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plus-size-reader · 3 years ago

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Feelings

Jace Herondale x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2213 words

Warnings: none

Summary: The reader is a vampire who owns the hardtail bar, who has quite the past with Jace Herondale which they never really addressed to begin with

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Owning a downworlder bar was hardly the cakewalk it made itself out to be.

In all the years that you had owned Hardtail, you had come in contact with all sorts of colorful characters. From vampires and werewolves to demons and demon hunters, there was no telling who was going to walk through that door.

Though, no one was quite as interesting to deal with as Jace Herondale was.

He was an arrogant ass, of course, only doing things when he wanted to do them, and why. Not to mention that he was utterly ridiculous most of the time, something that made him almost impossible to deal with.

...and you would know that better than anyone, seeing as you’d done just that for quite some time.

Going out with him hadn’t been your finest moment, you could admit that.

All in all, you and Jace had nothing in common, and all you ever did was argue but no matter what you did, you always found yourself coming back to him. Without fail, you sought him out and just couldn’t cut the tie you felt to him.

It was impossible.

He just kept coming back, and it wasn’t as if you had it in you to turn him away at the door.

Though, today was the first time he’d ever come in here with someone else in tow, not to mention a woman. She was pretty with fiery red hair and no doubt a personality to match, if you knew him well.

That must have been what had taken him so long.

Normally Jace would stop by every few weeks, just to make sure that none of the downworlders were starting trouble for you, but he hadn’t been here in months now. Clearly, it wasn’t all that big of a deal what happened here, unless of course he needed your help with someone.

Then you were good enough to visit.

“What can I get for you?” you asked, quite similarly to how you would greet any other customer, your eyes staying on the girl at his side rather than looking Jace in the eye.

Whatever it was he needed, you were sure that he’d get to it before you had to do too much more of this, or so you hoped.

You had other customers after all, and most of them didn’t take too kindly to being ignored.

“I’m actually not here to drink. I’m here for you” he grinned, resting as casually as he could against the bar, as if he had any right to do that. Though, it wasn’t as if you were going to throw him out just for that.

At the very least, you knew that you had to hear him out.

“You mean, you are” you clarified, gesturing to the redhead at his side, who you still had no idea about. You had never seen her before, in all your escapades with shadowhunters, and it wasn’t exactly like they were a vast breed.

Whoever she was, it was news to you.

“Right, Y/N this is Clary” he shrugged, plopping down on the barstool across from where you were standing, filling up a glass of bourbon. You had no idea what was going on, or why you cared, but you smiled anyway.

Whatever this girl, Clary, was doing here, you were sure it had nothing to do with whatever it was you and Jace had been doing for the last few years.

She nodded in acknowledgment of you before turning her attention back to Jace, who hadn’t explained anything about this place to her before they showed up.

“What are we doing here?” she muttered, her words little more than a whisper in his direction which you caught easily due to your superhuman hearing. Usually, nothing of value happened here but usually, Jace wasn’t here.

Not like he was today.

“If anyone knows where those vamps are keeping Simon, it’s Y/N. Nothing happens in the downworld without her hearing about it” he shrugged, helping himself to the glass you’d poured, shooting a wink in your direction as he did so.

It was true.

This was a pretty popular hangout spot for all the vampires in the downworld, and as they drank, the more their conquests bubbled to the surface. It was hardly your fault if you paid attention.

“You're more than welcome to ask around, I haven’t heard that name in here before” you shrugged, filling your own glass from another tap, specifically for the vampires like you that frequented this place.

Alcohol didn’t do nearly as much for you as some good O negative did.

Clary nodded, heading off in the direction of where you’d gestured, clearly more determined to find her friend than Jace was. He didn’t seem to care all that much about anything at all.

...but at least that hadn’t changed.

“I had no idea you were seeing someone new” you hummed, not bothering to meet his eyes as you focused all your attention on the stout in front of you. Now that the two of you were alone, it was different.

There was nothing else for you to focus on, and at this point, anything would have been better than dealing with this.

After all, you had no right to be jealous.

You and Jace hadn’t been an item in a few years, and whatever he wanted to do, that was his business. You weren’t going to get involved, just like you should have done from the start.

It would be easier that way.

You didn’t want to deal with this any more than he did, but even with how awkward this was, Jace looked like he was having a great time. This was fun for him, because of course it was.

Everything was fun for Jace, because he always thought he was one step ahead of everyone else.

“I’m not necessarily seeing someone else” he shrugged, taking a long, heavy sip of the glass you’d put in front of him before moving on to anything else behind the bar that would be easier to deal with than him, your jaw tight.

You were avoiding him.

...And frankly, he couldn’t blame you.

The two of you’d had a long, sorted history, and this was hardly the first time you’d seen something like this from him. Really, he was surprised you even cared at all because of how commonplace it was.

It was just the kind of person he was.

Still, he hadn’t brought her here to hurt you. He needed your help, because if anyone knew what to do about their little vampire problem, it was you.

“Besides, this isn’t about her” he sighed, standing from the barstool he’d set himself down on when he arrived to try and get your attention. You were angry with him, and he couldn’t blame you for that, but he couldn’t avoid this.

It was important.

“I don’t think she knows that” you countered, pouring another shot for yourself which you downed casually before finally meeting his burning gaze. Whatever it was that he wanted, you both knew that you would help.

Because of the two of you, Jace was the selfish one. He did what he wanted without thinking about the consequences but you had never been like that.

Even now, he was sure that he could come here after months of not seeing you and ask a huge favor, and you wouldn’t hesitate to do as he asked. It was just the way you were and nothing was going to change that.

It was just who you were, and while he should have probably felt bad about knowing that and never trying to change it, there were too many other things he had to deal with.

Besides, if he was going to be a good boyfriend, he should have been that when you two were actually dating.

Worrying about it now wasn’t going to do either of you any good.

“Would you stop worrying about Clary for a second? We have things to do” he scoffed, snapping at you in a way that forced you to do as he said, if for nothing more than a second. You had no idea what was going on, but it was much more important than some new girl.

You just weren’t sure why yet.

“Simon’s at Hotel Dumort, I spoke to Raphael Santiago about him. Now would you get out of my bar” you sighed, desperately hoping that now that you’d given him what he wanted, he would go away.

Lying to them before hadn’t been your finest decision, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to do this anymore, not with him.

The two of you had gone your separate ways for a reason, and you weren't really in the mood to rehash it all with him right now. It would be better for both of you if he just went away.

“I could, but I don’t really think you want that” Jace shrugged, that sly smirk on his face as he sat back down, still sure that this whole thing was just another game like you were so used to playing.

You didn’t get your feelings hurt.

That was what you always told him.

That you had lived too many lifetimes to ever get too attached to anything, or anyone. That you would be perfectly fine if he fell off the face of the earth one day and never came back. It would be so much easier that way, if you actually believed it.

You loved him.

Of course you did, but there was nothing you could do about it now. You and Jace had tried this whole thing and it didn’t work. You knew that if you gave it another shot, it would end just as badly as the first time.

It always went badly with the two of you.

“I really do, you shouldn't have come here” you allowed, taking his glass from the counter and setting it behind the bar before going for the backroom. You had no idea what was happening with you right now, or why you felt like this, but it didn’t really matter.

All you could think about in this second was getting away from him.

Not that Jace was going to let that happen.

Clearly, he had pushed you too far and this wasn’t the lighthearted tormenting you two usually got up to. You were upset, which was new for him because you were normally so hard to rattle.

He’d never gotten such a rise out of you before.

“Hey, hold on. Where are you going?” he asked, shooting Clary one last glance before following you.

The action caught the attention of several of the patrons he passed, but not one of them moved to interfere. After all your years of running this place, they knew well that you could handle yourself.

Even against a shadowhunter.

“Go help Clary find her friend, Jace. I’ll be here” you shrugged, bearing down on your teeth as you tried your best to shut down all the emotion bubbling up inside you. You didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want to care, and that wasn’t going to change.

Jace wasn’t yours anymore.

It was true.

You were always going to be here, and he knew that.

That was why it didn’t matter if months passed by before he came back or if he brought beautiful girls with him to meet you. No matter what he did, you were always going to be waiting for him and maybe that was the problem.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t worked in the first place. You were too available, too happy to help him when Jace was only concerned about himself.

“Will you?”

It was rich, especially coming from him. Acting as if you hadn't been there for him whenever he needed you even after you should have turned your back on him.

Of the two of you, he shouldn't have been the one worried about being alone.

“I get it. Vampires don’t have feelings right? We’re just monsters, and you kill monsters. I was an idiot to think that would ever change” you sighed, doing your best to ignore the anger bubbling up in your belly.

You just felt like such an idiot.

How could he have actually thought this whole thing was going to be a good idea? After all this time, it was almost as if he didn’t know you at all.

“I loved you, more than anything” he tried, not understanding how you’d managed to go from what you’d been like fifteen minutes ago to this. Fighting wasn’t new for the two of you, but this was.

Something about this was different.

This wasn’t fighting for the sake of it, knowing that you would find a way to make up when it was all over. It actually felt like you didn’t think he cared about you, which couldn't have been farther from the truth.

When you two were together, he’d never once doubted the way he felt for you. Though, you weren’t sure that you could be so convinced, because whether he believed it or not, you knew Jace better than he knew himself.

“I wish I could believe that”

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wonderwafles · 2 years ago

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Aryn missed Calus.

It was a difficult thing to admit. So, she didn't. Not to anyone; not even to her own Ghost. Though Orion had seen worse in her heart before than that.

People did notice, of course, that she still bore some of his golden gifts. A weapon with purple emboss, its origin having slipped her mind, made several Warlocks at the HELM glare at her until she brought it to Banshee to have it disassembled.

She mourned it as he took it apart. Its gleaming components were no longer any different than any of her other ones. She did not say a word.

"So many Guardians taken in by a monster," Zavala said at a strategy meeting. "Most have renounced him, of course, but the fact that it happened at all..."

"The treasures of the Leviathan have lured many a stout mind," Ikora cautioned. "And not just among Guardians. Power is always tempting."

Aryn nearly broke the HELM transponder as she listened. Her hands longed to punch something.

They didn't understand... though maybe that was a good thing.

"I saw it from the beginning, of course," one triumphant Hunter proclaimed at a bar one night. "Calus was rotten to the core. I called it, didn't I? I said, right after the Red War..."

Her words dissolved into a chorus of agreement from her friends. Aryn drank and tried not to listen.

"My father poisons his words to draw in the unwary and deluded," Caiatl said, another night, over her comms.

"I don't know," Crow said, as the infestation of the HELM grew more severe. "I think... there will always be people seeking power. And Calus was willing to give it to them. I can't really blame them for not seeing through it."

Aryn tried her best not to say anything. She dealt more cards for a game neither of them really knew how to play.

"I just... want to think I'm better than that, now," he continued.

Aryn begged him to understand with her eyes, but as Crow averted his gaze and drew, she thought she had never been more angry in her entire life.

What must it be like, she wondered? To leave monstrousness in your past, your greatest problem people confusing you for someone you weren't anymore?

She could confirm that the other way around sucked. Other people holding on to the image of a magnificent hero, averting their eyes from who you were now.

Maybe there was an Aryn who could have agreed with him, but she was gone. She died in the Red War, maybe, when she lost her fireteam, her home, her... anonymity.

And it was Calus who picked her up again. Who assuaged all doubt in her mind.

She had asked him, one night, why it was her and her alone the Traveler had picked to save the Last City.

Why, he said, surrounded by the bright and infinite treasures he rained upon her, because you deserved it. You deserve all of this, and more.

Okay, she thought now, feeling the egregore choking the hallways of the ship and Crow's concerned eyes on her.

She made her excuses and left the game.

#my writing #destiny #it's sadgirl hours featuring you know who again :3 #arynposting #one final season of the haunted thing before everything changes

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jackoshadows · 3 years ago

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A fascinating and educational twitter thread about how Prohibition helped Botswana become one of the most stable countries in Africa.

For decades since its independence in 1966, Botswana was an island of black sovereignty & stability between apartheid South Africa and white-supremacist Rhodesia. Some say it was the inspiration for #Wakanda in the movie #BlackPanther.

In southern Africa as the world over, the Brits and European colonists ran the EXACT SAME PLAYBOOK of alco-colonization.

Read more at the link

Step 1: Introduce hard liquors--industrial distillates--to native populations with no experience with drinks of such mind-bending potency. 4/ Step 2: Clutch their pearls, and recoil in horror at the drunkenness and violence that predictably occurs within the native community and against white colonizers and liquor purveyors. In Africa, they called it the “black peril.”

Step 3: Cite that drunkenness as evidence of natives’ inability to be “civilized,” thus justifying white political domination over them. Africa, Asia, North America, even Ireland--everywhere it was the same pattern. See also: opium in China.

Hard liquor (whiskey, rum, gin, vodka, schnapps, etc.) was the perfect tool of exploitation. Highly potent. Concentrated. Easy to transport. Highly addictive. Didn’t spoil like fermented brews. Easy to make. Incredibly lucrative.

European colonizers would share liquor as a gesture of goodwill, and then once the alcoholic stupor set in, get tribal leaders to scrawl an “X” and sign-away their land, resources, and even people. 8/ More importantly, promoting widespread addiction to liquor made indigenous populations reliant on the colonists, just as junkies rely on drug dealers. Again, see also: opium in China, and two Opium Wars resisting it.

What did natives have that colonists wanted? Ivory, food, furs, ivory, exotic ostrich feathers, rubber, ivory... the land and the minerals in it, and everything living on it. Also: ivory. And finally, the natives themselves were commodities: as labor or slaves.

If you’re a European trader & the locals trade ivory or furs for (say) your iron kettle, the entire village can use that for 20 years. Blankets might last 5 years before they need to trade with you again. There’s little demand for your wares. Or you. But if you can hook the community on booze that ONLY YOU supply, they’ll have to come back to you all. the. time. Now you’re indispensable. Addiction is self-renewing demand. Becoming the sole drug dealer to a community of addicts is ridiculously profitable. Need proof? Riddle me this: What was the first factory on the continent of Africa? Of course, Africa is rich in every resource imaginable: minerals, gems, ivory, rubber, oil, cocoa, fruit and timber that could be processed into goods.

Here it is. In 1881, the Dutch Transvaal government granted a monopoly on distilled brandy to the Hatherley Distillery near Pretoria. The company was called “De Eerste Fabriken”--the First Factory. It wasn't first because the white settlers drank it. They largely didn’t.

Instead, with the discovery of gold & diamonds, white mine-owners needed black labor. They lured workers to the mines with promises of liquor, knowing if they had large booze debts to pay back, tribesmen would have to work longer, rather than returning to their village.

(South African Breweries--today the world’s largest brewer--was founded soon thereafter to provide British-style beer to a white clientele, while the cheap liquor from Hatherley was reserved for indenturing black workers.)

Consequently, every native leader worth his salt was a prohibitionist--defending his people against the “white man’s wicked water.” King Moshoeshoe in Lesotho. Chief Waterboer in Griqualand. Tembu headman Mankai Renga & hundreds more. In Africa as around the globe, temperance and prohibitionism became the banner for subaltern sovereignty against the white colonial junkiemaker.

Which brings us back to Botswana. Or Bechuanaland, as it was then known. It had long been ruled by tribal chiefs, led by Bamangwato King Khama III ("the Great"), who’d allied with the British against the Dutch Boers.

Three months after ascending the throne in 1873, he informed all white traders on his territory that trading liquor w/ his people was now prohibited. “If, when you give one another a drink, you turn around and give it to my people also, I shall regard you as blameworthy.” Europeans scoffed & kept selling--until Khama expelled them all: “I am black and am chief of my own country. When you white men rule then you will do as you like. At present I rule, and I shall maintain my laws which you insult and despise.” Prohibition was sovereignty. “There are 3 things which distress me—war, selling people, and drink,” Khama wrote the British in 1876, asking the Queen’s protection. “All these I shall find in the Boers.”

By 1884, Bechuanaland was British protectorate, respecting Khama’s prohibition. Meanwhile the 1890s, Britain’s Cape Colony was dominated by the notorious Cecil Rhodes: founder of the De Beers diamond syndicate, quintessential imperialist and unapologetic white supremacist.

“I contend that we are the finest race in the world and that the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race,” Rhodes wrote. “Africa is still lying ready for us--it is our duty to take it.” In 1889, Rhodes organized his mining interests into the chartered British South Africa Company (BSAC), which had its own government and army. In 1890, he also became Prime Minister of the Cape Colony. In the First Matabele War (1893-94), 750 BSAC “police” with machine guns killed over 10,000 Matabele spearmen, bringing Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) under Company control. Khama’s Tswana tribesmen served on the side of the Company.

According to BSAC shareholder reports, one of the first items of business wherever the Company set-up control was to farm-out the liquor trade to white settlers. Profits are profits, regardless of prohibition promises. Rhodes famously dreamed of building a trans-African railroad connecting Cape Town to Cairo... which meant taking Bechuanaland, even though Khama was regaled as a loyal British ally.

From 1892-95, the conniving Rhodes used every administrative trick possible to place Khama’s Bechuanaland Protectorate under the sovereignty of the Company, but was stymied either by Khama or the Colonial Office in London. By 1895, Khama had enough. Together w/ fellow chiefs Bathoen and Sebele, he voyaged to London to petition Queen Victoria’s government to keep Bechuanaland out of Rhodes’ grasp.

“The two points on which the natives seem to be apprehensive,” the Imperial Secretary in Cape Town telegraphed London, “are the questions of land and liquor.” The 3 kings arrived in September 1895, and were supposed to meet with Colonial Secretary Joseph Chamberlain. But he--like the rest of the Queen’s government--had left for their annual vacations until November. “I have for years tried to abolish the use of strong liquors in my country, and prevent the importation of European drinks,” Khama told the London press, lamenting that his efforts “should be hampered by agitation in my country and outside it.” While awaiting for an audience with Chamberlain or Queen Victoria, Khama, Sebele and Bathoen toured the width and breadth of the British Isles, winning British public opinion to the side of their temperance and sovereignty.

The Review of Reviews reprinted Khama’s plea that “you, O British people, will not paralyse my efforts by compelling me to submit to the invasion of my country by the trader with his poisonous liquors.” If Britain were to ignore Khama’s calls for help, the papers editorialized, then the British people “should stand condemned as the most God-forsaken set of canting hypocrites on the whole round earth.” Following the kings‘ temperance visits, a flood of popular petitions inundated the Colonial Office from across the country, strenuously opposing giving Bechuanaland over to Rhodes‘ Company. Prior to the meeting, the kings plead their case to Chamberlain: “We fear the Company because we think they will take our land and sell it to others. We fear that they will fill our country with liquor shops, as they have Bulawayo.”

The kings offered concessions and the payment of additional poll taxes, if London would only delay the inevitable annexation by Rhodes’ Company by 10 years. “Do not let them bring liquor into our country to kill our people speedily.”

On Nov. 6, 1895, Chamberlain finally met with the chiefs to dictate terms. The chiefs would pay a hut tax and sacrifice a strip of land for Rhodes‘ railway in exchange for maintaining their sovereignty as a protectorate. “White man’s strong drink shall not be brought for sale into the country, and those who attempt to deal in it or give it away to black men will be punished. No new liquor license shall be issued, and no existing liquor license shall be renewed,” Chamberlain declared.

Weeks later, Chamberlain escorted the Chiefs to Windsor castle for an audience with “the Great White Queen” herself, Queen Victoria, who confirmed the arrangements that Chamberlain had made. “The sale of strong drink shall be prohibited in your country &those who attempt to supply it shall be severely punished,” the Queen declared. “I feel strongly in this matter, & am glad to see that the chiefs have determined to keep so great a curse from the people.” Pleased, though unaware of British protocols, Sebele told the press: “Her Majesty if a very charming old lady... But I had no idea that she was so short and stout... I shall go back home contented.” They did. Far less pleased was Cecil Rhodes, who telegraphed London: “I do object to being beaten by three canting natives especially on the score of temperance.”

And then: “IT IS HUMILIATING TO BE UTTERLY BEATEN BY THESE NI***RS.”

Bechuanaland’s stay of execution may have been short lived, were it not for what happened next. Upon returning to Bechuanaland, Khama met Sir Leander Starr Jameson, who was leading a BSAC military force. Jameson’s orders were to instigate an insurrection across the border in the Dutch Transvaal, whipping-up British sympathizers and lead to an all-out British invasion to topple the rival Dutch Boers. But in a crowning irony, Jameson’s Raid was doomed by liquor. To take the Dutch by surprise, the British would cut the telegraph lines so Boer outposts couldn’t sound the alarm of invasion. Instead of cutting the telegraph lines, a drunken British soldier instead cut a farmer’s wire fence. The Dutch anticipated and tracked the whole raid, ambushed and decimated the attackers & imprisoned Rhodes’ brother Frank.

London condemned Rhodes‘ reckless adventurism, forcing him to step down from the BSAC in disgrace. The imperial threat to Bechuanaland’s sovereignty and sobriety was over. The British honored Khama’s prohibition & sovereignty right through Botswana’s independence in 1966. Today the bronze Three Dikgosi Monument honoring Khama, Bathoen & Sebele is the most visited destination in the 🇧🇼 capital of Gaborone.

Were it not for their 1895 temperance mission to Britain, what is today Botswana would’ve long been absorbed into either Britain’s Cape Colony (now South Africa) or Rhodesia (Zimbabwe)--much to their people’s detriment--instead of becoming its own independent country. Without prohibition, there’d be no Botswana. And in honor of their Founding Fathers, Botswana emblazoned the picture of the chiefs‘ 1895 temperance mission to London on their 100 Pula note.

HEY! If you liked this liquor-politics thread, may I humbly suggest checking-out my new “Smashing the Liquor Machine: A Global History of Prohibition” book, which contains literally dozens of them.

#Botswana #Liquor #Prohibition #Colonization #History #alco-colonization

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soramel · 2 years ago

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In Love and War (ksj)

tags: idol!au, fake dating trope, enemies-to-lovers status: Ongoing (1/3)

It was that kind of Friday night (more like Saturday morning). You drank two shots too many, stayed on the dancefloor one minute too long, before the floor started spinning on your feet, or maybe you were.

Or maybe it's the number on your suite's door

Or your keycard's the one's floating

Or maybe the key slot's pulling a prank on you, avoiding your aim as you slam the damn card in.

You stumbled, the knob swinging down like magic.

"I'm never gonna drink again," you grumbled. A recurring resolution that floats in your mind which would be gone and forgotten as soon as you dive in your bed for the night.

Part 1

Having projects in LA is much more fun. You get to party and run around without scrutinizing eyes. Although you do miss the coldness of Seoul, the sun and the smell of weed in random corners of Hollywood is like an adventure in your backyard.

Your manager might kill you tomorrow, but you're quite sure that the alcohol will wear off by the time you board the plane back home. Or maybe not. That would make sleep easier to come though.

After the fashion week in New York, 4 weeks were spent in the west coast for several shoots and shows. You'll fly back home and do projects again for a month before going to Dubai, then Paris, for runway shows.

You never found modelling glamourous. When you were starting, you spent a whole day waiting in line just for you to walk for less than 5 seconds. Most times you get to wait out in the cold or in a humid heat, just for you to get snubbed and scrutinized for being too meaty, too thin, too tall, not small enough, not a blank canvas, too sharp, too soft.

You learned to not take those snide comments and backhanded compliments too seriously. Over time.

You got to be confident in your bare skin and embrace each curve and freckle and stretchmark. If you only knew how confidence could boost your presence, you could've worked on it when you were just starting.

Cold air grazed against your exposed skin. In contrast to LA's hot weather, their air-condition is freezingly too much. You squirmed and took refuge in the warmth of your duvet and pillow. It's odd and warmer than you're used to but you're not complaining. The blanket have somehow wounded around your body, cocooning you in a warm embrace.

"Happy birthday!!!"

Shouts and cheers jolted you awake, but it shortly ended up in screams of horror and surprise as you relayed frantic glances to different pairs of eyes.

"Turn the live off!"

"Jin hyung! We agreed on behaving!"

"How many saw that?"

"Who the heck are you?!"

"I don't know! Why are you in my room?!" you defensively replied. "Who are you, people?!" you freaked out.

"They're my members! And that's our camera director!"

"Oh my god my head's aching," you groaned and bent forward, cradling your pounding head in your arms.

It was then when you recognized the familiar faces you just saw. Everyone knows them.

You sighed when you realized you were still in your tank top and underwear.

"Who sent you here?" Jin asked, perplexed, his arms were folded against his chest in a defensive stance. You took offense at his action, making you scoff.

"This is my room. I know I'm getting quite an attention in the runway scene but you... you..."

you couldn't continue the accusation you were formulating because heck, why would he, a global star, would sneak his way into your suite, unless,

"You're a pervert stalker!"

He gasped and his brows furrowed. You could almost see smoke puffing out of his ears as his face flushed with red fury.

"You're in my suite! You're the pervert stalker!" he shouted back.

A stout man then stormed in the room, his eyes alarmed. "What's happening here? Who are you? Seize her!" he shouted orders after tall men in black filed in.

"What would you do to me? Back off! I'll sue you!"

The man replied, "You should've known better before pulling this kind of stunt to my artist. You'll go to jail."

You shook your head and frustration seeped through you at how you felt misunderstood and ganged up on. You further backed away from one of them reaching out to you. "Call my manager! I'm not some freak psycho who's after any of you. I'm famous too, you know!"

You're not the kind of person who uses her fame, but it was a cornering situation you desperately need to get out of.

"If you touch me, I'll sue you for harassment."

"You entered his suite without permission."

"This is my room!" you insisted. But now you weren't so sure as you were hammered drunk last night.

---

You were now seated on the couch as you fidget nervously. It was then cleared out that you got the wrong suite and that the door was held open early in the morning for their surprise to Jin. That explains the headache and groggy state you're in, barely getting any sleep.

Their manager pretty much yelled at the ridiculous stunt and fired the staff in charge right there and then.

"Y/n!" your head whipped up at the sight of your manager rushing in through the door. You looked up at her and couldn't hold back the tears you've been holding.

"Ms. Seo!" you uttered and ran up to her, hugging her as you seek refuge in her arms.

"What happened?"

"My father happened. If he'd just let me stay in his hotel and didn't belittle my job too much, I could've avoided this. And Alex! He bought so much drinks for me!"

"Who's Alex?" she asked back, confused.

"The friend I made last night."

"Y/n!" she reprimanded.

"He was nice! And then... and then..."

"Your talent got into my suite. She was too drunk to notice," Jin cut you off.

You whirled towards him and said, "You could've woken me up. Or something,"

"You're not the only one who's been busy and tired. Luckier you, you got to party."

His manager then stepped in, knowing how bad tempered he can be. "I figured you saw the video already. It was live so despite us taking it down, his fans still got a snip of it."

Both of your managers got into a conversation disregarding the two of you as if you were children. They were like parents calmly talking about the situation, understanding each other's statements. While you threw Jin a heated stare, he only shook his head out of utter disappointment.

The whole situation is not pleasant to you either, but Jin's expression is out of this world. His ice-cold glare sent shivers down your spine, making you do nothing but avert from his killer gaze.

You buried your face in your hands out of regret. You somehow knew your partying habit would get you into trouble sooner or later, but you've been very careful. It's just that you thought that once you're out of the party scene, you're deemed safe.

"- we will be talking to our lawyer about this, so I couldn't make any promises."

"Either way, you should cooperate with our investigation if you're not hiding anything."

"We're not. We'll agree to it as long as this is settled legally and you have a warrant."

"She trespassed!"

"It was an accident. An honest mistake on her part. She was..." Ms. Seo sighed in shame, before saying, "intoxicated. Isn't that obvious? She didn't mean any harm. Mr. Kim isn't hurt. Anyone isn't."

"Do you know what this has caused my artist's reputation?"

"So does mine. She wouldn't have slipped in if the door was locked."

"So you're really going there?"

"I told you we'll cooperate but with legal safeguards to protect us."

A ring have cut through the intense bullets flying to and fro across the room.

It was your phone.

Dad calling...

Shoot.

You flinched. You couldn't even dare to press the red button and just kept staring on the screen.

"Y/n," you glanced up at Ms. Seo with teary eyes, asking for her to take it on your behalf. She shook her head and urged you to take it.

With a sigh, you picked up the call and closed your eyes as you brace yourself.

"Dad?"

"Is it true?" his voice sounded menacing.

You held in your breath and stalled, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know I don't take bullshits. I've let you on your own and this is how you repay me? I don't care who you sleep with but at least have some decency to not get caught and bring shame to the family!"

"It's not like that. It was an accident. I didn't," you let out an exhausted breath. "My manager and I will fix this. Don't worry."

"The damage has been done. People have traced who you are. Do you know you're being painted as a rebel heiress? Your pictures with models and few personalities, partying, are all over the internet and the news. Now, the public are even scrutinizing us, your parents."

"Is your manager in the room?" he asked after a beat.

"Yes."

"Put me on speaker."

"But dad, this isn't the right time. We have other people in the room," you replied, meeting the eyes of everyone who seemed to be listening to the call. A staff barged in and talked to Jin's manager, showing him something on the tablet.

"Other people involved in this matter you mean?"

"Yes."

"Better. Put me on speaker. Now."

"Sir," Ms. Seo greeted once you've put it on the coffee table.

"I'll compensate for everything my daughter has caused. Money is not an issue here. Cancel all her contracts from this point on and my legal team will help you with the penalties. Y/n will fly back here to Seoul."

"Dad!"

"I already told you to not join the circus, Y/n. I won't let anyone slander this family. This is your last straw. You burned it. Now, go back here,"

The line ended, leaving you all speechless. -- It has been a month since you were flown back to Seoul. The wound was still all painful and bitter for losing the momentum you've had in the fashion world. In a snap, your father has proved how he could end your career anytime he wants.

On top of compensation, a threat to pull out of the current deals they had currently with the band were laid out on the table unless their management will not release any single statement for the matter.

The surprising part is that, everything in your life was laid out there. Out for the world to read. You became more famous, in three-folds, than you've been ever before. Soon, some stories were spun up how you and Jin met. Someone have caught a picture of the both of you in a museum, coincidentally. They even got a wind of how the scandal affected your career and that your influential family have paid millions to protect you.

Soon after, your father released a statement on your behalf. That you have done nothing wrong and you've been nothing but being independent on your own. The recent events have pushed him to step in and save you from scrutinizing eyes.

When he was asked on his thoughts about your nonexistent relationship with the idol, he stated, "My daughter's recovering from the whole fiasco. I have nothing to say about the rumors."

Then again, because of a vague statement, the whole situation was being painted as a Shakespeare piece. A star-crossed lovers. Your father being painted as a good-natured villain, while you, a rebel turned into a princess who was swept off her feet by a prince.

It was a well-cooked slow burn love story now for the media and for the fans of both sides. An orchestrated piece where hints and bits were dropped off for anyone to connect the dots.

And now you're here, in a meeting room with Jin who's calmer than before. A pitying gaze on his eyes which annoyed the hell out of you.

You couldn't help but scoff.

Tables have turned in more ways than one.

"The PR stunt was slow but effective. Making it organic and believable for everyone." Jin's manager spoke up.

You on the other hand, has been on the blind side of things.

"I thought everyone was paid off. Why are we having this meeting?" you turned to Ms. Seo.

She looked at you and said, "Your father and I have settled everything. We're now on the second phase of the plan. They also agreed to this."

"What's happening?" you asked in utter confusion.

"We're writing a romance movie. So you could get back to your modelling and Jin would be painted in a better light. The damage has been done the moment you were broadcasted on live. We just tipped the opinion of the public to the pastured side," she explained.

"This is ridiculous!" you declared after the walkthrough. "You agreed to this?!" you snapped at Jin, who was just silent all throughout the meeting.

You flew to Paris a day after that under some hideous disguise so no one could recognize. After settling in, you got ready for the first take. A natural look. You took a morning stroll through the winding streets, heading to a bakery before walking back to your place. You walked slow towards the rented apartment, your face bare and gracefully pale to sell off the movie script everyone wrote.

Beep. Shutter.

And the first scene was set.

"Pictures would be published a day later so you'd be safe. By the time they got a wind of the situation, you guys are both back here in Seoul. Taking the second sequence," the PR adviser discussed as he peeled off the storyboard.

Seokjin's looking at you at an arm's length distance before grabbing your hand. His hands are cold and pale from the city's harsh breeze.

"I can't believe we're doing this," you whispered, your scarf now covering almost half your face. Your outfit was straight out of a hallmark movie while he's wearing a ridiculous oversized pink sweater and khaki shorts. "And your outfit, seriously?"

He pursed his lips and pulled you towards him, gently. He then whispered to your ear, "Don't make me laugh. I was supposed to be in disguise when meeting you."

"You're attracting attention to yourself by being hideous," you retorted as you felt his hug tighten, his head burying on your shoulder.

Beep. Shutter.

"That's the point," he hoarsely replied.

You sighed. "I'm sorry. I know this is tiring. We could just..."

Seokjin shook his head. "It's okay. I'm sorry for putting your career in jeopardy."

"It's my fault. Don't be sorry. I got you in so much trouble."

"It's no one's fault," he settled.

You let out a sigh against his chest.

Then he spoke, "You should push me away. I chased after you, but you're done, remember?"

"This is ridiculous."

"You've said that for a hundredth time. Now do your part, Juliet," he replied in a teasing tone.

You gulped and couldn't help but chuckle, in response, Jin tucked your head in. "Don't laugh, you're making me laugh. We'll blow this up. Really, you're such a bad actress," he said through gritted teeth while fighting a smile off his face.

With that you pushed him away with a glare.

"I'm a freaking model. I can act," you reprimanded him, raising an eyebrow in a challenge.

He tilted his head to the side, "Not like that, be heart broken."

He reached again for your hand but this time you spat it away.

"Fine," you turned around and ran towards the building, hiding your face as if you're sobbing, but in reality, the whole scenario's sending you to madness.

With all the relentless shutters you've heard since the scene, you only hoped a couple of them would look convincing.

"Your boyfriend's here," Ms. Seo announced while you were getting your makeup ready for a shoot. Deals started pouring in right after the release of your heartbreaking pictures. As a strategy, the most unassuming gig was picked. A coffee commercial.

You turned to your manager with wide eyes as the staff pretended to hear nothing. Your makeup artist paused a bit before pretending on powdering your face as a touch up.

"We broke up. What are you talking about?" you carefully treaded, earning silenced gasps from your stylist to the floor manager and even the photographer who were suddenly in your perimeter.

Ms. Seo shrugged and left the studio. You saw Seokjin walking in in his crisp white shirt and slacks, his hair slicked back and looking handsome as ever.

"Everyone out! Be back and we'll start in 15!" someone announced, sending you in utter confusion.

You watched him as he made his way towards you. Neither of you spoke as you waited for the last person to leave the room.

Once the studio doors clicked shut, you uttered, "We're not scheduled to shoot in two days,"

Seokjin shrugged, his hands tucked behind him.

"The team thought we need a follow up. We couldn't just make up all of a sudden with all the pushing and swatting done in Paris."

You chuckled, "You told me to push you away."

"I did."

You sighed in exasperation and decided to move on. Walking up to him you crossed your arms against your chest. "So what do I need to do?"

He brought flowers and handed it to you, saying, "There're cameras across the window, you just have to accept these and be photographed."

You rolled your eyes and stepped to him, handing out your hand to accept the flowers.

He raised a brow and said, "Closer,"

You took a step closer and gently grabbed the bouquet from him. A lingering hold to let the moment be captured.

Then you turned away, back to a spot covered by the wall. He stood there by the window, staring at you.

"How's everything so far?"

You nodded back and replied, "Good. Let me know if I need to do anything for you. I owe you for cooperating to this ridiculous plan."

Jin let out a bitter chuckle, "It's for my image too. This is a lot of work, but it's the best way to get out of this situation."

"If it's of any comfort to you, my branding soared, for being a real adult. Whatever that means," he added.

You nodded in understanding, "So we'll just squeeze the lemonade out of this."

He laughed at the comparison you used, but nodded in agreement. "Yes. I'll consider this as an acting gig. You should too. For your portfolio."

You chuckled back and nodded, "Okay, thank you, Jin."

You briskly walked to Jin's car at the end of your appointment for that day. You're now on the second sequence, a scene where Jin is driving you home, stopping for a quick dinner along the way.

You huffed as you pulled his car door shut.

"Hi," you greeted, untangling your thick red scarf from your neck.

"Ready?" he asked as you buckle in. You looked around and remarked, "Wow, this car isn't really tinted huh."

He laughed. "It's for my safety. In case you'd do anything bad to me."

"As if," you retorted and chuckled back.

You were both advised to be careful as the traction of your story has been picked up by different news agencies. Along with your hired photographers, real paparazzis are now out there to get you both.

"Assume as if you're really sneaking away. Just get on the spots we told you so our team can have clear shots," Ms. Seo reminded on the phone, minutes before the stage.

Few minutes later of battling through the city, he parked the car on the riverside. As he pulled the handbrake, you asked, "I thought we're having dinner."

"Yeah, but too many people. I prepared ahead here," he replied before taking off and opening the trunk.

You followed with curiosity and laughed when you found camping pots and utensils and a few packs of ramen. Then he revealed a plate of jokbal tightly packed.

Your mouth watered at the sight and turned to him in glee. "Oh my god," you told him with a grin.

He stared at you for a while and didn't say anything. So you proceeded, "This is amazing, Jin! I like it," you informed him before digging for the water bottles and the portable kettle. Beyond you are the trees, the hood facing the empty parking lot.

"Where do we go?" you asked after securing the bottles and kettle.

Jin stuttered, blinking, before saying, "Just here," he replied in a rasp.

"Oh, okay," you agreed right away seating on the trunk and opening the bottle of water then pouring it in the kettle.

You looked around and through the dimly lit forest park. You turned to him as you wait for the water to boil, "I haven't seen any photographers though, you sure we didn't lose them?" you asked as you watch him take a seat beside you.

"They're around somewhere. I'm sure. They have to hide well so it won't be too obvious," he replied, his voice sounding stressed. With a concerned look, you asked, "Is everything alright?"

He bit his lip and nodded, "Yeah, just tired."

You stood up and went in front of him. With your arms wide open, you told him, "You can recharge. I give hugs for free."

Jin chuckled and shook his head as his gaze wandered on your face. There was something in his eyes you didn't used to see and you attributed that to his exhaustion. He must've a busier schedule and this is an additional work for him.

He wrapped a hand around your waist, then pulled you closer to him, resting his chin on your shoulder. You automatically hugged him back, giving the back of his head a gentle caress.

You settled between his thighs as you sighed out a hum. "This is nice," you muttered.

"It is."

Shutter.

"From thereon, we'll let the issue die down. We will circulate a story on your breakup after a month." the PR head finished, turning to everyone.

"Questions?"

The stunt was a success and despite you having both supporters and haters, the scandal winded down into a much positive note. Offers came back according to Ms. Seo. Which is why you're in Dubai for an editorial shoot.

You thought everything was over when your father have paid off everyone. You didn't even know he'd go through pins and needles to clear your name. May it be for the sake of your family's reputation or you as his daughter, you didn't go further to distinguish. On a family dinner, when you informed him you'll be flying out of the country for your projects, he didn't comment much about it. Well aside from a threat of you going to parties.

Slumping down the couch, you reached for your phone. You posted a photo of the sunset in the desert to update your followers before heading for bed as you have an early flight to Paris tomorrow.

You woke up to a notification.

From: Kim Seokjin

Don't I look handsome?

You chuckled at the message and the selfie he sent. He has cucumbers covering his eyes and his hair was up in pigtails. You took note of how unfair his plump lips looked even without filter.

Typing in, Very., you replied.

Not long after, he messaged back,

When are you coming back?

In two weeks

I'll treat you to a meal.

We'd broken up by then, though?

Ouch.

You laughed at his reply as you get ready for the flight. You and Jin have formed a friendship over the situation. It wasn't that difficult. He's dorky and kind though you thought he was really a snob at first. Which was fair considering how you've almost ruined everything for him.

No official statement on the confirmation of your relationship was published, however news articles have released news on your breakup due to your busy schedules. You took off from social media for three days as everyone bombarded you with questions, cheer ups, and hate messages.

It was a cold morning, so you opted to stay in your apartment instead of heading out. Besides, cameras would still be hot on your tail since it's been less than a month since the breakup news.

"And now, exhale as you crunch up, tucking your navel in," the soothing voice of the instructor and your ragged breath were the prominent sound in the four-walled space.

"You know it's coming, now, hold it," she added further after a bit.

You grunted and pushed yourself despite the burn on your upper mid. With a laser focus on the wall, you huffed down as the doorbell rang.

With labored breath you wiped your forehead, turned on your stomach and lifted up in a cobra position to give the sore muscle a nice stretch.

The doorbell rang once again.

You hurried towards the door, expecting Ms. Seo, only to be surprised when faced with Jin's equally surprised face.

He tried his best not to look down, though your red-flushed face and sweaty look made his mind haywired. You were equally comprehending as to what he's doing at your door in broad daylight until you remembered proposing to eat in your apartment instead for safety reasons.

You slapped your forehead, making him also flinch out of a trance you barely noticed. "Shit, I completely forgot. Come in," you rambled as you opened the door wide open for him.

He didn't move an inch, his ears red, as he put a hand on the back of his neck. "I could visit another day, you must've been busy. It's alrigh-"

"No, no! I was just finishing my workout. I'm done now," you countered as you take a step forward only then to realize how you inappropriately dressed you are.

"Please come in, I'll just change my clothes,"

Jin swallowed down his nerve and you feel like you've put him in an uncomfortable situation. Pursing your lips, you said, "Look, I'm genuinely inviting you in and admitting that it's utterly stupid of me to forget. Why don't you use my kitchen for those takeouts while I change? I'll be back in a jiffy."

In a resolve, he decidedly nodded and walked himself in. You turned your back on him to lead the way to the kitchen.

"The dishes are in this cupboard, cups are on this side," you opened cabinets one by one to show him. You turned to another counter and pulled a drawer open around your hip, "Utensils are here,"

"Y/n," he sternly called for your attention.

Whipping your head to his direction in inquiry, your round curious eyes almost lashed something in his gut. "I'll help myself. Go get changed,"

"Oh, yeah right. Okay!"

You scurried to your bedroom to put over a loose shirt, its size meant to be big to even hang past your hips. You squeezed into black tight shorts right after.

Walking back to the kitchen, you saw him silently unpacking the food he brought. It was just the unclicking of tupperwares, soft tuds of the containers as he laid it all down the counter with much practiced ease.

"Hey," you greeted as you darted out right beside him.

He gasped in surprise but before you could tease him about being jumpy, he let out a light chuckle.

"I just brought a few," he diverted, going back to his unpacking. You could see the egg rolls generously sprinkled by spring onions and carrots, the kimchi slices were stacked neatly, the picked yellow radish where cut in nice squares, and your mouth watered at the sight of spicy-red octopus legs.

You swore you almost caught yourself drooling.

Jin's eyes widened a fraction as he held your gaze, your eyes were twinkling with wonder and amusement.

He nodded and teasingly voiced out, "Ah, food is your weakness I see,"

You feigned a sad face and said, "People who feed me are my weakness,"

Red painted his neck and ears at your unknowing attempt at flirting.

"Oh, come on," he called out. "I brought soda to pair these with," he diverted, once again. You scowled and replied, "Boo, I have soju and beer here."

Not waiting for his reply, you headed to the fridge and fished out two of each drink from your stash. You set the drinks on the island and navigated to the cupboards for glasses.

"Do you drink?" you asked, but still preparing for two without his answer.

"I- yeah,"

The beer bottles clinked and popped as you expertly opened one using the other. Pulling the drawer out, you fished for a spoon and used that to the other bottle.

You seethed as you watched and mixed somaek on two glasses at the same time. Pouring out the soju first, your gaze were laser focused on the glasses' imaginary lines. The soju bottles clinked on the marble as you placed them aside.

You then poured the beer next, both bottles filled the glasses up with a fizz.

You grinned as you finished both drinks, topping of your mixing with strong taps of spoon on each, mixing the drink with a fascinating swirl.

Handing the somaek to Jin, you raised your glass to him and drank as you cheered, bringing the plate of octopus legs with you to the living room.

Sitting down on the floor by the couch, you waited for Jin to settle down as he transferred the dishes to the coffee table.

Once he was sat down across from you, you started your interview, "How was it back there in your company?"

His forehead scrunched, before saying, "What do you mean?"

"The breakup. I mean, our breakup. I haven't opened my phone because notifactions kept on coming. I thought of changing my number after to keep it from exploding."

Jin let out a silent 'Ah' before replying, "The staff knows the real story, so only the agency is the most peaceful place out there."

You nodded in understanding. Lucky him. The most safe place for you is the 20 meter perimeter around your building. "How did you get here by the way? The basement?"

He nodded as he started munching on the food.

"Hang on, do you want rice?" you offered, but didn't wait anyway for his reply as you stood up to get bowls.

#bts jin #jin fanfic #ksj x reader #idol!au

6 notes · View notes

saladejin · 4 years ago

Text

Beyond Breathless | Jungkook

(cr.) Jungkook x Reader | first aider in training!au, childcare worker!Jungkook | s2f2l (not quite there), fluff and crack, awkwardness & touching, confident/bold reader

Summary: One class is all it takes for Jungkook to finally realise that yes, maybe there is someone out there who can put up with his timorous tendencies. Now, if he pays attention, he might just learn how to breathe again.

Warnings: None, shy sub kookie (he’s a mess y’all), and suggestive themes if you really squint

Word Count: 2.9k

<< masterlist

A/N: Ok so this was part of my cuddle prompts game for August 2020, but it turned into a one-shot so I decided to post it accordingly. Also this is a really bizarre take on ‘cuddle’, but it’s there all the same. The prompt was 24.) between strangers.

Took me FOREVER to write and edit because so much was going on, with Dynamite dropping and all these streaming/chart records being broken etc. but anyway I’m just in time to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK & CONGRATS BTS FOR GETTING THE #1 ON BILLBOARD’S HOT 100 💜💜

@vinterjeon this is for you wifey

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jungkook was trying his best to stop tripping over his own damn tongue, but the pretty receptionist kept on asking him questions. Wasn't it easy to tell he was already kind of shitting bricks over here?

"The class began five minutes ago Sir, you shouldn't have missed too much," she said finally, handing the fidgeting man his papers with a smile.

Okay, let me go in then?

Jungkook nibbled at his bottom lip in apprehension when the woman continued to type something on her computer, nails dragging loudly across the keys as if to torture him further for his tardiness.

"I've notified Mr. Lee. Have a great class, Sir."

At the receptionist's gesture towards the nearby glass door, Jungkook immediately jerked into action. He muttered out a small 'thanks' with a bow and tried to take a deep breath, hating the fact that he would now hog every scrap of attention for being late to the class. It wasn't his fault traffic was bad!

Try as he might, slipping into the room silently was impossible when the door itself creaked loud enough for the neighbouring buildings to hear. Jungkook stifled a wince and took in the scene before him with wide apologetic eyes.

"Jeon! Glad that you could join us." Mr. Lee grinned, the easy-going nature of the teacher easing Jungkook's nerves ever so slightly. With a shy bow, he entered the small room and could only count six other participants milling around the empty space.

The teacher clapped his hands together, causing a few of the other attendees to jump in their skin. "Alright, I think we can officially begin."

You shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the newcomer with interest. Jeon? Was that his last name? You had to admit he was quite handsome, but also you couldn't help feeling bad for the guy. He was clearly a blushing mess of humiliation for being late, even if it was only a mere five minutes. You couldn't see any of the other attendees being all that bothered, but as you all lined up in front of the stout teacher, you could almost feel the nerves radiating off the man's body from where he stood beside you.

"Welcome, everyone, to our First Aid Course specialising in providing emergency first aid responses in an education and care setting."

As Mr. Lee reeled off his spiel in that commanding tone of his, you gradually sensed the young man next to you beginning to relax.

Half an hour in, the class had gone over the process of CPR briefly - or as Lee would call it, cardiopulmonary resuscitation - and had even taken turns in performing the procedure on a nightmarish looking mannequin. Jungkook had no idea why some manufacturers decided to paint genuine human features on some of them, but in the end he supposed it added to the whole realistic element of the course.

"Hey there, you alright?" a sweet voice piped up from somewhere in front of him.

Jungkook's form went rigid as he darted his eyes away from where someone was being instructed, flooding with even more confused self-consciousness when he drank in the sight of you. You hadn't meant to intimidate him further, but the way he was so intently focused on the teacher and student currently practising CPR on the dummy had you worried.

"Me? Uh, sorry yeah I'm fine thank you," Jungkook stumbled out, a hand instinctively coming up to rub at his neck which was reddening the longer he maintained eye contact with you. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed you before, but then he remembered how he tended to lose the ability to concentrate in general whenever he was embarrassed or nervous.

You returned his shaky smile warmly. "You just seem a little tensed up. Are you scared of Mr. Lee or something?" Whispering out the last part, you revelled in the sight of his smile widening.

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "No, I just really need to pass this course. Don't want to miss anything, you know?"

You nodded but had no time to respond.

"Okay!" Lee boomed, gaining everyone's attention instantly. "You've all shown your proficiency at this. Now we're moving on to the next part of the course. Since you're all going to be specialising with children and students once you're finished here, we need to thoroughly cover choking, airway obstructions and respiratory distress since they're quite frequent in childcare settings."

You caught Jeon nodding solemnly out of the corner of your eye, and wondered why he was taking this course in particular. Teacher maybe? He mentioned really needing to pass, so maybe he even worked with young kindergarteners or infants. Eyeing his well-built frame contained within a tight black t-shirt had your mind working a million miles a minute. It was oddly endearing to imagine this moderately tall, buff looking guy caring for kids with such gentle shy eyes, and such a soft-spoken voice.

"Pair up with each-other and I'll demonstrate the choking procedure on adults first of all," Mr. Lee instructed, his bright passionate eyes flashing with amusement as he crossed his arms and waited for his students to spur themselves into action.

Jungkook's eyes met with yours almost immediately, and he had to avert them again out of sheer bashfulness. He only tried to seek you out because he hadn't spoken to anyone else yet, and the way you were chuckling softly at his bout of eagerness had his lips quirking up into a shy smirk. Well, that was decided then.

"You, be my guinea pig for a bit."

It took Jungkook a moment to process that the teacher was beckoning him forward with a sturdy finger, but you were already on the ball and pressing a hand into his lower back before his mind could catch up. Hating the feeling of being watched by everyone else, he tried to ignore the way he shuddered at the combination of your subtle touch and the several pairs of eyes regarding him closely.

The teacher began his explanation, but Jungkook could only hear the rushing of blood past his ears at this point. Why him? Out of everyone here, Mr. Lee couldn't have chosen anyone else? Thinking back, he did remember that being late probably served to single himself out in the teacher's mind. He deserved to be picked on.

Suddenly, Lee's stocky hand was pressing itself into Jungkook's chest, and he only then thought to finally tune in with what the older man was saying.

"Then, bend the choking person over slightly. Preferably parallel to the ground, but as long as they're somewhat sturdy on their feet..."

Jungkook swallowed nervously as the teacher demonstrated by adding pressure to the space between his wide shoulder blades. As embarrassed as he was, it was relieving to see the rest of the students focused on the information rather than him. Some were even practising the manoeuvre already. His eyes instinctively flew to where you were standing on your own, and a sharp tingle travelled the length of his spine when he caught you appraising him with ... interest flashing in your eyes?

W-why?

You watched as the teacher proceeded to explain how to perform a back blow, though not putting his full strength into the heel of his hand in case he hurt his student. "Do this five times, and if the choking hazard isn't removed, we can move on to the Heimlich manoeuvre - otherwise known as abdominal thrusts."

Oho?

You couldn't even suppress the way your lips pursed in amusement, and some of the other attendees around you even exchanged knowing looks with one another, trying not to chuckle at the sight of Jeon's ears flashing a bright red colour in embarrassment. God, he'd never wanted to die so badly.

Luckily, Lee spared him the mortification by keeping his demonstration to limited physical contact. He gave instruction on how to stand behind the victim before wrapping your arms around their torso - to which he only created a circle with his arms around Jungkook - and making a fist shape with your hand, thrusting it upwards into the victim's stomach to hopefully dislodge the object from their airways.

Jungkook couldn't really form a coherent thought at the moment. He was too fixated on the way your eyes were watching the whole scene intently, and he felt so exposed but he also wasn't entirely hating it. Well, maybe only if he could forget there were other people in the room, that is.

His brain on autopilot, Jungkook barely registered his feet taking him back to his original position after the teacher had finished up his demonstration. You were facing him as soon as he got there, and he shoved away the tingles in his belly to cock his head in confusion.

"Well?" you spoke, open palms coming up to urge him into action, but he didn't know what for. He whipped his head around and scoured the room to see the other pairs re-enacting their own version of the choking procedure.

"You want me to...?" he trailed off, hands fumbling in the air awkwardly as he tried to pull the words seemingly from thin air. You hid your smile with the back if your hand, not wanting to embarrass him further by laughing in his cute little face. How someone so big and masculine looking could be so shy and sweet, you'd never know.

"Yeah. Literally just the same as what he did to you." You helped the struggling man with a reassuring nod, not missing the way he was still hesitant to make any kind of movement.

Jungkook wanted to kick himself. "Sorry, I don't think I remember exactly," he sighed out, waiting for you to roll your eyes and click your tongue in annoyance. Instead, you threw him right off guard by reaching out and gently turning him around on the spot by his broad shoulder.

"It's okay, I watched what he did."

Fuck, what?

The hairs on Jungkook's neck stood on end when he heard your footsteps drawing closer behind him against the linoleum flooring of the room, but when he tried to crane his neck around to see what you were doing, you simply chuckled and straightened his jaw forward with a firm dainty hand. His breath hitched when your fingers then lingered ... eventually trailing down to lightly press against the column of his throat.

"What are you doing?" He jerked away, heart thumping against his ribcage so hard he thought he'd faint right there. Your brows only furrowed together in shock.

"Checking your throat to see where the blockage is? It was literally the first step."

You saw the way his eyes fell almost instantly, the internal berating quite evidently written on his features. "Sorry, it's my fault for not paying attention before," he mumbled and bowed his head in apology.

"It's okay. Just turn around," you snorted, thoroughly entertained. He was seriously too adorable to match the way he looked, but you supposed judging books by their covers was an outdated practice in this day and age.

Following the steps, you performed the back blow after pressing down on his shoulders to lean him forwards slightly. His muscles felt so taught underneath your hand, and you really had to battle the urge to just forget the exercise and run your hands down the expanse of his clothed back. Something told you he wouldn't protest, either.

Jungkook didn't know how to feel. His wide doe eyes fixed themselves on your hand that was splayed out on his chest, only serving to steady yourself, and he couldn't help but let his mind wander. When the heel of your other hand came down in between his shoulder blades, he physically lurched. Not because of the force, there was no way you could match him in strength, but it shocked him enough in its suddenness that a tiny grunt fell from his lips.

"Excellent form, (Y/n)!" Mr. Lee spoke up from the other side of the room. Jungkook came back to his senses and straightened his position, briefly catching your beaming smile from the teacher's praise. He just hoped to dear God you hadn't heard his pitiful whimper at your touch.

At least I have a name now.

"Okay, are you doing the Heimlich or am I?" You then turned to him, and he swallowed thickly yet again. This one he did remember a little more vividly, but envisioning standing behind you and pressing his fist into your stomach made his hands tremble slightly. He couldn't do that! What if he hurt you?

"Um, you can." He cleared his throat and gestured to you in a manner he hoped came across as confident. You saw right through him anyway, but the man was still cute, so you let it slide. As much as you longed to tease him, you were still basically nothing more than a stranger right now. Even you knew when some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Your lips curved in amusement and you motioned for him to turn around. "Okay then, I'll try not to make it too painful."

"Don't worry, I can handle-" Jungkook's sudden show of cockiness vanished as soon as your arms wrapped around his small waist. Were you ... pressing yourself to his back? He couldn't remember the teacher going that far, but here you were with a friendly smile and mischievous eyes, shaping your body to his in a way that had his breathing pattern suddenly sharp and shallow.

"Bend over a little," you directed, trying not to laugh at how you could see the tips of his ears burning a bright crimson underneath the black tresses of hair brushing just above them.

Jungkook almost shuddered at the sensation, but fought the urge in order to comply with what you were asking. It wasn't long before you were surprising him yet again by bringing your hands together into the Heimlich fist and flat palm formation, arms comfortably settled around him and fingers brushing just above his navel as you prepared to squeeze.

Amidst his inner panic, you were enjoying this immensely. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to be able to plaster yourself to someone so attractive, and so downright eager to please. You knew it was meant to be strictly professional for educational purposes and such, but the way this guy was responding to you was undeniably exciting. You'd tiptoed the line that shouldn't be crossed carefully, and he only seemed to be liking it more and more.

Considering the way his palms were sweating profusely at the close contact, he knew he was a goner.

With a quick word of warning, you performed the abdominal thrust as gently as you could while still making sure it was firm enough to lift him slightly off his feet. The sudden show of strength stunned him, but he wasn't about to let it show. He'd already made a fool of himself one too many times today as it stood.

"Easy enough." You chuckled, letting the man go quickly so he could regain control of his senses somewhat. He leaned away, but to your surprise didn't move to exit your personal bubble. In all honesty, he had no desire to part from you at all.

You inwardly cursed at yourself for flushing at the thought and raised your hands in invitation. "Did you want to try on me?"

"Ah, no it's alright. I think I have it all now." He flashed a small smile, tapping one index finger to his temple in emphasis. His reluctance confused you, but judging from his largely bashful demeanour, he most likely never planned to make any moves to touch you in the first place. It was forward of you to take the lead, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't in your nature.

There's always next time anyway...

"That's a wrap for this week's class!" Lee's bellowing voice snapped you both out of your thoughts, and you had to blink away the embarrassment from all the shameless staring.

"Hey what's your name by the way, I don't think I caught it before." You tried to save grace with a polite, yet awkward handshake. Jungkook only felt his heart grow warmer at the thoughtful gesture.

"It's Jungkook. Sorry I should've said sooner, before you had to punch the shit out of my back."

That tore a laugh from you, and soon enough all the tension in the air had melted away. "It wasn't that hard, c'mon."

His smile, which you now adored after catching a glimpse of his bunny-like teeth, had quickly become one of your favourite things to look at. "I swear you were this close to beating me up," he joked, feeling more alive than ever.

Jungkook collected his bag from beside the door and filed out into the administration area alongside everyone else. He took a moment to eye the receptionist from earlier, wondering what might have happened if she'd told him he was unable to attend the class after all. Watching you walk away from him with a tiny wave of farewell had him resolutely believing it was fate that brought him here.

He just couldn't wait for next week.

#jungkook x reader #btsghostie #thehouseofbangtan #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook crack #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #s2l au #jungkook one shot #sub jungkook #shy jungkook #requests #salade-tb

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teachingtales · 4 years ago

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How to...Know You’re an Alcoholic

I know the “starter pack” meme format is kind of going away, but I wanted to make this anyway:

Notice that most of it is excuses, not images? That’s a big indicator.

Even after a doctor told me, “Hey, you’re an alcoholic”, I didn’t accept it. I had a very specific idea of An Alcoholic™ in my head, and that wasn’t me. An Alcoholic™ is a person who “can’t function” without alcohol, and “gets the shakes” when they haven’t had a drink in a few hours. An Alcoholic™ can’t hold down a job. An Alcoholic™ can barely survive. An Alcoholic spends all their money on alcohol. An Alcoholic™ drinks hand sanitizer if they can’t get a hold of liquor/beer for whatever reason.

That wasn’t me. I just drank because I liked how it tasted. I liked how it made me feel (de-stressed, got rid of anxiety). I felt like things were just better with alcohol. I used to bring my own alcohol even to places where alcohol would be provided, because “I didn’t want any of that weak stuff, I want real liquor.”

It turned out my doctor was right: I was an alcoholic. I had to finally realize it years later.

You see, I was able to function at work...not just function, I was able to excel. I had money to buy things that I wanted to buy, it wasn’t just my entire paycheck going to alcohol. I thought I was just “living it up” or something. And for these reasons, I thought I wasn’t an alcoholic. Everyone around me, on the other hand, absolutely knew I was an alcoholic.

So what made me an alcoholic, and how can you tell if you’re one?

Alcohol sounds like a good idea no matter what time it is. Non-alcoholics see free time, a day off, or a work weekend as a time to sleep in, get chores/errands done, hang out with family/friends. An alcoholic might want to do those things as well, but they want to do it with alcohol. The excuse is, “Well, it’s not like I have to go to work today, so I can start drinking even earlier.”

Alcohol is your only stress management system. If you’re angry? You drink to calm down. Stressed? Drink to relax. Had a bad day at work? You drink to unwind. If you’re having issues at home, you leave your house and you drink alcohol. Any time something bad happens, even something minor, you immediately start drinking.

You get “creative” with alcohol consumption. Going to a bar isn’t always a viable option, so you start making a “walking cocktail”: you go to a convenience store for a bottle of some drink (cola, sports drink, etc.) and also a small bottle of liquor, then you chug half the drink and fill the rest with the liquor, and you walk around or sit at a park or something and drink your cocktail.

Alcohol is your social system. “I drink socially” is true for some people but for the secret alcoholic it becomes “I drink to be social, and that also includes video chats at home.” Any time you want to socialize, you think alcohol is better. You also “drink in social situations”, meaning you’re out with friends/family/coworkers and you start drinking even though no one else is drinking. Instead of “I drink when other people are drinking”, the secret alcoholic merely “drinks when other people are present”, which eventually extends to “drinks when other people are visible” (either you’re out in a social area but you’re not with anyone, or you’re at home alone but you’re doing a video call).

Alcohol is your pain management system. Sure, you might take medication, but you still drink (even though your doctor said you shouldn’t...but “that’s for weak people who don’t have a strong liver ha ha”). Or, if you can’t afford medication, you drink to numb the physical pain. Or, if you have a new problem, such as you hurt your shoulder that day, you don’t even see your doctor and you take some aspirin along with alcohol to “numb the pain”. And all the while you tell yourself that you can’t believe how some people get hooked on opiates, because that’s just silly...you tell yourself that your “pain management system” of alcohol is somehow better because “it’s not like I’m popping pills”.

People start to comment on your drinking, and you have a million excuses for why it’s not a problem. I had to learn that when people comment on something I’m doing, that means it’s out of the ordinary. Yes, we all know several people who have drinks sometimes, so when they point out that “you might have a problem”, they’re saying, “You know, we all like to drink, but you seem to take it to a kind of extreme place.” They’re letting you know that your drinking is not normal. It is not within the typical confines of moderate drinking. It has become so obvious that people feel compelled to say something about it out of concern for your safety and health.

You consider alcohol to be a hobby. If you’re reading this and are worried you’re an alcoholic, the first thing that came to mind when you read this was, “But alcohol IS a legit hobby?? People have wine tastings and other people make craft beers, of course it’s a legit hobby.” Yeah, some people do that. You don’t, that’s why you said “people” and not “I”, so let’s be honest about it. You consider “I like to drink” to be a hobby because you bothered to learn the difference between single malt scotch and blended whiskey, and you can recommend an ale or a stout depending on the situation or accompanying food...but in reality, you consider alcohol a hobby because that’s what you do in most of your free time. People who arrange wine tastings don’t do them daily or even weekly. People who manufacture craft beer might taste test the beer but they don’t drink daily. You do. You drink daily. You might be drinking right now.

You boast about how much you can drink. This should go without saying, but this is not a boast, this is a sign of a problem. You think that it’s worth boasting about because alcohol is your hobby, that’s the only reason you think this is brag-worthy. Imagine seeing a person so obese that they are immobile “bragging” about how they can eat an entire pizza for one meal and still be hungry. “Of course you can,” you’d think, “and that’s because you’ve got a problem with food.” In the same way, when you boast about how much you can drink, other people think, “Of course you can drink that much, you’ve got a problem with alcohol.”

You take pride in being “still functional” when you’re blackout drunk. You probably have several stories about how you blacked out and somehow ended up back home safely with your wallet, keys, and glasses. You have stories about how you managed to take a taxi and explain how to get home despite being blacked out. You wake up and find you prepared ramen and took your nightly medication, all while blackout drunk. Just like boasting about how much you can drink, the only reason to take pride in being a functional blackout drunk is because you spend more of your life blacked out than most people. If you weren’t functional while you were blacked out, you’d have realized you had a problem earlier. Because you can still function while blacked out, you think it’s not that big of a deal because it’s not really interfering with your life...and that really says something.

If you feel like some of these apply to you, see a doctor or ask for help from a trusted person. DM me or send an ask if you need to talk and don’t have a person to talk with.

#student #students #alcohol #alcoholism #teacher #teaching #student life #adulting #class #classroom #how to #how to tutorials

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meanstreetspodcasts · 4 years ago

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Wolfe in Sheep's Clothing

“I rarely leave my house. I do like it here. I would be an idiot to leave this chair, made to fit me.” (Rex Stout, Before I Die)

Nero Wolfe made his first appearance in 1934, and his adventures are still being enjoyed nearly eighty years later in books, TV shows, and - beginning on April 10, 1943 - radio dramas. Not bad for a man who hated leaving his house more than nearly anything in the world.

Wolfe, the eccentric genius who weighs a seventh of a ton, was created by writer Rex Stout. Stout made a tidy sum inventing a system to track the money school children saved in their accounts, and he used his earnings and royalties to travel the world and embark on a career as a writer. His first Wolfe novel, Fer-de-Lance, was published in 1934, and Stout would go on to write 33 novels and 39 stories featuring Wolfe until his death in 1975. Over the course of the novels and stories, Stout fleshed out the character, who enjoyed fine food and good beer, tended to his orchids, and solved mysteries when he had to earn a fee, always with the aid of his assistant (and the narrator of the stories), Archie Goodwin.

Stout’s brilliant stroke was to combine two archetypes of detective fiction into one duo. Nero Wolfe was a classic refined detective in the mold of Sherlock Holmes, right down to his eccentricities, anti-social personality, and acute agoraphobia. He could listen to clues as they were presented to him in his drawing room and deduce the solution to a crime without ever leaving the chair especially designed for his massive weight. At his side was Archie, a more streetwise sleuth in the mold of (though not nearly as hard-boiled) Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe. Archie carried a gun and had an eye for a blonde like his brethren, but he drank milk instead of bourbon and he had a playful demeanor - particularly with his boss and their frequent foil on the police force, Inspector Cramer.

Wolfe came to the screen in 1934 and 1937, but it would take almost ten years for the character to make his radio debut. From 1943 to 1944, ABC aired The Adventures of Nero Wolfe which starred J.B. Williams, Santos Ortega, and Luis Van Rooten as Wolfe during various points in the run. A falling out between ABC and Stout’s representatives prevented the series from continuing, but a new version would premier on the Mutual Network in 1946. Francis X. Bushman starred as Wolfe, with Elliott Lewis, a veteran radio actor who would soon take the director’s chair on Suspense, as Archie.

But it is the 1950 NBC series The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe that is most fondly remembered and which came the closest to capturing the essence of Stout’s stories. First and foremost, they found an actor who could fully embody Wolfe’s larger than life persona - Sydney Greenstreet.

A longtime theater actor, Greenstreet’s big break came as Kasper Gutman (“The Fat Man”) opposite Humphrey Bogart’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon in 1941 at age 62. After receiving an Academy Award nomination for the role, Greenstreet appeared in films like Casablanca, The Mask of Demetrios, and Across the Pacific. At age 71, he was cast as Wolfe, and his trademark characteristics - arched speech, droll laugh, deliberate intonation - perfectly fit Nero Wolfe’s larger than life personality.

Over the course of the series, no fewer than six actors were heard as Archie Goodwin. Each of the first three episodes featured a different Archie: Wally Maher (October 20); Lamont Johnson (October 27); and Herb Ellis (November 10). Beginning on November 24, actor Larry Dobkin assumed the role. Dobkin had previously been heard as Louie the cab driver on The Saint and as Detective Lt. Matthews on The Adventures of Philip Marlowe. After eight episodes, Dobkin left and his old co-star Gerald Mohr voiced Goodwin for the next four episodes. Mohr was on a radio detective roll; he had just wrapped his two-year run as Marlowe and would return for a Marlowe summer series a few months after his gig as Archie came to a close. Harry Bartell, a veteran of Escape and Dragnet as well as the Petri Wine announcer for The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, stepped into Archie’s shoes for the final ten episodes of the series.

Why so many Archies to one Nero? There’s no definite answer. Some have said it was because Greenstreet was difficult to work with; others speculate the revolving door of co-stars was a sign of retooling to see if the ratings would improve.

And while the series was well done, with even Rex Stout praising Greenstreet’s performance (he was less complimentary of the program itself), it did not fare well enough in the ratings to earn a second year. The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe wrapped up its run on April 27, 1951. Fortunately for fans, the entire series run are available in great condition. One can listen to the full run and hear Greenstreet lend his one-of-a-kind voice to Wolfe, and even with so many actors playing Archie Goodwin, none is sub-par. Each brings his own style to the character while staying true to Stout’s creation. And backing up Greenstreet and his Goodwins every week are a great cast, including Bill Johnstone as Inspector Cramer, Howard McNear, Betty Lou Gerson, Peter Leeds, and Barney Phillips.

Since the radio era came to an end, Nero Wolfe has continued to entertain fans outside of the books. Several TV shows have aired, including one single-season program starring radio veteran William Conrad as Wolfe and an absolutely delightful but criminally short-lived production on A&E with Timothy Hutton as Archie and Maury Chaykin as Wolfe. And for fans who want more audio adventures of the pair, the CBC mounted an impressive series of adaptations in 1982.

Check out this episode!

#old time radio #golden age of radio

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years ago

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“No man’s face changed more vividly according to the feelings of his soul”

Baron Fain, secretary of Napoleon, provides the following description of Napoleon in his early forties. (Source: Napoleon: How He Did It; The Memoirs of Baron Fain, 1st English edition, 1998, pages 182-4)

***

To describe Napoleon’s person, I go back to the period of his second marriage. It is no longer the Napoleon that M. de Bourrienne followed for so long; it is not yet the one that the writers of Saint Helena will depict for us later; it is the Napoleon I knew.

Let us begin with the particulars: his height was five feet two inches [note: French measurement]. He was small, but well made; however his neck was a little short and he had perhaps already too much belly.

His tissue was soft and the lymph thick. His skin color was never florid; his cheeks were of a dull white, giving him a face round and pale, but not the pallor that denotes a sick person. I never saw him take to his bed with illness. As he said, neither his head nor his stomach ever bothered him. The only indisposition I knew him to have was a bladder problem that sometimes made him uncomfortable. I believe the doctors attributed this malady to the aftereffects of old sores, or rather the mange that he had gotten and which was poorly treated at the siege of Toulon.

His chestnut-colored hair was cut short around his head and combed flat. He had a round head, the forehead wide and high; blue-gray eyes, a pleasing expression, a well-made nose, a gracefully-formed mouth, and good teeth. His vision was not excellent; he supplemented it with the help of eyeglasses that he always carried. He was extremely sensitive to smells. I have seen him distance himself from a servant who was far from even suspecting the secret aversion that he had incurred.

During work and at times of preoccupation, the regularity of his features easily took on a hue of imposing serenity; but in the informality of private life, his smile took on a great kindness. He rarely laughed. When he did, it was with a roar, but it was more by way of irony than from great joy. Moreover, no man’s face changed more vividly according to the feelings of his soul: this same look which had just been tender would suddenly shoot out lightning bolts.

He has wrongly been criticized for the immoderate use of coffee and tobacco. He drank coffee as everyone does. He only used snuff, but he changed snuffboxes constantly. As soon as he had sniffed, he emptied the snuffbox and handed it to one of us saying “Go get me some tobacco.” It was one of our habitual interruptions. On the chest of drawers in his bedroom we would find a row of snuffboxes prepared in advance for the day’s installments. In the apartments, this errand was the one he gave more frequently to his chamberlains. During the Council, I have seen more than one minister seek it as a mark of favor.

The criticism made of Napoleon for overdoing baths has more basis; he took too many and took them too hot. It it likely that he owed to this bad habit the premature stoutness that historical painters have hardly spared him. At any rate, it cannot be attributed to indulgence in food, because, assuredly, this was no friend of the table! He was temperate, he lived frugally and ate quickly, too quickly for his entourage. Moreover, nature had gifted him with an unusual benefit, that of not being able to overeat, even when he would have liked to: “If I go even slightly beyond my capacity,” he would say, “my stomach at once renders up the excess.”

When he walked on the paths in his garden, he liked to walk a little hunched, hands in pockets, or else with hands behind his back. He had another habitual mannerism that M. de Bourrienne has very well noted: it was, in speaking or in dictating, an involuntary movement of the right shoulder that he raised at the same time as a slight pinching of the mouth, from left to right. This was repeated particularly when he was deeply preoccupied.

He slept when he wished and as he wished. Whatever need he had for sleep, three or four hours could supply. I would see him get up without any effort at his first awakening in the night and go to work, then go back to bed and fall asleep again at once. In summer he liked to have a midday siesta. Normally he slept seven hours out of twenty-four, but it was always in several short naps, broken at will during the night as in the day. During the evacuation of Leipzig, he was able to sleep peacefully for two hours in an armchair: the explosion of the bridge woke him.

If he had been resting too long, he imposed some rugged exercise on himself; if on the contrary he found himself done in with fatigue, he condemned himself to twenty-four hours of enforced purpose. He called this “restoring the balance.”

He could be untiring, not only on horseback, but also on foot; he sometimes walked five or six hours straight without being aware of it. Returning from Spain in January of 1809, I saw him ride the distance from Valladolid to Burgos (twenty-three leagues) at full gallop in less than a morning. His ride from Vienna to Semmering has already been mentioned elsewhere. The distance was eighteen leagues. He covered it on horseback in the morning, had lunch at Semmering, and returned immediately. He often went on hunts of thirty-six leagues. On the most arduous days of the retreat from Moscow, he voluntarily left his carriage and, taking stick in hand, walked with the grenadiers of the guard.

#Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Memoirs of Baron Fain #memoirs #history #19th century

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qatarcookie · 4 years ago

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Artful Fogers - Update #3

It’s been ages since I updated my novel project, so here we go. Chapter two is called Bone Pigment (German original: Knochenpigment).

In this chapter we get a deeper glimpse into the relationship between Edwin and Jack and all its weird quirks and toxicness. Plus, we get a little bit of angstyness by Jack. As a treat.

[cw: alcohol for this qoute]

He left the apartment at eight thirteen. Exactly nine hours later his key crunched in the apartment door again and heavy boot steps marched under my studio - except on Wednesdays and Fridays when he followed his colleagues into the pub. I had watched him several times, hidden behind an ale, his silhouette in the dim light between the other policewomen, how they gossiped and laughed and bumped against their shoulders. A pint of Kilkenny, half a strawberry stout, then a rhubarb spritzer until his cheeks turned pink and his eyes watered behind lenses. We'd never been to the pub together.

Just kidding, of course we get even more angst from Jack! Ha! Because what could be worse than your adult brother not returning home in time!

At twenty past ten a transparent layer glazed on his lips, sleep glued his eyes. His brittle hands put the dishes into the washer before he disappeared into the bathroom. At half past ten his breathing calmed and he sank into fog. But that Thursday he didn’t come home. As the sun dipped behind skyscrapers, I left the apartment. Orange rays hit the asphalt, bouncing off car paints. The hazelnut trees of our avenue blurred into black silhouettes. At nine o'clock I turned over one last time before disappearing from the street. But his sedan was still missing.

Also, the relationship between Jack and his mother (whom he tells this story to, as I may or may not have told already, I cannot remember tbh) is a rather complicated one which I started to explore more in depth in this chapter. But at this point its only glimpses into it because we aren’t too far into the story and Jack is not quite ready to deep dive into this part of his life.

Drops manifested beneath lantern cones, wetted my slider cap and ran down my cheeks. I did not wipe them, instead endured them. They moistened my lips. Taste of moss. Cars echoed across the wet surface, roaring into the deserted alley. With every step I took, the strange wallet pulled down my coat pocket as if to remind me of its presence. At a crossroads, I released two twenty-pound notes and a credit card from its interior, carried it between my middle and index finger, before releasing it ten steps later - an unnecessary habit that dripped down to my bones. Like your prayers. How you crossed yourself as soon as the tea maker whistled, how you breathed psalms with your movements.

Also, I uncovered a motive of Jack I never thought of before when writing this scene but it gave the story another dimension I really like.

Gold flows through the veins of the royal family, the ether passes through their lungs, all atoms of the cosmos rush through their nerve tracts. They are not like us. To you, they were untouchable - beings who bathed in roses, drank nectar and ate ambrosia. As untouchable as your goddamn religion. I wanted to shatter their shell, to prove that their surface was made of glass that would crumble as soon as my dirty fingertips leaned against it.

To end this update, two new characters are introduced in this chapter. Of course, there is Ezra, the king’s heir in this dimension of the United Kingdom (because this ain’t a royal family fanfiction folks I’m sorry).

He is the softest character in this whole novel. So. Soft.

He was more inconspicuous than all the press videos and cover pictures had made him appear, sunk between his accompaniments and the sofa set like an extra. His face was oval, his nose square, his eyebrows bushy. When he moved his head, shreds of light danced on his red-blond hair as if he had bathed it in oil; it parted on the left and fell in thick strands over his ears. I knew he had grey eyes, three shades lighter than the rings underneath, and I knew his lashes were barely visible. I knew that dimples appeared as soon as he grinned. I knew every detail.

This is his mood board:

Then, there is Lucia Clifford, Ezras head of security, who is kind of the opposite of him. But they are both queer as hell! And we stan queer characters!

She was petite, wore bordeaux hair in a loose bun. Under a tight black dress, her ribs protruded like fingertips pressing against a canvas. When she listened to the prince, she nodded as if to a silent beat, her movements gallant as if she were in the corps de ballet, always careful to maintain the unity of the scene. Her face was hidden by shadows and palm fans, but her form got burned into me. As if I'd seen her before.

A wild foreshadowing appears!

And here is her moodboard:

That’s all I have on this update!

-- Cookie

#My writing #writblr #writeblr #writing update #am writing #am writing literary fiction #literary fiction #artful forgers

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razorsadness · 4 years ago

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The trip to Door County was good, needed. Just the drive itself made me feel better. I’m a routewitch, you know, and if I’m away from the road too long, my powers dull. Patrick and I got to go out together a couple times. Our first pandemic date night (our first real date night since well before the pandemic, if I’m being honest) was spent having a couple drinks at an outdoor table of a bar/restaurant. Our other outing was just a visit to a bookstore, but that did me good, too–it’s the first time I’ve been in a bookstore since pre-pandemic, and I bought a John Berger book I’ve been looking for for a long time + a biography of Lou Reed. And I was also able to stop into another shop to pick up a couple bars of my favorite handmade soap. I got tobacco & bay leaf (which I’ve used before, and love) and saffron & cedar (which I’ve tried since we’ve returned home, and it’s fantastic, just a perfect spicy autumnal scent). We also had several outings with the kiddos and my parents, outdoor ones. We wandered in the woods, visited an old cemetery, went to the beach. Also took a lot of night-walks near my parents’ condo. Tuesday night, I saw Jupiter and Saturn, and faintly, faintly, the Milky Way itself. My parents had their moments of arguing or freaking out over nothing, but it was less awful than it sometimes is. So overall, the trip was good.

Things have been okay since we got back. I’ve been cooking and baking some delicious autumnal foods (yesterday I made apple cider donuts, and for dinner I made beef stew with stout & herbed dumplings on top), the kids haven’t been too crazy, things are still great between me and P. It’s weird to be so overwhelmingly in love with him again, when for a long time our relationship was barely hanging out. Weird but wonderful.

But last night my anxiety returned. I found out that a couple restaurants we got takeout from in Door Co. (including the one we drank at) have since been shut down due to an employee testing positive for CoViD, so of course now I’m thinking all my allergy symptoms are CoViD symptoms. I think it’s pretty unlikely we were actually exposed, because a. there have been no known cases of it being transmitted via food or food packaging, and b. I read yesterday that you have to have close, mask-less contact for 10+ minutes with someone who’s CoViD-positive before being at any real risk of contracting it–and we only took our masks off at our own (outdoor) table, which was far away from all the other tables and far away from the employees. (Plus they were all wearing masks, too.) But still, hearing that, then hearing about RBG dying, and everything that could mean... I woke up in the middle of the night having a terrible panic attack and never really fell back asleep, and I’ve been on-and-off anxious all day. I’m drinking a hot toddy (apple cider, honey, lemon, bourbon + cinnamon stick) right now, which is helping a little.

And of course, it feeling like autumn, the nostalgia is thick upon me. I’m thinking especially about 2015. Five years ago this month, I found out I was to be the 2016/17 poet laureate of my town. And I’ve realized–not only did that tenure get me to take myself seriously as a poet, it also indirectly lead to me doing a lot more visual art and realizing hey, I’m an artist, too. I still sometimes can’t believe I had that experience. I’m still so grateful.

#railheadtowns #dear livejournal #travel #door county #good things #covid19 #anxiety #autumn #nostalgia

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your-borderline-babe · 5 years ago

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Once Upon a Time ... (Part 3)

“And there I lay, drenched in milk and she kicks her back leg again and knocks over the stool too!’ Link wheezed with an exhaling laugh. Prince Rhett joined in uproarious laughter. His booming laugh filled the tiny cottage.

The two had been sharing stories about their lives both tearful and funny. Link had shared about losing his mother last planting season and never really knowing his father. Prince Rhett lamented his enormous responsibilities at such a young age and the loneliness of his station. After bonding over their intimate exchanges they truly enjoyed how much they shared similar senses of humor. They laughed and drank and laughed and drank.

Prince Rhett brought the cup to his lips only to find it empty. He turned the cup over and laughed that nothing came out. Link turned the carafe upside down and giggled that it was empty, as well. “I shall take this opportunity to go talk to a man about a horse.” The Prince stood and staggered forward. Link opened the front door for him and returned to give the man some privacy.

“I believe I may have relieved myself on one of your cats. Dreadful creatures.” The Prince slurred once he returned. He meant to return to his chair but lost his balance. As he tumbled forward, the farmer caught him deftly. The Prince righted himself and realized he was nose-to-nose with the farmer. “I’m afraid the castle wine has not prepared me for your stout mead.” The Prince whispered.

The Prince felt almost immediately sobered by the lustful gaze of the farmer. “If you are ill, my Lord, I should prepare your bedding.” The farmer whispered back.

“Not ill. Just not sure-footed.” The Prince struggled to keep his breath even. Neither man stepping for the other’s space.

“To avoid injury, might I suggest you lay down.” Link held his palm out to the bed.

Prince Rhett turned to look at the simple bed adorned with several quilts, then down to his royal robes. His gaze returned slowly to Link. “I usually have footmen to help me undress.”

“If I may, sir?” Link said as he walked behind the Prince and let his fingers caress Rhett’s neck as he pulled the top coat away. The Prince felt a shiver over his body.

The farmer took his time removing each article of clothing slowly and teasingly. Taking every opportunity to lightly pull his fingertips over each body part that presented itself. Rhett’s body was thrumming like the war drums of battle. He had long sense given up trying to maintain his proper demeanor and let his head fall back and groan with every touch.

When Link had the Prince down to his undergarments, he found himself on his knees. Prince Rhett opened his eyes and looked down at the farmer. Link looked up to him with a hungry look showcased by hooded sky blue eyes.

The Prince pulled Link to his feet and held his face gently in his hands. “It is not lost on me the difference in station we represent. It is not my intention to exert my will over you.” Rhett spoke tenderly.

“But what if I want you to?”

#Once Upon a Time #rhink #ficlet #bedtime story

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marinaaniseed · 5 years ago

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Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 7

3,866 words. If you read my earlier post, you’ll know this took a slight turn.

Summary: Thor & Y/N go out for dinner. It doesn’t go as planned. Some Asgardians are mean. Drunk Y/N gives them what for. There is NSFW smut at the end.

Contains swears, drinking, smut, self-esteem issues...the usual, really.

Thoughts, feedback, amusing insults...all are welcomed.

Everything was going well until you walked into the pub. One gentle hand held yours, keeping it warm, as you walked through New Asgard. You heard the pub before you saw it. Probably not the ideal place for conversation, but as long as there was dinner, and there was Thor, it would be fine.

Thor held open the heavy door, and a few people turned to glance at you before the whole place turned silent when they saw who was following you over the threshold. The barmaid kept pouring the pint, even though the tankard was overflowing. One man dropped his bottle, smashing it on the floor. Several people were gingerly dropping to one knee, seemingly unsure if this is what they should be doing.

Looking back at Thor, you could see the panic rising, watching him become overwhelmed by it all. It’d been a long time since he’d been around so many people, except on a battlefield. Even longer, really, since he’d been surrounded by Asgardians.

You were about to say something, to let him know that it was ok, that you could leave if he wanted when a man in an ebony tunic that matched his hair approached you.

“Your majesty,” he rumbled, bowing deeply. “It is an honour to have you with us in my humble establishment. Please, allow me to seat you.”

Thor really didn’t want to be there, with everyone staring at him, but he knew the trouble it would cause if he declined. He nodded his assent and the two of you followed the man to a booth at the back of the pub.

“Please, allow me to take your cloak, m’lady,” the man said, and you unfastened it, handing it over, before sliding across the vermilion leather. Thor joined you, albeit less easily, his stomach resting on top of the table.

“Let me get you some drinks,” the man said, hurrying off without asking you what you’d like.

You didn’t think you’d ever seen anyone look more uncomfortable than Thor did now. And although the other patrons had resumed their drinks and conversations, it was notably muted in comparison. That didn’t stop you from seeing the stares or overhearing snippets.

“-I’ve never seen him in here before…”

“Who is that woman he’s with?”

“What’s wrong with Asgardians? What does he even see in Midgardian women?”

“-used to be a really attractive man.”

“How did she get him?”

“-will help him lose the weight.”

“Thor?” you asked, taking his hand and rubbing your thumb over the back of it. “Do you want to go?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t want to be here. It’s too much. All these people I’ve let down. But I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s ok, we can have our drinks and then go,” you soothed.

The ebony-haired man returned with a tray laden with drinks. You hoped he was serving several tables, as they do in North America, but no. All of the drinks were carefully deposited on the table in front of the two of you. Thor must’ve looked as confused as you did, because the man bowed a little, before addressing him.

“Your majesty, I thought you might like to sample the beverages we’ve been creating here in New Asgard.”

“What-what are they?” Thor asked, realising that you wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry.

“These two are what the Midgardians call gin. They also have different kinds of beer that we have learned to make. We have a pale ale, witbier, imperial brown ale, imperial stout and saison. Aquavit. Cider And, of course, mead,” he said, smiling at you both. “We’ve been unable to produce wine so far, but we’re still working on it.”

“Th-thank you. How much is this?” Thor asked.

“Nothing, it is an honour to have you here, your majesty,” he said before excusing himself.

You could see Thor wince every time the man said “majesty”. It was hard seeing him like this, but you knew, too, that it must be quite jarring for the Asgardians to have seen their leader shun then, having brought them to this strange planet.

“Well,” you exhaled, grabbing the gin. “Let’s start with the strongest and work our way down.”

“Is that wise?”

“Probably not. But it’s like being in a chili eating contest. You start with the hottest one first and then your mouth will hurt so bad, you won’t notice the other ones.”

“That’s...an interesting approach,” Thor huffed, managing to laugh a little. “Tell me then, what is this gin?”

“Erm, well normally people drink it with a mixer - most commonly tonic - but from the looks of things, this is neat. It mainly tastes of juniper, not sure if you had those on Asgard? I’d say sip it. If it’s smooth, you can probably just sip the whole thing, like a good whisky. If it’s rough as arseholes, sink it and move on.”

“You certainly have a way with words,” Thor said, trying not to laugh, despite his continuing unease.

“Yeah, well. Some of us weren’t brought up in a royal court. Skål, as the Norwegians say,” you said, lifting your glass.

“We say that too,” he enthused, clinking his glass with yours.

The gin was...not good. Paint stripper gin is probably how you would’ve described it. The first sip caused you to splutter and cough, and Thor didn’t seem to be holding up much better.

“Yeah...that’s not great. But it’s also not a traditional Asgardian drink, is it?”

Thor shook his head.

“Right, let’s down this gut rot and get rid of it.”

Thor was certainly impressed by the way you grabbed the glass and chugged away at it, despite your grimace, until it was all gone. He followed suit and waited for you to tell him what was next.

Plates of bread, meats, fish, cheese and berries appeared at some point. You tried a little of each, but in all honesty, Thor ate the majority, which was fine by you. He enjoyed his food, took pleasure in it, you could see the hint of a smile each time he tasted something particularly good.

You felt a little bad for him, squeezed into the booth, his tummy rounded out in front of him onto the table. Only a little bad though, because you were enjoying the sight of it, so soft, so big, so round, right there in front of you. It took all your restraint not to slide your fingers between two of the buttons of his shirt to touch it, feeling it bloat as he drank and ate.

Around the time you started drinking the cider was when it really went wrong. It was one of those ciders where the sweetness belied its strength. The noise in the pub died down at just the wrong moment, so that your conversation with Thor was interrupted by a woman getting rowdy at the bar, staring over at your table and pointing.

“-just so pathetic, just look at him! Getting fat, drinking all the time, parading his Midgardian whore for all to see! We all know what those storms are about! Bet she’s only after him for his-”

The rest of her tirade was drowned out by Thor, roaring as he stood up, sending the remaining drinks flying. Without a word, he stormed out, leaving you soaked in beer, cheeks burning, with everyone staring at you.

You shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve kept your dignity. But you were several drinks in on an almost empty stomach, and pretty much nothing was going to get you to hold your tongue. You stood up on the leather seat, so that everyone could see you, slowly clapping your hands.

“Amazing. Well done. Do you have any idea what you just did there? He finally feels well enough to be a part of your society and this is how you treat him?”

“He abandoned us! After-” the woman at the bar tried to continue.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarled, glaring at her. “This is hard, for all of you, I get it. You’ve lost everything. But it’s not his fault. He did the best that he could and his best wasn’t good enough. He brought you here, I guess because he thought it was the best, the safest place that he could think of.

“The last few years have not been kind to any of us. But how the fuck do you think he feels? His mum, his dad, his brother. They’re all dead and there’s no way that could be undone. He found out he had a sister and then she tried to kill him, taking his eye in the process. You don’t have to like everything that he’s done but try to see it from his perspective.

“He got banished here...but who among you wouldn’t have tried to take revenge if someone ruined an event you’d looked forward to your whole life? When he brought Jane Foster to Asgard, do you think he feels good about the fact that the dark elves attacked and killed people? No! Of course, he doesn’t! His own mother was one of them. But if someone you cared about was sick, and you knew where they could get help, wouldn’t you do it?

“And after that, when he disappeared? He was trying to find the infinity stones. To stop Thanos. Yeah, it didn’t work, but he tried. Which is more than the rest of us can say. And again, when he went to forge Stormbreaker. There are some things in life that cannot be fixed with muscle or lightning or even sheer force of will. None of us could’ve done any better. I doubt any of us would’ve held up as well as he did for as long as he did. He thinks it’s his fault that half of us got dusted. But that’s all on Thanos.

“Who among us has not drowned their sorrows or eaten their feelings to try to forget what has happened? Hmm? He has been fighting for you, trying to protect you, for as long as he has been able to. What are five bad years in the grand scheme of a life that’s already lasted over 1,000 years? He needs you more than you need him now. He needs his people to show him love, compassion, understanding. Fight for him, and protect him, just like he has protected you.

“And, so what if he doesn’t look how he used to? That is not a good measure of who is and what he has done. Even though he couldn’t bring back his family, he still fought to bring back yours, losing his friends in the process. And this is the thanks he gets? You’re lucky he’s far kinder than I could ever be. You’re lucky he’s even here at all, trying to look after you, in his own way, even when he can’t look after himself.

“And me? I’m not a whore. I fuck because I enjoy it, not for money. I don’t know where this distrust, disdain, dislike for people like me comes from, but here’s the thing. You are on my planet now. You need to get used to us and accept us, or you can fuck right back off into space. I’ve lived on this planet a longer than you have, and let me tell you, yes, there are some terrible fucking people out there, but on the whole, we’re an alright bunch. But treating us like shit will not make your stay here any better.

“Now, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to work, and I’m here to help. And I will come here every lunchtime for as long as I live in New Asgard, and tell you about life on this planet, and help you to adjust if that will help. But I will not be the subject of rumour and jealous gossip, and I will not have you talk to him, or about him, like that, after everything he has sacrificed for the people of Asgard. Maybe, just maybe, the reason he likes Midgardian women is that we actually listen to him, instead of thinking of him as a piece of meat, a notch on your bedpost to say that you bedded the mighty Thor, instead of getting to know who he really is. You were the people who put him on a ridiculous pedestal, who made him out to be perfect, infallible, and he is the one who has to suffer.

“Right,” you announced, grabbing a glass and draining the dregs that weren’t covering you or the table. “My apologies to those of you who were polite, I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. To the rest of you, I hope you’re ashamed. I hope you think about what has happened here, and if he ever has the courage to venture out again, I hope you behave with a bit more decency.”

You slammed the glass, grabbed your bag and jumped down to the floor, and were almost at the door when a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“What?” you hissed, whirling around.

“Your-your cloak, m’lady,” the ebony-haired man replied, offering the heavy garment to you.

“Oh right, yes. Thank you. And I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no it’s ok. It was...refreshing. I think people needed to hear that.”

***

With the cloak slung over your arm, you storm out into the dark night. You’ve no idea where Thor went, so you circle around to the right. He’s sat on the ground, back against the cold wall of the pub.

“Hey,” you said, announcing your presence before sitting down on your cloak next to him. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. She shouldn’t have said those things.”

“No...but she did have some points. I am pathetic and fat and I drink all the time. My father once told me that I was unworthy of these realms, unworthy of my title, unworthy...of the loved ones I have betrayed! And he was right!” Thor heaves, angry tears running down his face.

“That’s not true, Thor,” you said hugging him to your chest. “I’m sure he was angry when he said that but I don’t think he meant it. The ones who love us most say the things that hurt us the most because we value their opinion the most. I couldn’t do what you do, to keep trying, when everything you say or do or don’t is a public matter and open to the scrutiny and opinion of everyone.”

“I thought I wanted to be king, I thought I would be good…”

“And you are. Were. Whichever. I’m sure your father must’ve done things that the other Asgardians didn’t like,” you assured him.

“Ha, yeah. Just ask Brunnhilde.”

“Well, there you go. People often remember the past as being better than it was. Sometimes they need to be reminded that you have feelings too, and that you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

“Yeah, I, uh, heard you. In there. Telling people…” Thor admitted, a little embarrassed.

“Ah.”

“You were quite loud, I was impressed. I didn’t realise Midgardian women could be so loud. I thought it was just the men, like Stark.”

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

“No, no, not at all. You’re just the latest in a long line of wonderful women who’ve defended me over the years. My mother, Sif, the Valkyrie...thank you for standing up for me. It means a lot that you, who have known me for such a short time, would be the one to defend me. That is what Asgard seems to have lost, a willingness to fight for what is right. But they have already fought so much, I don’t blame them.”

“It’s a sorry state of affairs if your only defender is an angry drunk woman,” you smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

“I’ve gone into battle with Brunnhilde, sometimes an angry drunk woman is what you need,” he laughed. “I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned.”

“That’s alright, my sweet bear. The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, gang aft agley.”

Thor knows you’ve said something profound, in a language similar, but different to your own. Anything more than that has him stumped, and his face shows it.

“That’s Rabbie Burns, he was a Scottish poet. It basically means that the best-laid plans often go wrong.”

“Oh right, I see. My brother liked poetry and books and things. I guess you could say I preferred more physical activities.”

“Oh, is that so?” you ask, arching an eyebrow at him. “How about we go home and do some physical activities? More gentle than this morning though, it was a struggle sitting in there,” you said, nodding your head back towards the pub.

Thor doesn’t need to be asked twice.

***

You arrived back at Thor’s, having collected your meagre belongings from the hut. He’d been surprised by how little you had, but you assured him that the majority of your stuff was in storage back home. The posy he’d picked for you had also made its way to the cabin.

“Do you think you’ll go back?” he’d asked and you’d responded with a shrug. He knew better than to press the issue.

You were glad to get back. After the initial rush of adrenaline, you realised how cold you were with the now sodden dress sticking to your legs.

“Thor, would you mind helping me out of this?” you requested as he gently put the backpack containing your belongings on the floor.

“Certainly.”

You could’ve done it yourself, but you just wanted Thor to be close to you, to feel like he was helping. To feel like he was valued.

“Why is it all wet?” he asked as he grabbed the hem of the dress to help pull it up and over.

“The dress or me?” you smirked.

“The-the dress…” You really were the worst, he’d decided. He couldn’t keep up that mouth of yours. Oh, that mouth of yours, and what it could do, what he wanted it to do...

“Well, when you left the pub, you sent the drinks flying, and I ended up wearing some of them,” you explained as he lifted the fabric over your head.

“I’m truly sorry, I can’t seem to do anything right,” he mumbled, folding the dress and placing it on top of the dresser.

“That’s not true, Thor.”

When he turned around, the sight of you took his breath away. Stood there in your lingerie and your boots, he felt himself grow erect in seconds.

“If I’d have known that was what you were wearing underneath, I wouldn’t have bothered to take you out,” he said, trying not to ogle you too much. The tiny scraps of fabric between him and the most sensitive parts of you were more arousing to him than seeing you naked. The bites and bruises mottling your skin should’ve made him feel embarrassed but it excited him even more. He’d left those marks, and you’d allowed him to do it. That was the powerful thing about it. You allowed him to do it. Because you enjoyed it, because wanted him to do it, because you wanted him.

Because you wanted him.

“See something you like?” you smirked again. He just nodded in response, his tongue too stupid to say what his mind wanted to express. “Let me show you something you do very right.” You stepped forward, grabbing him by the suspenders, pulling him towards you as you backed yourself up against the wall. Once he was pressing into you with his round stomach, you ran your fingers up into his hair, pulling him down to kiss you. You could feel his hardness digging into you.

What was left of your lipstick was firmly smeared around Thor’s mouth when he stepped back from you. After the disaster of the rest of the evening, you wanted it to have a happy ending, so you slid the suspenders off his shoulders and down his strong arms, before unbuttoning his shirt and jeans, freeing his stomach.

“Mmm,” you purred as you pressed hungry kisses to his skin, hands caressing all that you could grab. “I think we should get you out of this, don’t you?”

Thor removed his clothes and let you guide him to the bed. He saw the way you looked at his hard-on and hoped you could read his mind. He’d never experienced anything like it when you’d taken him in your mouth during the shower.

He silently thanked the Norns when you settled between his plush thighs and began licking his shaft, one hand caressing his inner thigh. When you began to suck him in earnest, working your way down slowly, until you had him fully inside you, his breath came in noisy rasps. Your forehead nodded into the downy underside of his tummy and he cursed the fact that he couldn’t see you over it.

“Stupid...fat...gut. Wish...I...could...watch...you,” he huffed.

You pulled off him and stood up, much to his dismay.

“C’mon, get up. Come over here,” you commanded and he obeyed you, unsure of what you had in mind, but trusting that he’d like it. You got him to stand near the mirror, side-on, before dropping to your knees.

“Look in the mirror, Thor.”

The sight alone nearly made him explode. He could see it all. Him, big and powerful, standing over you, as you slowly took him back inside your mouth. Breasts jiggling behind the black lace, the swell of your backside, tinted various shades of purple. He held his tummy, feeling the heft of it, almost admiring it, so that you could take him deeper. Playing with his balls and stroking the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, he watched you blink back tears as you took him deep, repeatedly, between your delicate red lips, never looking away from the mirror. That’s what really did it for him, the way you maintained eye contact with him in the mirror. It was the kind of thing that would’ve made even Fandral, for all of his womanising, blush.

He kept his word to Brunnhilde, and refrained from causing a storm, as he came in your mouth, hard. Generous as ever, you swallowed it all, licking him clean as you withdrew. Bending down, he scooped you into his arms, hugging you close as he carried you to bed.

“Darling, thank you. That was amazing,” he rasped, his breathing still ragged. It was all catching up with you and you could feel yourself drifting off as he held you against his plush chest underneath the duvet. You were in the dip in the middle, as seemed to be the norm.

“Thor?”

“Yes?”

“If I’m going to live here, can we get a new mattress, please?”

“Yes, yes of course.” And with that, you were out like a light. Thor cursed the fact that the light was still on but he didn’t have the heart to move and wake you, so he lay his head back on the pillow, content to let you use his chest as yours.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

#thor #thicc thor #Thor Odinson #THOR SON OF ODIN #thor smut #The Avengers #endgame thor #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #fat thor #Dark 'n' Stormy #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #avengers x reader

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cruelangelstheses · 5 years ago

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in the salt and swell

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: merrill/isabela words: 1.9k additional tags: historical au, mythology au, fluff, first meetings, flirting, mermaid au description: after she and her crew end up shipwrecked, isabela encounters a mermaid. a/n: hi!! this was written for day 2 of @merribelaweek (which was yesterday but it’s fine lmao) using the prompts “ocean” and “mythology”! title from “the ocean” by against me!

read it on ao3

—

Sailing into the storm was a gamble, she’d say about it later.

And what a gamble it was.

But they’d had little choice, being chased by three French ships hellbent on getting their goods back. They’re pirates, not Vikings, and rather than get their asses thoroughly handed to them in a naval battle, Captain Isabela had decided to sail directly into an oncoming storm, figuring that it would either scare the French away or do them in, too.

She was right about that part, and they got away with several famous paintings, all worth her weight in gold, that she’d promised a former acquaintance in exchange for freeing his slaves. The storm wasn’t finished with them, though, and while Isabela has sailed through her fair share of typhoons, none made their mark quite like this one did.

The tumultuous ocean, the uncontrollable winds, the horrifying crack of lightning that split her eardrums and sent the mast crashing down onto the deck—all of it is a blur of adrenaline in Isabela’s memory. She remembers clinging desperately to the wheel, at first to try to steer the ship, but eventually just to have something to hold on to. She remembers the way it popped off its hinges and took her with it.

She and her crew all survived, luckily, albeit quite a bit worse for wear and having lost a few barrels of cargo. The paintings survived, miraculously, having been stored in a large, watertight crate. Her ship, however, was not as fortunate.

The Siren’s Call. Her baby. She had smashed against an outcrop of large, jagged rocks, launching them all onto the rough, unforgiving shore. When Isabela first looked up and saw the damage, the splintered mast, the torn sails hanging limply, it felt as if she’d been gutted, like she’d lost a part of her. I don’t know if she can be fixed, Varric had said. Isabela almost slapped him.

As it turns out, she can be fixed—for a price. There’s a shipbuilder in the town closest to where they wrecked, a quaint port city just off the coast of Wales, who offered to repair it as long as they could pay the fee. With all the damage sustained, it cost almost as much as it would to just have a new ship built. After a heated debate with her crew in which more than one suggested just stealing a new ship, they decided to just pay up. It wasn’t like they were short on money, anyway, even after losing some of their cargo.

So now Captain Isabela and her pirate crew have to search for things to do to pass the time while they wait for the Siren’s Call to be repaired. They spend their first few nights gambling and cheating at cards, easily winning back some of the money they had to spend on the ship. During the day, though, they all go off on their own, taking strolls through town or day-drinking to ward off the pain from their injuries. Isabela, for her part, always finds herself drawn back to the sea.

It’s been less than a week since the shipwreck, but she already misses sailing more than she misses her own mother (which is not much at all, but the point still stands). She misses the sea spray on her face, the view of endless ocean on the horizon, the gentle rocking of the boat on open water. For now, though, she contents herself with walking along the shoreline, letting the waves lap at her toes and watching crabs skitter across the sand.

It’s during one of these excursions, while she’s standing up to her knees alone in the water and breathing in the salty air, that Isabela notices something out in the distance.

The first thing that catches her attention is a splash, and when she squints, she can see droplets of saltwater flying up into the sky and then falling back down again. It’s probably a fish, she thinks, but if so, it’s quite a large one. Then she sees it: a green, fan-like tail at least the size of a dolphin’s. Every few seconds, it pops back up above the water with a splash, each time closer to Isabela than the last. By now she can see a dark silhouette beneath the surface, and it’s headed straight for her.

Isabela takes a few steps backward and reaches into her coin purse, where she’s stored a small but effective dagger. If this were a shark, she’d probably just run, but she has no idea what this creature is. She’s never seen anything like it.

Before she can make a decision, a head pops up out of the water, and Isabela almost chokes in surprise.

It’s a girl.

Granted, she has strange markings, almost like tattoos, all over her face, and her ears are shaped like fins, but nonetheless, Isabela is undoubtedly staring at a person.

A person with a fish tail.

“Hello!” the girl says in a lilting Welsh accent. “Are you and your friends alright? I saw the shipwreck a few days ago. Nasty one, that was.”

For a few seconds, Isabela just stares, dumbfounded. Then, snapping back into reality, she shakes her head and replies, “I, uh—yes, we’re all fine. What is—who—what are you?” If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she was hallucinating, but she didn’t drink that much last night (the more sober she is, the better she is at cards), and she hasn’t drank at all today. Two equally distressing thoughts cross her mind: One, she shouldn’t be hallucinating; and two, she’s fairly certain that she isn’t.

“Oh! Sorry,” the girl says. “I take it you’ve never met a mermaid before? I suppose you wouldn’t have; we mostly keep to ourselves.”

Isabela blinks a few times, but the girl—the mermaid—doesn’t disappear. “No,” she says indignantly. “I’ve never even heard of you except for in stories. Fictional stories. You know, mythology and such.”

“All stories contain some element of truth in them,” the girl replies, matter-of-fact.

Isabela frowns and thinks back to when she and her crew first ended up on the beach. Captain, I know you’ll never believe me, Varric had said to her, but I think I saw a...a siren or a mermaid or something. When she called bullshit, he’d added, I was underwater, and then I felt these soft, small hands grabbing my wrists and pulling me to shore. When I opened my eyes, I swear I saw some half-human, half-fish thing diving back into the sea.

She hadn’t taken him seriously, of course, but why would she? Even if she’d believed in mermaids, Varric is always making up fanciful tales; in fact, that’s about all he does. How was she to know that he might have actually been telling the truth for once in his life?

“You...you saved one of my crewmates,” she says out loud.

The girl nods. “Right, the stout one with all that chest hair.”

Isabela lets out a short bark of a laugh. “You noticed that?”

The girl shrugs. “How could I not? He seemed to practically have it out on display. But I thought maybe the storm had just messed his clothes up.”

Isabela shakes her head. “No, he wears all his shirts like that.”

The girl puts her hands up to her mouth and giggles. Isabela can’t help the astonished smile that creeps onto her face. She’s having a conversation with a mermaid, and quite a beautiful one at that.

“Oh!” the girl says suddenly. “I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Merrill.”

It’s a lovely name, even lovelier when she says it with that pretty voice of hers. “You can call me Isabela,” Isabela says. “Well. Technically it’s Captain Isabela, but I don’t exactly have a ship to captain right now.”

Merrill grimaces. “Yeah, it was in pretty bad shape last I saw it. Is it getting fixed up? I noticed the shipbuilder investigating it the other day.”

“It is,” Isabela says, and then she laughs again as realization strikes her. “Do you know what I named it? I named it the Siren’s Call.”

Merrill snorts. “See, you were bound to meet one of us sooner or later.”

Isabela takes another few steps backward and sits down in the shallow tides, not even caring that she’s getting ocean water and wet sand on her clothes. Merrill swims up to her and lies down on her side a few paces ahead of her, letting the waves crash over her.

Up close, Isabela can see the way her torso gradually shifts from human to fish. The lower half of her body is one long, large fish tail that shimmers with bright green scales. Her top half is the same as a human’s, save for the ears. Isabela can’t help but notice that Merrill isn’t wearing any kind of covering, not that she really expected her to.

“Must be nice,” she says, eyeing her companion’s chest, “being able to just bare your whole self like that. We humans have societal norms that make it socially unacceptable for me to run around nude. Or even just in my smallclothes.”

Merrill giggles and makes no move to cover her breasts. “So I’ve heard.”

For a moment, they both just stare, each taking the other in. Then Isabela asks about the thing that’s been on her mind the moment Merrill stuck her head out of the water.

“So mermaids are real, huh?”

Merrill smiles. “Still in disbelief? That makes sense. Like I said, we’re quite reserved. We’ve been hiding for thousands of years, right under you humans’ noses. We’ve seen what your kind can do when you discover something strange or different. Besides, for a long time there was never really much reason for our paths to cross, us living in the ocean and you all living on land.”

Isabela narrows her eyes. “Then why did you save Varric? Why are you even talking to me?”

“We save sailors every once in a while,” Merrill explains. “They’re usually unconscious by that time anyway, or they think whatever they saw or felt was a trick of the mind, especially when they’re alone. As for why I’m talking to you…” She drums her fingers thoughtfully against the wet sand. “You seemed...different. I saw the way you’d sit out here for hours, just staring at the sea. I could tell you longed for it. You reminded me of...well, of a mermaid. You belong to the ocean, just like we do.”

Isabela’s mouth curls into a soft smile. “I suppose you’re right, Merrill,” she says, staring dreamily into the distance. “I suppose you’re right.”

After a short pause, Merrill adds, “Your looks didn’t hurt, either.”

That snaps her back immediately, and when she glances back over at the seemingly innocent sea maiden, Isabela notices a playful glint in her wide green eyes.

The smile on her face shifts into a delighted smirk. Two can play at that game. “Tell me, kitten,” she says, the nickname springing to her lips and sounding perfect as soon as it leaves her mouth, “how would one go about pleasuring a mermaid?”

#dragon age 2 #merrill #isabela #merribela #merribelaweek #da2 #my fics

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