out into the internet is permanent and can be used against you in the future.

While there are definite perks with being an influencer, there is an enormous amount of pressure to stay “on-brand” and maintain the trust that got you where you are to keep your audience and your sponsorships supporting you.

Is Influencer Marketing Worth the Risk?

There’s no clear solution for the risk versus reward situation when it comes to Influencer Marketing.

A lot of times, it’s risk brands need to knowingly take on when engaging in paid partnerships with influencers.

Some brands are opting to work with micro-influencers as an alternative.

According to Forbes, Micro-influencers refer to people with smaller followings (between 10,000 and 500,000) but receive lots of engagement from their audience.

These Influencers tend to be more niche, which is great for companies who want to advertise to more targeted audiences.

Besides being less of a threat to your brand's reputation, they’re also more cost-effective than working with Influencers with larger followings.

Of course, the downside is you won’t get as much reach as you would when working with a bigger public figure.

Overall, there are clear pros and cons to any marketing strategy, and Influencer marketing is no exception. It’s definitely a risk, but it can reap high rewards as well.

No matter how strategic your approach is, no one can fully predict the future. Partnering with an influencer might very well be the best strategy for your brand, but it’s important to do your homework and prepare for the unexpected.

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/the-2-big-influencer-marketing-lessons-from-operation-varsity-blues

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 858

After Tokyo

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Hey, man. She’s still sleeping.”

“It’s like 2 in the afternoon there.”

“She didn’t get here until late, and she talked for like three hours before she could go to bed. And jetlag.”

“Can you tell her to call me when she wakes up?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know why she’s there.”

“You’re away.”

“I’ll be home tonight!”

“I’m not getting in the middle.”

“You are the definition of in the middle.”

“I’ll tell her to call.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

André and Juan didn’t talk on the phone often, but when they did it was almost always about Christina, and it almost always frustrated the German and seemed not to bother the Spaniard. Nothing changed on that front when Christina opted to fly to London when her participation in the Olympics came to an end instead of going home to Dortmund. Her stated reason for the decision was that André wasn’t even going to be home. He was with his team for an away match. Juan played while she was in the air. She wanted to go home to someone, to have someone to receive her and her massive emotional baggage. She could go home and be with Lukas and her barn family, but that wouldn’t be the same as having one of the only two men she’d ever considered essential components of her heart to hear the come-down. The build-up was so dramatic and lengthy, and she felt as if she were still standing on the climax, unable to begin the descent back to normal until she had one of the right receptacles for her energy. To her the question was, “Why go home and be alone for 24 hours when I could go to London and not be alone?” André understood the logic. He just didn’t like it.

What he missed out on was her first retelling of her Olympic story, from start to finish but surely with a lot of jumping around and confusing side stories, and he knew there was a sentimental difference between the first time she would share all of that and every subsequent one. The first one was going to be the best and most significant, and the most raw and instinctive. He’d been waiting nearly two weeks for it. Christina talked to him every day while she was in Tokyo, and he knew everything that happened there, and most of what she thought about it. But he was waiting for that experience when she’d come home and tell the story.

The story after an event was a staple of their relationship. From early on, they were often most close when they recounted to one another the most private and personal of feelings from their matches and horse shows. Other people didn’t get to hear that stuff, and wouldn’t understand it the same anyway. For a long time, there was no one else who even could hear the story. Neither of them was comfortable enough to give the same insight to someone else. That was how they knew their connection was real and significant in the beginning. They could tell each other everything. But the rider developed a relationship with Juan with a similar level of security and trust. André felt ripped off by that many times, but never more than when he thought about the Spaniard getting that first Olympic debrief- that experience he’d been looking forward to the whole time Christina was away, that he thought would make him smile uncontrollably, feel immensely proud, laugh, feel awe, get inspired, and enjoy all the benefits of immense love.

In addition to feeling jipped, the player was annoyed that she wasn’t coming the next night, when he’d get home too. She would fly back first thing the following morning, mostly because she had media commitments. He thought it might be time for a test balloon to find out how she’d feel if he wanted her to stop giving Juan so much of herself. The Olympics were over and there was nothing on the horizon that was so important as to require that no one rock the rider’s boat.

Christina woke up in the Chelsea man’s deep and cozy bed in the middle of a rainy London afternoon, and almost decided to pretend she’d never woken up at all and just go back to sleep. Tokyo was exhausting. She got at least 7 hours of sleep each night, but never felt well rested. Tom kept telling her she could sleep for a week when they got home, and as she stretched, curled up, stretched again, and then re-burrowed in Juan’s Merlot colored linens, she felt like even a week’s worth of rest wouldn’t be enough. Eventually she ventured out of the featherbed and duvet sandwich with just one hand, seeking her iPhone. Juan removed it from his nightstand hours earlier because it was vibrating nonstop. André was far from the only one trying to reach her, but he was the only one whose call Juan picked up. Their girl did a fairly thorough search in the bed and only got out of it when she was sure the phone had to be elsewhere. The main reason she wanted it was to check in with Tom, who welcomed Dirk home that morning.

“Are you awake, or are you sleep walking?” her host questioned from the chaise lounge in the corner of his living room- the one she put there as part of his “reading nook”- scaring her to death because she assumed the couch being unoccupied meant the rest of the room was too, like the empty kitchen beyond it.

“I think I’m awake,” she mumbled, scratching at her head. “Do you know where my phone is?”

“Right here. You should plug it in again. It’s so busy it’s killing the battery.” The player picked up the device from the square leather footstool that served as a side table in his reading nook. There was a magazine on it, two other phones, a book, his reading glasses, and a glass of iced green tea- a drink he developed a penchant for as a result of Christina having it available in her refrigerator throughout the summer when Lukas was born and he was at her house all the time. She set her butt down on the small bit of empty chase next to his hip, and then rotated to her right to lean her elbow on his waist and look at the many notifications on her phone.

“Dirk is home and out playing with Calvin. Why are you listening to The Centurians?” Her eyes lifted from the screen to the Chelsea man, and her brows furrowed together. His blues lifted from the computer in the middle of his stomach to acknowledge her with as much skepticism.

“Why do you even know that it’s The Centurians?”

“I know everything.”

“It’s the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, on the record player.” He nodded at the turntable and speakers atop the cabinet under some bookshelves. Christina never understood the appeal of listening to records, even on high quality record players. Juan had a growing vinyl collection, and her brother’s was enormous. She thought they were both weird. She also thought it was weird that she initially decided he wasn’t around even though she heard the music. Waking up was hard. “Did you sleep enough? You look like a zombie.”

“I might get back in bed after I call some people back. You should bring whatever you’re doing on the laptop in there so I can sleep on you. What time did you get up?”

“9:30.”

“You should take a nap.”

“André called many times. I answered. He wants you to call him back.”

“K.”

“A gorgeous zombie,” the Spaniard smiled after he closed the computer without ever looking back at the screen again. Guess whatever he was doing isn’t that important, his visitor decided, yawning. He reached over the Apple logo to try to stick his finger in her gaping mouth since she didn’t bother to cover it. When she snapped at it with her teeth like an angry turtle, he dropped his hand down in front of her. “Are you going to wear this for the rest of your life?” he questioned with all five of his fingers on the medal hanging from her neck.

“Yes. I’ll switch it with the other one when it needs polishing.”

“I was thinking we could go to Ferrari, unless you really want to go back to bed...”

“You know what’s really cute?” she asked with a knowing smirk that lacked its usual mischievous appeal because her face was still “sleepy”- she could feel that the squishy areas under her eyes weren’t ready to firm up and disappear yet, and her skin was kind of dry.

“What?”

“You fell in love with me the first time we went to Ferrari.” And he even let me talk him into getting a completely different car, the gold and silver medal winner laughed inside, her eyes on Juan’s, which were comically shifted up and to the left as he pretended to consider her statement. They both knew it was accurate. He’d told her so before.

“And that’s cute?” he questioned skeptically.

“Yes. I don’t know. Maybe “cute” wasn’t the word. It’s something though. Six and a half years ago you asked Schü if you could borrow me to shop for cars. Not only did I not think then that I might ever compete in the Olympics or own a Ferrari, I didn’t even have those things as dreams or goals or anything, and it never would have occurred to me that you and I would be to each other what you and I are. Life is crazy.” Christina tilted her head so that she could scratch at her scalp again with her right hand, and she shrugged and smiled too. Forty-eight and a bit hours were not enough to move past the “deep reflections” stage of winning Olympic medals. “I didn’t think I’d ever even get to ride Dirk again that day.”

“How lucky I am that he still lets me borrow you.” The Spaniard rolled his sparkly blues at her and sat forward to tousle her hair, which already looked like a bird’s nest. The colors in his eyes mattered much more than what he did with them. They exploded into the full spectrum of blue shades, with metallics mixed in, and told her he was every bit as happy that afternoon as she was, even without any Olympic medals on his neck. “You should take a shower or the people at Ferrari won’t take you seriously.”

“I don’t want to go to Ferrari. I want to go back to be-“ The rider was drowned out by her stomach groaning as it tried to digest food that wasn’t in it. “Bed,” she frowned. I’m tired still and Schü and I already have an appointment at Ferrari in Düsseldorf. He wants to go with me, and I want to do it with him too.

“Would you like a sandwich now, and a nice dinner out later?”

“Can we go to your place? So I can have the whole menu? And not be limited to a “reasonable” number of plates?”

“Yes.”

“Yay!” Christina sat up and clapped her hands together like an excited seal. She was excited for the summer menu, and for regular food. Ten days of eating exclusively at the equestrian venue and in the hotel had her ravenous for just about anything else. Their competition venue was too far from the Olympic Village to making staying there with the others realistic, and that was disappointing on many experience levels but none more important than dining. The hotel where all of the jumping, eventing, and dressage riders stayed had one restaurant and only three “continental” dishes- a hamburger, steak frites, and chicken marsala. Everything else was very, very Japanese in the German girl’s eyes, and thus highly suspect. Fish products could be lurking anywhere. There was more to eat where the horses were staying, but nothing there was very tasty or interesting.

“I have roast turkey and 7-grain bread.”

“K. Do you want a sandwich too?”

“No thank you.”

“K.” Christina sat up and fixed her gold medal so that it hung evenly from her neck again, and she crawled on her knees to give her host a kiss. He was able to slide his laptop out of the way just before the heavy prize would have banged into it. “Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t wear this for the rest of my life,” she chuckled. “It’ll probably turn me into a hunchback anyway.”

“You will always know you won it. It doesn’t have to be on your neck,” Juan pointed out levelly. She pushed her lips into his for a few seconds, his nose pushing into her cheek because she lost her balance and tipped forward. Her body was still as asleep as her face.

“You’re really handsome when you’re really delighted for me.” It was necessary to explain her compulsion to kiss him, but she didn’t really know why. There was a strand of thought in her crowded head about the idea that she wasn’t supposed to treat him like a boyfriend, or partner. They weren’t supposed to kiss each time one of them got up and left the room. Usually she didn’t even think to do that, or feel like doing it. Amidst all the other important and significant things on her mind in Tokyo, Christina kept pondering her relationship situations. It kept happening because she kept struggling with whom to text first when she wanted to share something. It was the Olympics, and nearly everything she did and everything that happened to or around her was worth immediately notifying her person. The problem was that she had two people.

It felt weird to text them both the same thing. It felt unfair to text Juan first, or exclusively. It felt incomplete to only tell André. Deciding in which order to call them after the results of the team competition were final was so hard that it actually detracted from the spectacle of the thing. She’d just secured a gold medal for her country and for her teammates and she had to stop freaking out about it to freak out about which love of her life she wanted to share it with first.

Circumstances allowed her to compensate for the decision to call her husband first. Her best friend got the first call when she knew she was going home with a silver medal too. And it was fortuitous that it worked out that way, because it was hard for her to figure out exactly how she felt about that second-place prize. The Spaniard helped her process her disappointment, pride, regret, and acceptance. She wasn’t expecting to be so conflicted. Christina wanted that individual gold for Dirk, but the anger and dejection she expected to feel when the winner bested her jump-off time didn’t show up as scheduled. Instead, immense pride in her horse filled her heart. He was the only equine athlete to jump 5 rounds and a jump-off without a single knockdown. The winner had 8 faults in the second round, as part of the team competition, but second and third round penalties were wiped clean for the fourth. Her Holsteiner was perfect. And he was tired. He gave her everything he had left in the jump-off, in a faraway place, in front of tens of thousands, after a relentless, packed program of monster fences and the most technical courses. It broke her heart that that wasn’t enough for double gold. Christina wanted that for him more than anything. The hurt of missing out just didn’t come right away. Once it did arrive, it came and went in ebbs and flows. Juan helped her deal with the confusing mix of emotions and the sporadic way she experienced them. André’s refrain was more simplistic. He told her to just be happy and content in the knowledge that she and their stallion were perfect and no one else was- that it didn’t matter that the color of her medal didn’t reflect that, because everyone knew it.

“I’m going back to Comfyland,” Christina declared after consuming three slices of turkey, two slices of bread, and one light smear of mayonnaise. She caught up with André while assembling her very, very late breakfast. “Come with?” The Chelsea man resumed work on his weekly blog while she ate. He looked over at her where she lingered near the hall, and she tried to make her face compelling. Hours upon hours in bed was pretty great, but extra hours with him would undoubtedly be even better. The whole point of going there was to not be alone, as she’d just reiterated to her husband on the phone when he accidentally got whiny.

Juan put his laptop aside again and followed her back to his bedroom. Her team luggage was spread out on the bench at the foot of his bed and on the floor in front of that too. Her black adidas garment bag was hanging on the frame of the full-length mirror near the closet. The bed looked like four people had been living in it for four days. There was a silver medal on the nightstand, arranged nicely where there had been an accumulation of teacups and drinking glasses the night before from the lengthy Tokyo debrief. Christina made its regular occupant help her fluff up the featherbed and pillows, and then ordered him to get into bed first so that she could make herself at home on and around him. Wearing an Olympic medal around one’s neck was actually not that convenient in terms of snuggling and being comfortable in bed. The gold medal joined the silver one on the table, after its winner kissed it lovingly. She claimed territory on and alongside Juan’s left side, moving his arm for him so that she could be exactly where she wanted, and settled in with her phone to continue catching up. He put the last Sunday fixture on the TV across the room.

“Hey, look at this. I didn’t know this!” She tilted her phone so he could see a Tweet.

“I didn’t learn to read German since I last saw you,” Juan tutted sarcastically about the German equestrian federation’s post.

“It says I’m the first rider to ever own three Olympic gold medal winning horses at one time. Rio has a team gold from Rio, Nick has an individual gold from Rio, and Dirk has team gold, obvs. Wow. That’s so neat! I only own a tiny bit of Rio though. It’s kind of ridiculous that of the three of them, Dirk is the one without the individual gold.”

“You’re going to harp on that for the next four years, eh? Until you can fix that problem.”

“No. I can’t. He’ll be too old in four years.” This was it. This was our chance. Now we have to try for the WEG or something or he ends his career without any individual gold medals of any kind. Bleh.

“Can we just enjoy that you did win a gold medal a few days ago for at least a few days more before you start obsessing over the next thing?” The other Olympian- the less successful one- poked the small of her back intrusively with his pointer to emphasize his words. “Those of us who have to live with you need a break, cariña. Give us this grace period before it all starts again.” He was teasing her. Inside, she knew he had every right to be serious. Her support team was put through hell as part of her quest to get those tokens on the nightstand. She made her appreciation for that very clear the night before.

“I suppose we can. Can you tell everyone in the restaurant about it and have someone bring me cake while the whole place claps?”

“I have news for you: everyone there already knows,” Juan chuckled, perhaps amused at her obliviousness. It was strangely easy for her to diminish her role in his life as perceived by others. It never occurred to her that everyone close to him knew about what was going on with her because she was such a huge part of his life and he thus talked about her all the time. His whole family and several of his closest friends watched the team final with him during lunch service at the restaurant, in the private party room, on a TV brought in just for the occasion. He told her that, but it went in one ear and right out the other. There was way too much happening that day for Christina to hang onto any faraway information.

“But if you want me to tell all the customers too, I can. I can make a big embarrassing announcement. I’ll stand on a chair. “Attention, everyone! My girlfriend over there at that table in the corner just returned from the Tokyo Olympics, and she won gold and silver medals, and she has a very big, obnoxious ego, so you all need to clap for her and tell her how great she is!” Is that what you want?”

“I’m not comfortable with the very big ego part, or the girlfriend label,” the sleepy girl laughed back. “I really do want a cake though. Do you need to call someone in advance?”

“For real, baby girl, how long are you going to be this annoying?”

“I won medals! I can’t brag and get special treatment for at least as long as we’re enjoying them instead of obsessing about the next Olympics? Come on, dude. That’s not fair! Let me be special for a night!”

“I always give you special treatment!” The Spanish footballer argued back with the same good humor with which he teased her. And he leaned down to kiss her head while he patted her backside affectionately. “I offer to lick your asshole all the time. How is that not special?”

“Ewww can you not? Don’t even talk about that. Part of my special Olympic Medal Winner’s Privileges is the freedom from having to hear you talk about putting things in my butt.”

“Fine.”

“Did you give me a shout out in the blog?”

“I gave you the whole blog. It’s all about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I read it?”

“Tomorrow, with everyone else.”

“Lame. And why are we watching this? Who cares about Crystal Palace and West Brom? Can we watch my course again?” So what if we watched it already last night and I watched it like four times already before that? It’s different because those times were from the German and US broadcasts, and the local coverage. I want to see the UK version again, Christina rationalized. The medal podium rested entirely on her and Dirk’s shoulders when she rode into the competition arena in the third round, the team final. They had to go clear to win, and they were last to go, so they went in knowing that the result would be confirmed as soon as they crossed the timers. Germany’s anchor was so enamored with that high-pressure ride that she couldn’t get enough of it. It was masterful on her part and heroic on the horse’s. She viewed it with her team before the medal ceremony, and then again in her room on the phone with André, another time on the phone with Juan, and then again by herself on the plane to Heathrow. She and the Spaniard replayed it from his DVR while she told the whole story from the pillow next to him on Saturday night. There was no doubt she’d see it again on Monday when she got home, with André and Lukas. One viewing on Sunday couldn’t hurt.

“I thought you were going back to sleep?”

“I thought you loved me. If you loved me, you’d put me on the TV.”

“This really is unbearable,” the Blues midfielder smiled down at her imploring face. “You used to be a lovely, humble girl.”

“You bitches have been fluffing my ego for years and telling me I’d win gold medals and now you’re gonna try to tell me to be humble? Now? All I’ve heard is how I have to believe in myself more, and be more confident, and know that I’d be great, and blah blah blah. Stop moving the goal posts!”

“I love you like this,” he grinned. “It’s funny, and special. I finally see you happy and carefree again like...I don’t know. Whenever. Doesn’t matter. I love it.”

“Yeah, sure, until you really do find it annoying,” Christina droned dismissively at the elated, fuzzy-faced man drinking in her inflated, spiky, sassy, confident, and even contrite personality. There was so much happening in her head and in her heart that it all came out as a jumbled mess, moving her mood in and out of every possible category, and exaggerating each one to almost comic-caricature levels. And she totally didn’t care. Entitled Winner was a great role to play. It was like when having a birthday when she was a kid meant getting her way for a whole weekend, and having everyone bend over backward to make her happy. She made Daniel carry all of her luggage at the airport. “I just won a gold medal for you, so can you do this thing for me” worked really well, on everyone. It took less than three minutes to break André after he initially shunned her Ferrari.

“I’ll give you tonight, at minimum,” her friend vowed with a touch more sincerity. He rubbed her back gently too.

“Thank god. Now put my round on and order my cake. Oh, and thank you.” She fought her lazy body to sit up enough to offer a little kiss of thanks, but Juan wanted something less fleeting than that. He wrapped his palm to her cheek, and under her ear, and slid his fingertips into her hair at the same time he slid his other hand some ways up under the back of her white tee. Every part of his body worked together to make sure their lips remained like stripes- his, hers, his, hers. He didn’t want to let go of her top lip but he didn’t want to hold it hostage either. He did what he could to compel her to keep it there for him, and she felt that, and she did. His body communicated with hers as well as his mind always had, and that was a developing connection. It still had room to grow. It was the main reason Christina kept doing things like giving him thank you kisses and I’m-going-to-the-kitchen-be-right-back kisses, but she didn’t know that. She didn’t realize she was so perpetually hungry for human connection that she was feeding a growing one to make it stronger.

The sedate but significant kiss lasted a while, but didn’t evolve into anything more. The rider broke it off first, and kissed the player on the nose to sort of punctuate that the other kiss was done. Then she demanded he put the jumping coverage on again so that she could once again talk through every single thought she could remember having while on course, and then they put André’s match on. He wasn’t starting. His girl still wanted to watch though, and not just because it was still her team and she still loved nearly everyone on it. It was important to her to watch how they played and have an understanding of everything so that she could talk with him about it in real and honest terms, and not just blow smoke up his behind to make him feel better. The new manager was not her favorite. It was hard to tell if it was his fault that his team played at glacial pace. Regardless of who was to blame, it put Christina to sleep.

She napped on the guy who played for her other team- the more exciting though thus far no more successful team- until he woke her up to talk to Natasha, who texted and even called. He said he thought that was someone worth waking her for, in case she wanted to invite her friend to dinner. That was a small thing that meant a lot to her. Juan mentioned it the night before too. They talked about how she was going to spend her one day there in London, and he suggested inviting Natasha and the kids to lunch, or even going to Box Hill to give the boys a lesson so that they could brag to everyone in the barn that a gold and silver medalist flew straight there from the Olympics to teach them. And he wasn’t even kidding. He had very little time with her, no scheduled next visit, and was willing to share it with her best girlfriend. Natasha couldn’t do dinner, but she begged for breakfast. They were going to hit one of their old favorite spots on the King’s Road, and then Natasha would take her to the airport. It wouldn’t cost her any time with Juan.

Under penalty of tickling, Christina eventually vacated the bed and took a shower and got dressed. Most of the clothes in her various bags and suitcase were team gear- polos, pullovers, track jackets- or riding clothes, so that meant her favorite skinny jeans with the knee holes and the only clean top she could find- a classic straight-cut white crewneck tee with the big adidas logo in dark red. She blew her hair out and used her trusty travel curling iron to put some messy waves in, put enough makeup on to hide the fact that she was still suffering jetlag and travel-related dehydration, and carried her trusty black slip-on sneakers out to find her dinner date.

“K, I’m ready,” she announced to him. Juan was sitting on the couch with his phone. He got up right away, because he was ready to go before she even got to her foundation.

“Do you want to bring a sweater? It’s cold in the restaurant sometimes,” he reminded her while double-checking that he had everything he wanted to take with him, including a cardigan.

“I don’t have any warm-ish layers that are clean. Everything has horse on it,” Christina frowned.

“Go pick something from my closet, then. Get a sweatshirt.”

“Mmkay.”

“Quickly. Don’t take forever trying things on!” the Spaniard called after her once she’d made an about face. “And bring your medals.”

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