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mimik-u · 4 years ago

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Flower Child (Chapter 13): Blue (III)

Goodness, I'm nearly a year and a half late, but here we are—Chapter 13 of "Flower Child." First of all, I want to give my sincerest apologies for the delay... I mentioned this at the start of my fic "Facets," but the simplest and truest story is that my muse for writing Steven Universe and, well, writing in general petered out for a long time and has only recently returned. But, because it has recently returned, I wanted to begin to make good on a promise I made to you guys so many months ago—that one day, I would finish this story. So let's do this. <3 I'm ready now.

(1) I read through the previous twelve chapters, lmao, and half-loved and half-hated my writing, but the point of that exercise, beyond getting acquainted with the plot of "FC" again, was to also do some quick grammar and flow revisions, so a few of the previous chapters should read just a little better than maybe they had before.

(2) Fun fact! Chapter 13 is pretty interesting because some portions of it were actually written over a year ago; it was an incredible challenge for me to work with what I had as a 2019 writer versus what I've learned as a 2020 writer.

(4) Someone asked on Tumblr a long time ago if there was a playlist I worked with in writing this story...

(5) And finally, and most importantly, this chapter is incredibly heavy, dealing with themes of suicidal ideation and extreme depression.

Please be cautious while reading if these are topics that are triggering to you!

The shiny, black town car eased to a stop at the pull-through entrance of the hospital, drawing the gazes of passerby on the sidewalk. An older lady in a wheelchair, a group of what appeared to be college kids in scrubs, a scraggly-looking patient who’d obviously escaped the confines of his room to light a cigarette—they all stopped and stared as the back door of the overtly fancy car was pried open from the inside out, as a metal cane preceded a woman who quite looked like she needed it.

Blue Diamond unfolded into the light of day, trembling.

Because it was hard.

It was so hard.

To be here.

(To be.)

She wanted to collapse where she stood, dissemble and dissolve away one piece of herself at a time; she leaned heavily on the head of her cane and lit upon the sole pair of eyes that weren’t looking at her—or, really, her Lincoln. The man named Greg Universe stood next to the automatic doors with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at the ground, all but boring a hole into it. When the sliding doors opened and closed at his backside, they appeared to be ripping into him, piece by miserable piece.

“I’ll call when I’m ready,” Blue murmured to her valet before shutting the door and slowly hobbling over to Greg.

Clank.

The onlookers glanced away as the town car drove off, resumed their lives and cared not for yet another broken person in their midst. The hospital was full of them as it was. Perhaps they were even broken themselves—very probably they were.

Blue Diamond did not care to know.

Clank.

I’m betraying her, she thought, she was always thinking. I’m leaving her behind. I’m betraying her. I’m—

Clank.

The clanking did the trick, catching Greg’s attention and only half-holding it. He lifted his head slowly and mustered a smile that must have been agony. It wobbled on his lips and very nearly disappeared in his bushy beard. It pulled at him—all over. He looked like a Picasso gone wrong, an abstraction of a man stretched too far.

“Hey, just in time.” He gave a shaky little laugh that rather sounded like a sob and then somehow kept talking, his entire physiognomy alive with his nerves. “Steven’s so excited to see you again. He hasn’t stopped talking about ya since this morning, which is kinda nuts because he was so tired yesterday, but this is a good thing, and so we should really go up and see him now because—”

She cut across him; it was a quiet act, a merciful one. “Greg.”

It was just his name, a singular syllable, a sound, but even that was enough.

Mr. Universe’s face fell into geometric disarray.

“No use hiding it, huh?” He half-wept, half-laughed again, scrubbing a hand over his face and bringing up his shirt to soak up what was left.

“No,” Blue Diamond whispered, her hands tightening on the head of her cane. “It’s scrawled all over you, I’m afraid.”

“Figures,” he said hoarsely. “I’m a mess.”

“No more than I am.” She pried one of her hands away from the other and gestured loosely at her entire body with a wry smile. “If you’re a mess, then I am a dereliction.”

It wasn’t a contest; it was the truth.

Four years of grieving had wasted her.

Blue Diamond was skeletal.

Broken.

Greg took this in and considered; his smile that really wasn’t a smile resolved itself into a quiet, aching sort of frown. It tugged his face downwards; it tugged at the hollows of her chest. She’d seen him only a little over a week ago, and yet today, he looked as though he’d aged a hundred years in the span of eight days. There were bags under his eyes and sunken dunes in his cheeks.

There was a little boy in a hospital bed.

There was a disease.

It was killing them both.

“How do I do this?” He asked the ground. “How did you—” But he stopped short; his breath hitched.

It was a highly personal question after all.

It was no short wonder that Blue’s cane didn’t snap beneath her grip.

“How did I do it?” She returned softly all the same. The slight breeze stirred the strands of hair poking out of her silvery braid.

Greg nodded mutely, the desperation in his face tangible. She could reach out if she wanted and touch his hurt, the very heart of it, and all of its dimensions. (She didn’t want to.)

“To be entirely truthful,” she murmured, “I’m not sure that I ever did.”

ii.

It was nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, and it was also 2:38AM, the very moment when a police officer had the audacity to come to their door and tell two mothers that their daughter was dead, gone, and never coming back. His expression was a gathering bruise, and his words were like bullets, striking right between the ribs.

Blue Diamond couldn’t breathe.

In the darkness, she sat on the edge of Pink’s bed and dragged every mouthful of air inwards like it was painful; her chest heaved with the awfulness of it, the punctured horror of leaking lungs.

Her child was dead.

Oh, God.

Her child was gone.

Why, oh, why, oh, God, my God?

And she was never coming back.

Goddammit.

In the coagulated darkness, Blue clutched her daughter’s favorite sweatshirt close to her chest; it was black and ratty, full of holes and little tears. A small alien logo perched on the chest, grinning up at her from depthless eyes.

They used to fight over this particular number.

Constantly.

“You’re a multibillion dollar heiress.” Blue would pinch the bridge of her nose and try not to raise her voice above an acerbic whisper. “Would it inconvenience you to buy some nicer clothes?”

Pink was unsparing in her retorts, wicked and witty, face upturned in a haughtiness to match her mother’s own.

“Would it inconvenience you to get off my ass, Mother? It’s just a sweatshirt.”

“Pink!”

And on and on.

The fabric was cold between Blue’s long fingers, still scented with Pink’s favorite perfume.

They were going to bury her today, mere hours from now.

Last week, they’d been fighting over this shirt.

On and on and never again.

The funeral… mere hours from now… less than three… but how could that also be true when it was only 1:52AM and Pink Diamond was coughing her last, strangled breath on a dirty pavement outside a bar on 9th Avenue?

Blue Diamond hadn’t been there, but she forced the words on the detective’s report to come to life in the theatre of her mind’s eye anyway. By the time the paramedics had arrived, Pink was all but gone; she gasped, and she coughed, and her brown eyes marbled in one final supernova of emotion. They tried to resuscitate her, but the damage was too extensive.

She’d fought back, the officer had said. (He thought it was a consolation to them.)

The proof was caked in her nails and scratched all over her arms, but it’d been three against one.

She was a lion, and they were men; she was a twenty-one year old girl, and they were men.

In the darkness, unraveling, Blue Diamond’s face dripped onto the sweatshirt, onto the alien smiling up at her with a black sliver of a mocking grin. She did not register—she did not care to register—the slow creaking of the door opening inwards.

Amber light strained from the hallway to find and reach and touch her but didn’t quite make it.

Yellow Diamond was a shadowy figure in the doorway.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she scolded, and yet, she moved into the room anyway—the hypocrite—her sharp heels muffled in the carpet. Stiff and forbidding, she came to stand in front of Blue, arms crossed over her chest, a frown crossed over her face. “It’s not healthy for you, Bl—“

But Blue cut across her. It was not a kind act; it was a precise incision—cold and surgical—three inches long and just as deep. “Our daughter is dead, Yellow.”

The shadowy figure recoiled but did not bite.

Even now, Yellow couldn’t bear to be seen as vulnerable, couldn’t bear to give one damn inch.

“I know that, dammit,” she muttered to the wall. “Dammit—do you not think I know that?”

But Blue had no pity for her, no shred of any emotion left except for the vicious tangle of grief; it tangled in her fingers, which sunk deep into Pink’s shirt, and it tangled in her cold eyes, leaking down her pale face and salting her anemic lips.

“Then act like it,” she hissed.

The exhortation bruised the air.

It demanded a reaction.

On its hands and knees, it begged for a response.

And yet, the shadowy figure said nothing. She didn't move her clenched fists.

She could not face Blue in the eyes.

Coward.

Hypocrite.

(Mourner.)

(Mourning.)

She simply left, staggering out of the room on precariously high heels, and Blue simply stayed, conflating the hours and the days and the minutes.

Later that day, they buried their daughter in a mausoleum, a gazebo—in a cemetery slathered in golden sun.

iii.

Greg explained the details as best as he could on the way up to Steven’s room. It was hard to find him a kidney because his blood type was O negative, which meant that he would only be able to receive a kidney from a Type O donor. And though he’d been on the waiting list for months now, and though he’d recently been moved to the top of the list given his worsening condition, it was still anyone’s guess as to when a kidney would become available.

(“If,” he could barely choke out, “we can even get one at all.”)

After slowly making their way across an expansive skywalk, they finally arrived at a pair of double doors labeled Truman Ward. The sun pierced through the tall glass windows and lit upon Blue’s sunken face, and Greg’s red eyes, and her metallic cane, and his wobbling lips—as though it was doing them a favor by doing so.

Greg reached behind her and pressed a button on the wall, alerting someone on the other side to their arrival.

“Listen”—he ran his hand along the back of his neck as the doors slowly parted open in welcome—“I’m going to go back to the room for a bit and see if I can get some paperwork done. Feel free to stay as long as ya’d like. Visiting hours don’t end ’til eight.”

Blue stared at him.

Every moment—every hour, minute, and second with this child was precious nowadays, and here Greg was, lending her time out of his own.

She felt the gift of what he was offering deeply.

(She could have never found it in herself to be so generous with Pink.)

“Thank you.” She swept a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I�� I appreciate you allowing me to visit him.”

But he only shook his head and urged her through the doors with a pinched smile.

“If he’s happy that you’re here,” he shrugged, “then I am, too.”

And with that, he waved a last goodbye, and the doors folded to a close again with her on the other side of them.

Room 11037.

Walking became a monumental task as the clinically white hallway stretched out before her, lengthened by her mind, twisted and contorted into an obstacle she had to surmount.

It should have been just a hall.

Clank.

The memory of Pink burned bright behind her eyelids, stained there permanently by principle but stamped in starkly with assistance from the harsh fluorescents overhead. She was laughing, always laughing, in these flashbulb reminiscences, her freckles coalescing and then expanding across the bridge of her nose like the bellows of an accordion.

Clank.

But it wasn’t just Pink, though it always would be.

Clank.

It was Steven now.

Clank.

A ghost she chased, as opposed to the one who perpetually haunted her (who mercifully, who cruelly stayed.)

Clank.

But he wasn’t a ghost just yet, right? He was still here and still fighting—did that not count for something? Didn't his heartbeat, the very state of its continued existence, teach her to hope?

Clank.

But hope was such an awful word—so empty, brimming with meaningless sensationalism.

Clank.

(Maybe it was the vestiges of her long dead religion, but she wanted to hope anyway.)

Clank.

Hope was such an awful word.

Clank.

Room 11037.

The door was decisively closed.

A tall woman with bicolored eyes leaned against it, her dark lips corkscrewed into a frown.

Blue Diamond vaguely remembered her from the cemetery but couldn’t quite place a name. She could place an expression, though, and was surprised to name the one on this stranger’s face as disdain. Disdain rolled off this mysterious woman in waves, from the resolute clench of her jaw to the iron way that her arms were folded across her chest. It burned in her eyes. It seemed to languish inside of her, seething just under a facade of smooth skin.

She was a monolith of quiet loathing.

Blue squared her rounded shoulders in a manner she thought to be composed; her hands trembled on her cane nonetheless.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” She asked it quite politely, even as the walls were harsh and white around them. She used to command rooms by the authoritative nature of her voice alone, and now she struggled to keep it together long enough to face a singular woman in front of a singular door.

“It’s not you specifically,” the woman replied, impressively put together, admirably composed. If her electric blue eye was cold, the brown one simply burned. Both were bruised underneath with tired shadows. “It’s what you stand for. It’s about the morals that Diamond Electric doesn’t have.”

“You’re an activist,” Blue surmised quickly, almost flippantly. Activists were challenging DE all of the time, and activists were always losing. Before Pink… she’d largely assumed that these sorts of protesters simply had no logical case. After Pink, she had had much more consuming thoughts on her mind than petty lawsuits against their multibillion dollar company.

“A Crystal Gem,” she corrected tersely, “but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” Her gaze slid subtly to the doorway behind her, and Blue understood her at once.

“Steven,” she whispered.

The woman nodded.

“Steven,” she agreed, and her voice cracked as she said it, splintering into thousands of little pieces and struggling to regroup. When she swallowed to compose herself, it was almost as though she was swallowing the shards. “He likes you, and I can’t… I won’t begrudge him that.”

In the way that she said it, it was almost like she was convincing herself most of all.

“There is an implicit but there,” Blue parried softly. “You won’t begrudge him that, but.”

Again, the woman nodded, the gesture slow and measured, as though she was working something out in the tiny motion. When her squared chin came up again, her mismatched eyes were bright, intense with quiet pain.

“But don’t hurt him.”

It was a reasonable demand, but the implication behind it stung immediately and anyway.

She inhaled sharply and scrambled to defend herself, to salvage the punctured wound, but the damage was already done. Her voice came out more broken than it did cold.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” the Crystal Gem said, shaking her head. “Most people never really intend to hurt someone… but it happens. We get caught up in our emotions. We get selfish. We get distant. And then we hurt people.”

It struck Blue Diamond at that very moment that she hadn’t even deigned to ask the woman’s name.

“So, all I’m saying is don’t hurt him.” She unfolded herself from the door and stepped aside. “He likes you.”

iv.

Two days after the first anniversary of Pink Diamond’s death, a doctor shined a light in Blue Diamond’s glassy eyes and waited for a pupillary response. When he received one—an involuntary but nonetheless reactive blink—he unceremoniously clicked off his pen light and straightened up into the unfriendly darkness once more.

In the sparse incandescence bleeding in from the hallway, Yellow Diamond cut a shadowy figure by his side, her usually tidy hair rumpled from all the times her fingers had become ensnared in it that day.

Her tie was loose, and lines had already begun to etch themselves beneath those hawklike eyes of hers.

Soon, they would become permanent fixtures, marked there by time and age and grief.

For now, though, they were only suggestions.

Hints of what was to come.

(So many sleepless nights.)

(How many haunted days?)

“Well?” Though the CEO tried hard to strangle her voice into a whisper, the sharpness of the syllable was still the loudest sound in the room. Subtlety had never quite been this woman’s strong suit; she wielded her words as though they were gavels to proclaim on the heads of all who dared to cross her path.

“Catatonic depression,” the doctor replied, just as succinctly, replacing his pen in the pocket of his lab coat. “The staring, the lack of movement, the loss of appetite, the elective mutism. All textbook symptoms that point to the fact that your wife is still grieving, Mrs. Diamond. Frankly, I’m worried for her health.”

The shadow on his left scowled at this diagnosis, and she fidgeted, and it was apparent by these two idiosyncrasies alone that she was scrounging deep for some incisive rebuttal against the truth that laid like a breathing corpse directly below her.

“Then what, pray tell, do you intend to do about it?” Her voice exceeded its former intentions of quietness. “That’s the problem. Now what’s the solution?”

“Well, I admit her to the hospital and start her on an intravenous Lorazepam treatment. It’s a sedative. It’ll assuage some of her anxiety and relax her muscles to prevent spasming.”

“Yes, and then?”

They were talking about her as though she wasn’t even there.

It was a fair enough assessment.

“And then what, Mrs. Diamond?” The doctor stared at her incredulously, shoving both of his hands in his pockets. “With all due respect, I can treat your wife’s physical symptoms from sunup to sundown, but that’s not touching the heart of what is truly debilitating her. She’s grieving, ma’am, and she needs psychiatric treatment beyond what I can provide as a private doctor and you can provide as her spouse. We discussed this the last time I was here.”

“And the time before that—yes, I know,” Yellow Diamond laughed humorlessly, the sound half-mad in her constricted throat. “Because you stand there, like an imbecile, and tell me that there’s no underlying medical cause to this?!”

She jabbed an accusing hand at Blue Diamond, whose oceanic eyes were wide open and unseeing, silent tears slipping from the corners of them and falling sideways across her face. There was an untouched tray of food on her nightstand. There was a lankness in her unwashed hair. There were pill bottles accumulating like a grotesque collection next to the alarm clock.

And there was an air, an atmosphere, an oppression of silent decay.

The funereality of it was undeniable.

An uncomfortable wooden chair stood next to the bed where Yellow Diamond had been sitting vigil for the past two nights since they had visited the cemetery on the day of the anniversary.

Blue Diamond’s keening sobs had sliced the autumnal air.

Her daughter was dead.

Gone.

Never coming back.

She stared at nothing, it seemed to Yellow and the doctor; she languished in the visions of Pink that seized across her mind with every dripping second of consciousness.

“Depression is an underlying medical cause, Mrs. Diamond.”

The doctor’s voice softened.

Minimally.

For the first time since the house call had begun, his lanky silhouette jerked a little, as though he wanted to place a hand on the CEO’s shoulder, but thought better of it upon seeing something forbidding in the other’s expression.

“And she’s tired, ma’am. You both are.” Look at you, his rust colored eyes seemed to say. You’re both historical wrecks to a long dead ghost. “You can’t take care of her alone… moreover, you shouldn’t have to.”

But the doctor had finally overstepped one prying comment too far, and he must have known it immediately, because he took a step back from the golden eyes glowering at him in the darkness of that dusty bedroom.

Yellow Diamond’s entire face transformed, twisting itself into facets of shattered rage.

She was feral.

(Wounded.)

Apoplectic with fury.

(Grieving, she was inconsolable.)

Dangerous.

Goddammit, she was on fire.

“Do not ever deign to tell me what I can and can’t do when it comes to my wife,” she snarled, all pretense of quietness long gone, devoured in the hurricane of emotion. “Get out! OUT!”

“Mrs. Diamond, please—“

“I SAID OUT! OUT!” She shrieked, harshly shoving his shoulder with the flats of her palms. “GET THE HELL OUT!”

The doctor did not need telling again; he fled the room as the force of Yellow Diamond’s dismissal stoned his back.

Blue blinked slowly as a shaking hand suddenly clasped her arm in the wake of the carnage, the imprint of a steel wedding band carving itself into her flesh.

That hurts, Yellow.

She blinked again, the words swelling on her tongue and dying there unrestfully.

That hurts.

The warnings of Steven’s guardian standing sentinel on top of her frantically beating heart, Blue Diamond turned the knob to Room 11037 and pushed inwards until the door reluctantly gave way to a sight she had forgotten to steel herself for in-between the guilt of moving on and the agonizing action of doing so.

Steven himself.

Dwarfed in a hospital bed.

A mere wisp of the boy who had sat with her on the balcony only three days ago and stuffed his face with little chocolate cakes.

Her prodigious mind working far ahead of her paralyzed body, she frantically tried to recall his text from yesterday, what it had said about his condition, if it had indicated anything about his current state at all. But he had only told her that he had passed out and ended up in the hospital again. The boy had said nothing about the extensive tubing and the wires that ribboned and scissored his entire body in streaming colors. Lines crisscrossed each other and tumbled over and under and around his blankets.

She saw the bottom of an empty catheter bag at the edge of the bed.

And the bruises like angry embers pulsing up his arms.

Somehow, amongst all the other things she was absorbing at precisely the same time, she noticed that next to a vase of elegantly arranged sunflowers, there was an inelegantly arranged tray of hospital food.

Untouched.

He had texted not a word about the yellow pallor of his skin.

He had used exclamation points—exclamation points!—to indicate his excitement.

Blue Diamond could not shake the notion, the very absurd idea, that he had lied to her somehow, had drawn her here under false pretenses.

(This was not the truth. She had estimated at what she was getting herself into and crossed the line into getting herself into it anyway.)

“Hi,” Steven Universe said sheepishly, his cheeks flushing darkly. He was caught, and he knew it. “It’s good to see you again, Blue.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Blue’s plump lips parted slightly.

Two…

Her hand shivered on the head of her cane until the sound of it rattled the clinically quiet room.

Three…

She couldn’t do this again.

She wouldn’t grieve for another dead child.

One had been too much—one had almost killed her.

Four…

God, and there were still days where she wondered if it still would.

Without thinking, desperate for relief, Blue turned away and braced her free hand on the door, drawing in harsh, ragged breaths that scratched at her beaten lungs, that bled them anew until they were leaking.

Who was she to believe that she wasn’t falling apart at her seams? How delusional was she to hope that a boy with a flower would be the difference between her saving grace and her inevitable dissolution? Was she so naïve to overlook the contours of his illness and think that his determination would be enough to save him from the eternal truth of this world? Was she so weak?

Death didn't discriminate between the old and the young, the sinner and the saint.

Pink Diamond was only twenty-one years old.

Steven Universe was a child.

“Blue!” Steven pleaded. “Wait, please don’t go. I—”

“I cannot look at you, Steven Universe," she cut across him, her voice low and fractured. Hot tears stood in her eyes, suddenly blurring her hand against the smooth door. “I’m sorry, but I cannot bear to see…”

“Can’t bear to see that I’m dying?”

He didn’t just refuse to mince the word; he stabbed it into her back so remorselessly that she gasped sharply. She glanced down at her chest and half-expected to see it lodged there, poking out, her beating heart speared on its tip.

“People can skirt around the word all they want,” Steven laughed bitterly, “but there’s no other word for it… without a kidney, I’m gonna die soon, Blue Diamond. I’m dying right now. I think I’ve been dying all this time. And everyone… all they wanna do… is look away from me. Pearl, Garnet, my dad…”

He sniffed.

“They keep looking away, and I’m so tired of it… I-I’m exhausted.”

The door felt cold against her palm.

Icy.

On the balcony, two days ago, she accused Yellow Diamond of shoving their daughter away in a drawer with the rest of her useless items.

In an arctic hospital room, Blue Diamond was ready to consign a boy to the same grave her daughter was buried in…

… but dead children couldn’t talk.

Dead children couldn’t be tired.

They were simply dead.

“So, please, Blue Diamond… please don’t look away.”

The seconds dripped between them.

The heart monitor on the wall counted them out.

One…

Her eyes were wide with the horror of everything, of it all, the senselessness, the depravity, the nihilistic revolutions of this awful, uncaring world.

“I had a daughter once,” she whispered to the door. “Her name was Pink Diamond, and she was… she is… my everything. She had a smile wider than this planet could ever hope to contain… and she very much liked to laugh.”

She had never talked about Pink to anyone other than Yellow before.

Even evoking her name felt like blasphemy.

Two…

A second passed, and no lightning fell from the sky to strike her dead; she supposed her own self-flagellation was the punishment and the eternal damnation alike.

“I looked away. Yellow and I both did. She wanted more from life, and we wanted to contain her life into… into a little box that could fit on the shelf with all our other trophies. She was our accomplishment, you see, our legacy.”

Three…

Blue Diamond’s hand fell away from the door, so she could bring it up to her mouth in a futile attempt to dam the sobs that racked her shoulders.

Four…

“We looked away. The night that she… she—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word aloud. She wasn’t brave like Steven. “We thought she was in her room, and I didn’t tell her that I loved her that night because we had argued… I thought I’d get the chance the next day or the day after that because we argued all the time. It was normal for us.”

On and on and never again.

When was the last time Blue Diamond had said those three words to her daughter?

These past four years, she had scoured her brain for the answer, but the answer was as elusive as the phrase was from her mouth.

For the simple truth of the matter was that she hadn’t said it very often.

In all her vast intellect, she had always assumed that it was assumed.

Implied.

Understood.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I love you, she could have said.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

I didn’t want you to, she would have replied then. I wanted you to collect dust with all the rest of our awards and certificates. I wanted you safe, where I could see you. I wanted to quantify the entirety of your life and itemize the particulars. I wanted you to always be mine.

I love you.

I looked away.

An oxymoron.

A tragedy.

Five…

“So if I look at you, Steven Universe,” she murmured, screwing her eyes closed tightly against the pain, “really look at you, then I have to face that truth again—that I loved someone once… and I looked away… and now she’s… gone.”

And that was the immutable truth of the matter, the conclusion she circled around to no matter how many times the Earth continued to revolve away from the day since Pink Diamond had last existed on this world.

Four thousand revolutions later, and this would still be what it came down to in the end.

Her daughter’s blood was on her hands, staining them crimson, veining her lifelines with the guilt and the awfulness and the unbearable, crucifying shame.

And her daughter’s blood cried out, You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

And every time she so much as looked at her own palms, that was the only echo she saw written across their hollows.

Those last words.

Unanswered.

Unfinished.

Undoing and undone.

Six…

“But… I’m not gone yet,” Steven argued softly. His voice fought to be heard over all the machinery keeping him alive. “I’m here.”

He must have moved because blankets shifted somewhere behind her.

Dead children didn’t move.

Dead children weren’t here.

They were simply—

Seven…

Eight…

Nine…

Ten…

Do it, she commanded herself.

Look at him.

But Blue Diamond was frozen, and she was statuesque; she was a calcification barely anchored on the foundation of her cane. One false move and she would crumble entirely.

The safest bet on her own survival was to limp away and dare not look behind her lest she turn to salt and dust.

Someone else could clean up the carnage.

That woman who stood at the door—she’d do it—Greg Universe and the boy’s other guardians, too.

Don’t hurt him, that same woman had also said. He likes you.

Eleven…

Twelve…

Thirteen...

vi.

It was wash day.

For nearly a year and half after Pink Diamond died, Yellow would force Blue out of bed every few days for a bath or a shower—usually a shower because it was becoming increasingly hard for the CEO to lift her wife in and out of the tub.

Today was a tub sort of occasion, though.

Date night with the Diamonds.

The presence of death was always with them, though, an intrusive third wheel.

With a slight groan, Yellow lowered herself into the warm water behind Blue, steam rising around their naked skin like curling smoke. Once upon a time, this used to be a favorite pastime of theirs, a chance to reacquaint themselves with each other and their bodies… but now the gesture was simply hygienic in purpose, asexual and quiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

“Is it too hot?” Yellow asked, her voice as gentle as she could wrangle it. Somehow, at the same time, it was still edged with the trappings of harshness. “I can add some cold water?"

She waited briefly for a reply that would never come.

Blue stared limply at her knees, pulled up awkwardly as they were to her chest. Her sensitive skin had already reddened in a couple of places where it was touching the water. There were pink fingerprints wrapped around her armpits where she’d been handled into the tub.

“I think it’s too hot. You’re getting a rash.” A well-manicured hand flashed out from behind her ear and knobbed the far left tap. There was a quick murmur and then the steady hiss of cold water.

“There,” she humphed satisfactorily. “This’ll feel better.”

The running stream answered its assent.

Blue Diamond did not say a word.

She hadn’t in days now, maybe even weeks; time was irrelevant to her, and the words would not come.

There was only a dullness in her head, numb and numbing, like an icy compress coiled tightly around her thoughts.

Yellow didn’t think so, but this was better than the alternative; this was the far superior solution to the problem, the pain, and the pervasiveness of the ghost who was their daughter Pink Diamond.

Because when the analgesic of her own catatonia faded, and some of the feeling tried to seep through, her chest would unfailingly tighten, a vice squeezing hard upon her weary heart.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her child was dead.

“I…”

The sound came from behind her, guttural and choked, as though the speaker was fighting hard against the noise and losing the war.

“I’m so tired, Blue.”

It was an admission, and it was a copout.

Both of them knew that Blue Diamond wasn’t registering a single word.

She heard them—yes, this was true.

But they came to her—they landed softly—like distant echoes; she did not feel the pain of them, the visceral agony; at the present moment, she did not even feel her own pain, the grief and the scalding water and the grief.

Because it was always the grief she was trying to repress.

Everything else was just ancillary.

“You don’t know, goddammit, you can’t know, how exhausted I am.” Yellow Diamond’s voice shattered in the tub.

And her entire body hitched.

As though to keep that from breaking, too.

“You exhaust me, Blue Diamond. You exhaust me every single day. And you don’t even know it, goddammit. Who are you? What the hell have you become?”

The question was delivered to her backside, where it slipped down her tall, curving spine and into the water, splashing there with the delivery of the tap. With a violence that was almost cruel, Yellow reached from behind her again and flung it back into an off position.

There was quietness then.

It was so still, that it was disquiet.

It was always quiet in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite these days.

Silent.

Blue continued to stare blankly at her knees.

There were red patches on her skin.

Her child was dead.

After a moment’s hesitation, her breath heavy on the back of Blue’s long, slender neck, Yellow Diamond gathered her silvery hair gently in one hand and grabbed the comb on the side of the tub with another.

She was careful as she maneuvered its teeth through damp, lank strands.

She always was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Blue.”

That was what Blue Diamond’s note would say merely a few months later.

I’m sorry and I’m sorry and I’m sorry.

Love always, Blue.

But that was the crucial thing, wasn’t it?

Sorry was not enough; love was not enough.

Because if love had been enough, Pink Diamond would still be alive.

vii.

In a hospital room pierced through with golden sun, Blue Diamond turned around and faced the light of day, her heavy braid swinging along with the slow, deliberate motion.

She wasn’t looking away, Steven Universe.

She was staring straight at him—at his sunken face and his tubing and at the catheter bag and at the sunflowers.

The boy was dying, but he was not yet dead.

It wasn’t much.

At the very least, though, it was something.

He was not gone, even if he was going.

He was here.

In this moment, in this very ephemeral second.

The heart monitor on the wall attested to that; it counted his heartbeats; it pleaded with her to have hope.

(Hope was such an awful word.)

“Those are beautiful flowers,” she whispered. Her cane clinked against the tiled floor as she carefully drew closer to observe them better.

Their petals were tall and spiky, assaulting the air with attentiveness and regal magnitude.

They vaguely reminded her of Yellow.

With a light finger, she tried to prop up one that was beginning to droop beneath the weight of all its brethren, but the moment she withdrew her touch, it fell again, sighing listlessly.

Poor thing.

“But not quite as pretty as that hibiscus you bequeathed me.”

Steven’s eyes, edged with the trace remnant of his tears, were wide and dark, full of velvet and silvery stars.

“You don’t still have it, do you?” He asked, incredulous and rather pleased.

He played a little with his hands on top of his blankets.

He tried to tamp down his hope for an affirmative with an unconvincing casualness.

Blue Diamond’s smile bruised her lips.

“I placed it on my nightstand, sweet boy, so I could look at it everyday.”

It took a second, but the irony of that word choice was not lost on either of them.

viii.

Yellow Diamond placed the failed suicide note on her nightstand for Blue to see and know that she saw. They didn’t talk about it afterwards.

How could they?

What was there to say?

It remained there for a few days afterwards, shriveled and guilty-looking next to the alarm clock; every time she opened her eyes, she would see it and feel its quiet condemnation. She would close her eyes against its glare and wait for sleep or numbness one to wrestle her into the dark.

One day, she woke up, and the paper was gone again.

The realization drew a frown across her wrinkled face.

When she thought about getting up to search for it, and mustered the appropriate will to get out of bed, apparently, many days had passed in the interim.

A month.

She only recognized this upon surveying her bathroom on her way to the toilet; she couldn't find her shaving razor anywhere.

One night—the day, the month, the year undetermined in the abscessed haze of her mind—a dull ache throbbed through Blue’s hip, growing in intensity and sharpness with each passing second that she laid on the wounded area.

There was a part of her, not entirely inconsequential, that invited the pain. For after all, suffering was the only victory the woman had left in the entire world; she wrestled with it nightly, and she embraced it. She made it her new lover and exchanged an oath that only death would do them part. She didn’t shoot herself, or cut herself, or swallow a handful of pills that would surely do the trick.

She laid on her bad hip and convinced herself that she deserved it.

But that night—whatever night that it was—the agony was unbearable, pulling at her all over.

With a groan that wasn’t voluntary, Blue wrested herself into some semblance of a sitting position and looked for her phone so that she could call Livia for an ice pack, but it wasn’t on the bedside table as it usually was… and since it wasn’t in its usual position, she had no clue where she had last left it.

If she wanted relief, she would have to brave the kitchen herself.

She wanted relief, and the guilt of it half-immobilized her.

So she sat there for a couple more minutes still and endured the stabbing ache before finally coaxing herself upwards into the dark night of the bedroom.

Assuming her cane in one hand, Blue crept silently towards the door and out of it, where the hallway stretched out before her like a cavernous tunnel, all the lights extinguished.

Even the telltale glow of lamp warmth that usually emitted from the study across the hall was gone out, which meant that Yellow had likely succumbed to sleep on the couch within.

A twinge of something bothered Blue’s sternum at the thought.

She limped forward anyway and all the same, lifting her cane off the floor to keep from making noise; the wall was her guide in its stead, the pads of her long fingers moving along its smooth planes until she reached the end of the archway, where she immediately intuited that she wasn’t alone.

In the moonlight that wept into the living room through the tall windowpanes, Yellow Diamond was a stark figure sitting on the edge of the couch, leached of all her color. Her blonde hair, her silky pajamas, the leathery musculature of her corded neck—all of it was leveled by blinding whiteness.

Illuminated.

Vulnerable.

Exposed.

When her wife swallowed, she could see every line in her powerful jaw working through the peristaltic motion.

In the shadowed hallway, Blue Diamond stood still, even though the sharp pain in her hip demanded attention.

For this moment, this night, this moonlit haunting did not belong to her—even though most of them usually did.

She understood, somewhere in the mire of her own head, that to disturb this scene would be sacrilege. So she watched, and she waited.

Yellow Diamond was holding something between her sharp, angular hands.

With a jolt, she realized that it was Spinel, a stuffed pink cat who had been Pink’s favorite companion once upon a time. Her left ear was still stained from the tea Yellow had once accidentally dripped on it during a princess tea party.

Washed it though they had—several times over—the spot was stubborn; Spinel had been permanently marked.

“S’okay, Momma,” Pink had only said, grinning up at them both from gapped teeth. She had hugged the toy to her chest. The affected ear brushed against the side of her freckled neck. “That just means she’s one of a kind."

Yellow’s fingers were wrapped around the cat’s plush stomach tenderly; she stared at it from depthless, ancient eyes.

It struck Blue Diamond—then and there—that she wanted something more from this vignette; she wanted Yellow to say something. Selfishly, she desired a confirmation for what she had already so trenchantly inferred.

She wanted, she desired, she longed, she needed to know that her wife was broken, too.

It was a horrible hunger, an itch that felt terrible to scratch.

But Blue Diamond was voracious.

Sometimes, maybe even oftentimes, she could be cruel.

After a long while, though, Yellow Diamond only placed the cat down on the coffee table and stared out into the irradiated night with her hands templed below her sharp chin, lost in silent thought.

She looked older than she ever had in all of their collected years together.

She was only fifty-four.

ix.

They talked—for a long while—as the sun slipped away from the sky, sunset coming in fragments through the slats in the window blinds.

Blue Diamond held Steven’s hand, the one that didn’t have so many IVs in it, and rubbed smooth circles against his wrist.

“Pearl does that, too,” he smiled at her softly through hooded eyes when she began. “It’s nice.”

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

He told her about his favorite show, which seemed to be about morose breakfast items from what she could vaguely surmise, and he talked to her, very quietly, about his disease.

It was rapidly progressing, far more quickly than his nephrologist had anticipated.

“Those chocolate cakes we shared on your balcony,” he admitted with the air of a child waiting to be scolded, “I may have accidentally puked them up in your toilet. Sorry..."

“It’s of no consequence,” she returned with a small, sad smile.

And this was very well true.

She wasn’t the one who had to clean it after all.

They talked about everything, and they talked about nothing.

Blue told him about the sunrise yesterday, how all the colors had seeped together in a swirl of delicious color, and she talked to him, very quietly, about Pink.

“In the best of possible ways,” she mumbled, the sound caught in the column of her throat, “you remind me of her sometimes. She smiled at everything, even when there wasn’t exactly something to be smiled about.”

“That’s a very pretty way to put it.” Steven wriggled a thumb from beneath her palm to stay it against the side of her hand.

“Yes,” she nodded gently, “I suppose so.”

When it was time for her to leave—a team of nurses had come in to administer Steven’s evening medicines and check his vitals—she pressed a kiss against his forehead.

Very light and very soft.

“You didn’t look away,” he whispered against her cheek as she withdrew. His breath was sickly sweet with disease. “Thank you, Blue.”

She froze, meeting his eyes.

There was hesitancy, and there was consuming grief.

The scribble of guilt.

Scrawled all over her face.

“I wanted to, though,” she breathed. “If we're being technical... if we're being fair... I think the impulse counts against me.”

“But you didn’t.”

Steven’s chapped lips tilted into the beginnings of a smile.

“And that’s what matters, right?”

She brushed a stray curl off of his clammy forehead and thought about Pink and Yellow and all the things she did and didn’t do.

She loved them.

She looked away.

“Yes,” she told Steven Universe.

Yes.

Alone, Blue Diamond slowly crossed the skywalk, her silvery hair crowned in all the colors of the sunset, a phone pressed against her ear.

Her cane struck the tiled floor with each shuffled step forward.

Clank.

The dial tone droned rhythmically—bzzt and bzzt and bzzt.

Clank.

She felt her heart work its way up her throat, clambering up its fleshy rungs. The immensity of what she was doing transformed her nervous system into a network of beating, pulsing neuroses.

She was ready for this, and she was not.

She could do this; she half-hoped that she wouldn't receive an answer.

Clank.

And then—

“Blue?” Yellow Diamond’s low voice threw its instinctive panic across the line. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Because this was new.

And yet, achingly familiar.

So many years of having not sought Yellow out—all those weeks, days, and months—were well-established patterns that were not easily overturned and undone.

All those collective hurts—hundreds of them, thousands.

Four years of misery sat between them like four hundred thousand miles.

Blue Diamond swallowed thickly, stopping dead in her tracks as the spillage of people continued to swarm all around her like a package freed of its contents: doctors and patients and sundry other visitors. She was the eye of their storm, and yet, she was just another broken person in the midst of so many other broken people. She was separate from them, and yet, she was their intimate kin. The contradiction seemed untenable, unworkable like all the rest.

Her fingers tightened on the head of her cane.

“I’m… I’m fine, Yellow,” she began. “Please don’t worry. I just had to… I wanted to tell you something. Are you busy?”

On the other end of the line, somewhere in a giant, yellow skyscraper at the edge of Empire City, there was the sharp intake of breath.

And the hesitant beginnings of a fearful reply.

It was a start, though.

And that was what mattered, right?

Yes, Blue Diamond thought to herself.

Yes.

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #steven universe #garnet #greg universe #s: steven universe #mimik-u #flower child #holy shit - i can't believe i wrote this

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years ago

Text

Chasing Tornadoes {3/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: suprisingly, very little to warn about. blood splatter?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!

<< Previously ○ Next >>

“God, you’re insufferable!” You slammed your clipboard into Stephen’s chest, it was surprisingly firm in a subtle way. You swallowed.

Stephen grabbed your wrist, not tightly, but firm enough to lock you in his grasp. He tugged, you moved forward against your wishes.

“And you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he whispered.

You shook your head, “I can’t believe you went around my back and interfered with my patient! That wasn’t your call. If I wanted your help, I’d ask for it!”

Stephen inched you towards the wall, back pressed to the familiar hospital walls. “You and I both know, I was the more qualified to handle this one.”

Why is he being so blasé about all this? Your breath hitched when he moved in a little closer. Why is he so close?

“Steph—”

He cut you off, lips prompting a rise in euphoria as soon as they met yours. They were soft, supple. But there was a boldness beneath it. You whimpered, finding it strikingly good. Deliciously good. And then while your head spun and Stephen stole your breaths, your surroundings changed to the familiar navy blue of the OR.

You gasped and pushed Stephen softly, “How did we…?”

Stephen followed your gaze.

A group of surgeons, masked up and gloved up, were performing surgery on a banana. You stuttered, at a loss for words. Stephen shrugged, unphased and then moved his attention back to you. Lips a mere millimetre away.

You recoiled, “Stephen.”

“What?” He asked, somewhat disappointed.

You pointed your ring finger at the operating table, “The banana.”

“Oh, right,” He turned. “How’s our patient?”

A beeping noise sounded out. A fellow spoke: “He’s going into cardiac arrest.” The beeping stopped. “He’s gone.”

“I’m calling it, time of death—”

You were shaken from your sleep by the sudden reorientation. With a loud thud, you landed hard on your ass, the sheets tangling one foot.

You rubbed your eyes, vision coming back blurry and spotted, “What the hell kind of dream was that?” Your fingers trailed over your lips. Dry and chapped and sorely missing the softness of the dream. You groaned, in no mood to deal with some romance drama in the workplace.

You were roused from the floor by the sound of something breaking. With heavy eye-lids and noodle arms, you hoisted yourself up and walked towards the kitchen, the source of the sound.

Rich loam soil and four fragmented pieces of a flower pot lay scattered on the floor. A small root system was peeking out from under the stove; it belonged to a cactus. The last cactus you owned.

You groaned as your eyes trailed up to the former resting place of the now destroyed flower pot and saw Spike’s fat reptilian body trying to slink away.

“Oh no you don’t, you leathery cat,” you hopped over the mess on the floor and grabbed Spike. You held him close to your face so you could stare into his eyes. “What is it with you and cactuses?”

Spikes tongue slithered out then in again before he let out a whiny growl.

You rolled your eyes and scolded him, “If you keep this up I’ll put you up for adoption.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you opened up the balcony door and let Spike down next to the arbour. “You stay out here and think about what you’ve done while I make breakfast.”

Spike made another lazy growl before moving away from the door at a snail’s pace. You hastily swept up the soil from your wooden floors and set aside the broken ceramic pieces in case you wanted to use them for another DIY home decor project.

While you put together a fruit bowl for breakfast, you noticed you hadn’t checked your voicemail. As you squeezed out the last two drops of honey onto your breakfast, you listened absentmindedly to the voice messages while making a mental checklist.

“Hey, Y/N…” Teddy’s soft voice reminded you of a lounge singer who smoked too many cigarettes in between sets. The kind of swaggerful baritone that belonged to men like Frank Sinatra or Nat King Cole. Ironically, Teddy’s face matched the softness of his name more than it did his pitch in voice. “I sent a few messages but I suppose you were on shift. That tornado…messy stuff. My cousin is local fire department, she told me—”

Remember to pay Mr Eliopoulos for the takeout. Teddy’s voice dissolved into white noise as you chewed your food. Get some bills out the ATM to keep on hand.

The next message played after a beep and you weren’t the slightest bit sorry you didn’t fully catch the rest of Teddy’s message.

“Y/N, it’s Irene.” –You froze. For a second– “I don’t know if you deleted my number after the last time we talked or not so…Yeah. It’s Irene,” your sister’s voice was a startling surprise to hear. She sounded as lively as a doornail, probably all the hours spent banging her head instead of her gavel in the courtroom. Irene thrived in the city, even if she never looked fully awake in any of her social media posts. You didn’t care much for city life and its exhausting churn.

Remember to save Irene’s number. Again.

“Mum called me, frantic that you didn’t call or text to say you were okay. She watched the news. The tornado rattled her. Your phone was off the whole day. I had to clear a whole day’s worth of meetings because her angina was acting up.” Irene was rambling in her monotone.

Angina isn’t a disease.

Irene paused as if she’d heard what you’d thought. Then she took a breath. You could practically picture her working her jaw muscles as she fought the urge to get emotional. “Call mum.”

Call mum.

The distance between you and Irene wasn’t consolidated to the miles between your cities. Irene was prickly, like a cactus. Maybe that’s why you had so much trouble growing them. But she was also the only person on the I-95 highway who stopped to pick up a wounded iguana on her cross-country trip that winter you moved into your apartment. That iguana was Spike. That was also the first and last time Irene ever stepped foot in your apartment. And the second time you’d deleted her phone number.

“Or at the very least, post one of those disturbing pictures of Spike dressed in baby clothes,” Irene’s tone turned condescending. There was some chatted on her end of the line. “I’m needed in the chamber.”

No rush saving her number. You swallowed the last spoonful of food before dumping your bowl in the sink. Then you opened the balcony door to let Spike back in.

A third beep. Another message.

“Dr Y/N?” the voice on the other end of the line was now very familiar to you. For a second, you wondered if you were still dreaming. “Dr Stephen Strange. The relief. I got your number from the on-call sheet. Just letting you know I got the go ahead first thing this morning to prep for the transplant. I’ll be the chief surgeon on staff. Marcy is in the best hands. Literally. I’ll see you at work.”

Ask about the transplant. You head shot up so fast you were convinced it’d crack like an Indiana Jones style bullwhip. Transplant?

“Marcy…” you mumbled before rushing to get to the shower. Just then another message played. The last. On it, Mike told you he was on his way to pick you up and that you should do something, but you weren’t paying much attention at that point. You had less than five minutes before he arrived.

Your shower was cold and quick. About half-way through, you realised the conditioner was practically empty. No time to fully detangle your bed-head knots, you raked your fingers through and washed all the shampoo away, making sure to add a little styling crème so your hair wouldn’t look like frizzy from the summer humidity.

You made sure to grab your go-bag, keys and lock the balcony door before rushing out the door just as Mike pulled into the driveway.

Mike had dark circles under his eyes, wind tousled hair that was still damp in places and an outstretched hand dangling out the car window with a coffee flask waiting expectantly.

You grabbed it and hastily made your way to the passenger side.

“Thanks,” you said out of breath as you unscrewed the cap and took a swig. Mike looked at you with a perplexed expression. When no coffee touched your tongue it was your turn to look back at Mike with a similar expression. “It’s empty.”

Mike nodded, “I know it’s empty.”

“Why’d you give me an empty flask?”

“Because you were supposed to make the coffee.

“Then you should have told me to.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

Mike stared at you with a knowing look for a second too long. He sighed, rubbing his red eyes, “You didn’t listen to the whole voice message did you?”

You opened your mouth to retort but then you realised Mike was right. You clicked your tongue, “We can stop by the café near the intersection.”

“You’re buying,” Mike put the car in drive while you tried your best to distract yourself from thinking about Marcy.

“Tell me something new.”

You got dressed into the maroon scrubs in the locker room. Your lanyard feeling particularly heavy that day. Maybe you weren’t as ready for today as you thought you were.

You had hoped and prayed to whatever constituted as a god on any particular day that Marcy would get a new lung. A healthy lung. And that she’d finally get to experience her youth, but now your hands wouldn’t stop shaking and your heart was so loud you wanted to scream just to shut it up.

But today was here and you only had the one heart, so you made a fist, took a long, deep breath and ran towards the OR.

Bach in C minor was playing over the sound of the heart-lung machine. There had been a slight pause when you walked into the OR mid-surgery, but everything continued without fail.

You knew, logically, that observing from the theatre was the right thing to do. The impartial thing to do. But this wasn’t any patient. This was Marcy. The girl you helped with her science homework that one weekend she came in for a check-up and stayed for a minor surgical procedure. The girl you watched rerun’s on cable TV with when you had the night shift. The girl you watched grow up.

Doctor Weisz was among the medical staff in the room. Strange didn’t bother looking away from Marcy’s open chest cavity.

“I don’t remember calling for a second pair of hands,” Strange said as if he was talking to himself. “Did you Doctor?”

Doctor Weisz’s words came out muffled behind her mask, “No.” She kept an impressive straight face. Come to think of it, you had never seen her smile. Or get angry. She was always professional. Even her haircut was a choice of convenience; short and slicked back.

You stepped out from behind Strange’s frame and moved in closer to Marcy. It was a little unsettling how normal she looked in a hospital gown with the elastic of her breathing mask drawing two red lines across her cheeks. The open chest cavity was different though. Unsightly.

Your fingers trembled, reaching out to hold her open palm lying flat on the table when the sudden loud beeping of the heart rate monitor shook you to action.

A squirt of blood sprayed out, turning the sterile blue operating gowns dark with plasma.

“She’s bleeding,” Strange noted as if reading a catalogue. “There’s too much scar tissue.”

“BP is dropping. Fast,” Mike said. You hadn’t even noticed him in the room.

“Clamps,” Doctor Weisz’s hand was stretched expectantly to the fellow behind her.

Your feet were glued in place, like a statue with open eyes that couldn’t look away, just watching. Your brain yelled at you to snap out of it, let your training take over, set your emotions to backburner. But none of it worked.

“Someone get her out of my OR!” Strange’s composure shifted for the first time. It was then that you noticed your hand was holding tightly onto Marcy’s.

Just as Strange instructed, someone grabbed your hand and pulled towards the doors. Once you were out in the bright hallway you realised it was Mike.

In the last couple of hours, you had treated a kid with tonsillitis, a man with a hangnail and one skateboarder with a concussion.

Why’d today have to be a slow day?

You sighed as you flipped through a medical chart Arlene had handed over for a second pair of eyes to go over.

“You said she came in with a fever?”

Arlene stammered before straightening her spine, “Y-yes.”

You kept quiet for a few seconds, waiting for Arlene to jump on cue and finish telling you the symptoms. She didn’t.

“Arlene?”

“Yes?” She looked up, big eyes fully attentive. Her innocence was endearing, but if not grown out of, it’d be a hindrance in this profession.

“This is usually when you fill me in.”

“Oh, right,” she fumbled with her chart. “Uh…loss of appetite, abdominal cramps and joint paint.”

“What’s your diagnosis?” You looked up at the wall clock, watching the hands tick.

Arlene fidgeted, “M-my diagnosis? I um…” She wiped her forehead as if there was sweat on it. “Cramps, fever and joint pain could be…stomach flu?”

“Viral gastroenteritis, yes,” you agreed with her diagnosis. “Treatment?”

Arlene was getting more confident, “Rehydration Solution, anti-viral—”

“Good, do it,” You excused yourself when you spotted Mike walking down the hall. The surgery was done.

“Mike!” You caught his attention. “So…how’d it go?”

Mike tried to miss eye contact, “She’s stable. Transplant wrapped up okay.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mike rushed to place his hands on your elbows. “Marcy’s fine, taking well to the lung. She’s on assisted breathing until the rupture heals and the pressure is relieved on her muscles. She will have to stay in Recovery for longer but she’ll pull through.”

You laughed, a bright smile beaming over your face, “Then what’s the issue?”

Mike bit his lip, “Strange recommended to Weisz that you be put on probation for the time being.

Anger rushed unexpectedly, “What?”

Stephen suddenly appeared down the hallway. You marched over to him. He looked at you, expecting your oncoming aggression.

“You recommended I be put on probation?” You folded your arms to seem imposing.

Stephen glanced knowingly at Mike. Mike shrugged before disappearing into the lounge.

“God, you’re insufferable!” You flashed back to your dream and now you were confused as to what exactly you should be feeling.

“And if today is any indication, you’re too emotional,” he said softly.

You baulked, feeling insulted, “Too emotional?”

He rubbed his neck, “I told you about the operation out of professional courtesy. You had no right to barge into my OR and distract from the procedure. You put a bad foot forward, unprofessional. Weisz agreed. I suggested temporary probation to prevent Weisz from dealing a worse blow.”

You scoffed, “So you were helping me, is that it?”

“Yes,” he sounded on edge. “You’re too raw to be working right now. If I was your superior, I wouldn’t be assured that you could competently manage the rigorous expectations of the workplace.”

“Unbelievable, you really do walk around thinking you know everything, that your word is final. Mike was right, you have no reason to overstep your boundaries. You’re the relief, not my boss,” You threw your arms up in the air, ignoring the other residents listening in.

Stephen sighed, pushing passed you, ending the argument prematurely.¨

“Where are you going?” You demanded, following in stride.

“To get a drink,” he pressed his eyelids. “If you insist on still handing me my ass, you are welcome to join.”

You stalled for a second then decided to continue your squabble.

To be continued...

#stephen strange #doctor strange #stephen strange imagine #doctor strange x reader #marvel imagine #stephen strange x reader #reader insert #stephen strange x y/n

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tisfan · 4 years ago

Text

May I take Your Coat?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25288321 For @livewire28

Bucky is a selkie, headed into the human world to find a potential mate. He has no intention of staying very long... until he does.

Wanda is closing up the tiki bar for the night and wishes this last-minute customer would hurry up and go... until she doesn't.

Inspired by several tumblr posts I’ve seen where the human offers the coat back after knocking it down, or whatever.

Bucky flopped up on shore, scratching his belly over the sand and wending his way up to the rocks. There was a cave there, long since used for such purpose. Human things were stored there, neat and tidy. If he was lucky, the rain barrel would be full and he could take a bit of a bath.

Long gone were the days that a half-dressed, scruffy stranger could walk into a seaside town and not immediately be run out by the local coppers. There were standards. He couldn’t look like a vagabond.

Humans were weird.

Bucky made his way to the cave and then shrugged out of his coat.

It always took him a moment to find his land legs again, and he was glad enough that there weren’t people looking at him. Not even his own kind.

The cave was cool, and well laid out, the earthen floor long since cleared of stone and debris, flat and firm under his feet. A few human style chairs were set around a flat surface. Tabul, Bucky thought was the word, or close enough.

The rain barrel was full and he drew a few buckets into the tub to wash the salt smell from his skin, to scrub out his hair. Things they didn’t really worry about during their day to day lives.

He checked the gift box; trophies from past loves and gifts for new courted mates. Never stolen. Selkies weren’t thieves. Take one, leave one.

A fine string of black pearls, intermixed with a rose pearl every five beads. That should be well enough. Human women preferred jewelry, men preferred weapons. Or gold. There was some of that in the chest, too.

Bucky took his own offering, a handful of pirate treasure that he’d gotten from one of the wrecks nearby. The sea was hard on things from the land, aside from treasure. Eventually, someone would come, check the box. Gather up that which could be crafted. Everyone contributed because the system benefited everyone.

If you wanted a child, or a mate, you went through the cave.

Bucky found clothes there, sealed in a zip locked bag. He knew about those, too. Plastic. It filled the ocean, no matter how much the selkies tried to gather it up and toss it back on the shore. But it kept clothing dry and free from dirt and stains while waiting for someone else to be able to use it.

He dressed. Finger combed out his hair, gently untangling the strands. He looked well enough to pass for a local, he guessed.

Slinging his coat over his arm, Bucky put on loose-fitting shoes -- he hated shoes, all selkie hated shoes, but the humans got mad if you weren’t wearing them.

Stupid human rules.

But it was the only way to be sure.

If a selkie mated with another selkie, they could birth seal pups, which was tolerable, or a selkie, which was ideal. Or a human child, which was not ideal at all.

Humans no longer looked at a child left on the beach or the docks as a blessing. The child would end up in the human foster care, sometimes adopted out, sometimes neglected, but often taken far away from the sea, too far for their parent to find them, so they would never know… until some years, or even generations later, when they had their own child.

Who might be a selkie.

But any selkie who took a human as their mate, the child would be selkie.

For the women, it was easier; come ashore, spend a few days with a relatively tolerable human, come home and have the baby. The only time that went wrong was if the human found and stole the selkie’s coat.

For men--

Well, there were a few options. Selkies weren’t thieves.

But the cost of a child was high; the cost of living a half-life among humans was high.

Many selkie men chose to raise a child not of their blood, help provide for a child with a selkie mate, adopt the offspring.

It wasn’t a bad plan, not really.

But Bucky wanted his own child.

Was that too much to ask?

Wanda sighed as the man walked into her bar. There was no dress code, aside from yes, please wear clothes. It was a beach bar, tiki themed and tacky, but it meant no one expected the floor to be swept. It was almost closing time, though, and she’d already shooed the rest of the locals and tourists out.

“It’s already last call,” she said. “I can get you one drink, and anything that’s left cooked in the kitchen, but that’s all.”

“That will be well enough,” the man said, and he was beautiful, really. Dark, windswept hair that looked like he’d been swimming most of the day. Blue eyes, cleft chin. Cheekbones that would worry the TSA, they were that sharp.

The clothes, not so much. A tourist tee from one of the shops up on the strip and ugly shorts with pineapples on them. Sandals, which wasn’t typical. But he carried a brown silk sport coat tucked over his arm. Gorgeous, almost golden. Glittery, reflecting back the light from the imitation tiki torches. The shop owner didn’t like smoke from real torches, so they had ugly fake electric things. And light up palm trees. It was tacky as shit.

Which meant, at least, her customer mostly matched the decor.

She wished she didn’t have to work the night shift -- she was always cranky during the evening -- but school was in the morning. One of these days, she was just going to collapse. Trying to do two full time gigs, and her side-hustle where she consulted for people doing gardening and helped them lay out and select plants. She barely got any time to breathe. Certainly relaxing was all the way out of the question.

Which didn’t make her the best host to a customer coming in to eat a plate of cold fries and drink a beer.

“Long day in the sun?”

“Something like that,” the man said, sitting down at the bar, moving gingerly. He didn’t look sunburned. Maybe he was just sore. Too much swimming.

“Well, we’re closing soon, so you enjoy your food. Yell if you need something, but I gotta start clean up. I was supposed to have help today, but both the other girls called out,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to assist?”

Wanda didn’t quite scoff. Like a tourist would want to help do the dishes or put the stools up. “It’s just basic stuff. Put the seats up on the table, rake the floor for trash, empty--”

The man got up, drained his beer, and Wanda half expected him to leave without paying, saying he was going to leave a bad review and would be back to talk to the manager, because honestly that was what she was used to. Tourists were people with money, and most of the time, they were entitled pricks.

Instead, he wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, and then-- got to work putting up the stools.

“Thank you,” Wanda said. She probably shouldn’t let him help; Thaddeus Ross, her boss, would not be pleased with her if something happened to the man. Or even if he complained-- or if someone else complained. But she was so tired, really, what could it hurt, just this once? “My name’s Wanda.”

“Bucky,” the man said.

“Thanks, Bucky,” she said. “If you can do that, I’ll get the kitchen shut down, then take out the trash.”

“Will do, Wanda,” he said, and he stressed her name, like a caress.

She suppressed a shiver, headed into the kitchen. She didn’t have time or energy to worry about some guy.

Loaded the dishes into the industrial washer and started it. Sometimes she wished she had one of those at home. Once the dishes were in the rack, it took about four minutes to clean them. She had to be careful unloading because the dishes would be hot as hell, but it was nice.

And then she’d look at the space it needed and the cost and decide if she needed a plate in four minutes, she could just wash it in the sink.

By the time Wanda came back out to wipe down the bar, Bucky had put all the chairs up except the one he had been using, stacked all the trash bags by the door, and was raking the floor to get up all the random cigarette butts, spare change, and cruft that gathered around the tiki bar.

“Wow,” she said. “Nice job.” She took his plate back into the kitchen and left it by the washer. There was no point unloading the whole thing to wash one plate. Opening shift could get it tomorrow. “Here--” she snagged his jacket, flipped up the last stool, and then offered it to him. “Thanks for your help.”

Bucky reached out his hand tentatively for the jacket, as if he were shocked that she’d touched it. Or given it back. Or something. She couldn’t help petting it. The material was so soft.

But when he reached for it, his fingers brushing the fabric, a jolt of heat, of desire, of-- something passed from her to him and back.

“You-- want to go to one of the all night pancake houses up the way and buy a girl a cup of coffee?” her mouth said before her brain engaged. She never asked anyone on a date, even if she was interested.

“Yes,” Bucky said, and his voice was husky and seductive. “I would like that very much, I think.”

#winterwitch #bucky barnes x wanda maximoff #selkie AU

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 4 years ago

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You’re Still You - Chapter 1

Trapper John McIntyre x Hana Chigusa

Summary: A nurse with a complicated past is plucked from her peaceful life by the draft and dropped into the 4077th. After everything life has put her through already, how will she adjust to this new, shocking setting? Especially with the kinds of characters in this M*A*S*H unit?

Tag List: None so far, let me know if you’d like to be added!

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: So, I’ve decided to post my M*A*S*H fic on here. It’s with my OC, Hana Chigusa, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading her as much as I’m enjoying writing her! Dear Heart (Remastered) is still in the works, though, no worries there!

Warning(s): None :)

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

Kimpo Airport was dry. The thin air in this part of Korea brought back memories that Hana would rather forget. Which explained her being at the bar now, a mouthful of warm vodka burning her throat, because even the chatter of the other personnel around her and the rumble of vehicles outside couldn’t drown out the reminders the heat and dust brought to the forefront of her brain.

She took another sip of her drink. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easing her bitterness either. Fresh out of nursing school, she had expected to get orders to serve in a hospital in Seoul or Tokyo. Somehow, she ended up being assigned to a MASH unit just miles from the front. They were throwing her right to the wolves.

War didn’t necessarily frighten her. But the Army certainly did. As the bar disappeared behind her eyelids, she vividly recalled her mother’s face when the draft notice came through. The tearful, horrified look. The disappointment in her voice when Hana said she would go.

“How can you join these people?” her mother questioned. “After everything they did to us?”

“Mama, you know I can’t refuse,” Hana returned. “You saw what happened to Shinji.”

“You think I’d forget that?” her mother challenged. “My own son! And now they want to take you too!”

“Even if they let me live, I’d be sent to prison,” Hana shot back, choking on the lump in her throat. “I cannot be locked up again, Mama! I won’t!”

Her mother’s lip trembled and she thrust the summons into Hana’s hand.

“You disgrace yourself serving them,” she spat.

Hana tried to blink away the tears, but they fell anyway. “Mama…”

Her mother turned her back on her, and that was the last they saw of each other.

“Lieutenant - uh - Cheeg - uh - nurse - um -”

A stammering corporal pulled Hana out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes and turned to the side, certain he was looking for her, judging by his frantic glances around and the struggle to pronounce the last name. That usually meant her.

“Chigusa?” she called irritably.

His eyes found hers before looking at the paper and then back at her face. He nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

She took pity on him. He was just a kid, after all. Barely five feet tall with a knit cap topping off his baby face. His round glasses added to his wide-eyed, innocent look.

“That’s me,” she said, sliding out of her chair to stand on her feet. “Nurse Hana Chigusa.”

“But your paper says -”

“Hana’s fine.”

She hardly ever went by Hanako anymore. Hana - which she pronounced like the western name “Hannah” - allowed her to blend in with people outside her own community. That was another fight she had with her mother, more than once, but she couldn’t let herself go there now.

“And what’s your name, corporal?” she asked.

“Radar O’Reilly, ma’am,” he replied, saluting her first with his left hand before quickly correcting it to the right, only to drop the paperwork he carried.

She giggled, picking it up for him.

“At ease, Radar,” she said gently. “And for future reference, remain at ease around me. I’m not regular Army.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed, relaxing.

She handed him the paperwork and he took it gratefully.

“Are you ready to go, ma’am?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll just pay my tab.”

She dropped what was probably too much money on the counter beside her empty glass, but she didn’t care. She was ready to get where she was going. Then, she followed Radar outside where a jeep was waiting. In the passenger seat sat a man wearing a bright orange day dress and a wide brimmed straw hat, secured by pink ribbon around his chin. He had white gloves and white pleather shoes, which also matched his belt. The handbag in his lap was black satin with a pearl button clasp.

Hana blinked, not wanting to stare since it was rude, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He smiled kindly at her and wiggled his fingers.

“Hi there,” he said. “Max Klinger. Nice to meet you.”

“Hana,” she replied, still stunned, her eyes roving over him to make sure she was seeing him right. She stopped at his legs. “What no stockings? And with unshaved legs?”

He chuckled. “It’s my face or my legs, sweetheart, and I can’t cover my face.”

She smirked as he held out a hand. He helped her up into the jeep while Radar put her bags in beside her. Then he climbed behind the wheel.

“Say, Radar, are you old enough to drive?” she teased, and Klinger laughed.

“Oh, yeah,” Radar replied earnestly. “My uncle taught me when I was seven. I’m nineteen now, so I’ve had lots of practice.”

She looked at Klinger for confirmation, but he only shrugged. Then, Radar turned the engine and stepped on the gas, and they were off into the Korean countryside.

The further they got from the airport, the more stranded Hana felt. She was stuck here for an undetermined amount of time. To once again be bossed around by the Army. Only this time, she was a part of it.

“So, lieutenant…” Klinger trailed off, realizing she hadn’t told him her last name.

“Spare me the Army stuff, call me Hana,” she replied.

He smiled at that. “So, Hana, where are you from?”

“Newport Beach,” she told him. “It’s about forty minutes south of Los Angeles.”

“Sounds glamorous,” he returned. “I’m from Toledo, myself.”

“Is that where you learned how to dress?” she asked.

“I never dressed like this back home,” he admitted. “I just need the Army to think I’m crazy enough to get me back there.”

She chuckled. “I see. So, how far is the hospital?”

“Not far at all,” he said. “We’ll be there before you know it!”

Klinger wasn’t lying. Barely an hour had gone by before they were rolling up to the cluster of buildings that made up the hospital and camp. Once again, Hana remembered Heart Mountain, but pushed it down. She was not a prisoner here. Well, not technically. If there was anything to appreciate, it was the lack of barbed wire.

They were met at the jeep by a blonde woman whose sternness betrayed her beauty. Hana climbed out of the jeep - with help from Radar - and then the woman stuck out her hand.

“Lieutenant Chigusa, right?” she asked.

Hana nodded, shaking her hand. “That’s right. Hana is fine, though.”

“Not in the Army it’s not,” the woman returned. “I’m Major Houlihan, head nurse here at the 4077th.”

Hana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Though she supposed it was about time she ran into someone like this. Houlihan ordered Radar and Klinger to drop off Hana’s bags at the nurses’ tent, so they could begin a tour of the facilities. Hana nodded to the corporals to give her permission, before following the major.

“I’ll take you to your quarters last so you can rest once you get there,” she said. “We’ll start with the mess tent.”

The mess tent was typical. The food even more so. Nasty Army stuff any regular person would turn their nose up at. But Hana had eaten worse. Major Houlihan next took her to the hospital and walked her through pre-op, the scrub room, the OR, and post-op, where there were just two patients at the moment.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Major Houlihan warned. “We can have incoming casualties any minute, and you’ll need to be prepared.”

“I understand, Major,” Hana replied.

From the hospital, they moved on to the CO’s office, where Hana said hello again to Radar before meeting Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake. He was a friendly guy, who was definitely not regular Army. He wore a fishing vest with a matching hat loaded with hooks. And he was reclined in his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn’t even care that Hana didn’t salute him, and he shook her hand warmly. She liked him right away.

They went to the officer’s club next, which was evidently misnamed. A couple enlisted men were coming out just as Houlihan and Hana were going in. Hana couldn’t help but notice the major’s disapproving glare, though the enlisted guys ignored it. The two women had barely crossed the threshold when two men descended upon them. Both were tall, one had a head of thick, dark hair and blue eyes, while the other had curly, sandy hair and hazel eyes. Both had smiles that indicated mischief.

“Hello, there,” said the dark haired one. “I’m Hawkeye. You must be new here.”

“Trapper,” the other said. “Can we get your name, sweetheart? Buy you a drink to welcome you to Korea?”

Hana glanced between them in disbelief. Did they really think themselves impressive in their mismatched Hawaiian shirts and goofy grins?

“Yes, I am new here,” Hana replied coolly. “And I’m not interested.”

“Not Interested, that’s unique,” said Hawkeye. “What is that, Italian?”

Major Houlihan rolled her eyes. “Ignore these two, Lieutenant. They’re two of our surgeons, Captain Pierce and Captain McIntyre. Unfortunately, they’re very talented or they’d be out of the Army for their disgraceful behavior.”

“I’m sure the patients - despite their gratitude at being alive - are as disgusted as you, Major,” Hana replied, voice dripping with bitterness and sarcasm.

Hawkeye and Trapper snickered.

Houlihan rankled at that. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of them!”

“I have no love for the Army, Major, make no mistake,” Hana said seriously. “I’m here because the alternative was prison. Now, are we done with this tour?”

“I’d say so,” Houlihan said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and storming out.

Hana breathed a sigh of relief and, ignoring the giggling surgeons, made a beeline for the bar, hoping to leave Pierce and McIntyre behind her as well. But she wasn’t that lucky. The pair followed her and took seats on either side of her. She bit back a groan. Being “fresh meat” wasn’t her style. And she didn’t care for the attention of men. At least, not here.

“Sure we can’t get you that drink, Not Interested?” Hawkeye pressed. “It’s on the Army.”

She smirked and pointedly ignored him. She could see this guy thrived on attention - good or bad - so giving it to him was the last thing she would do. She looked at the bartender.

“Vodka soda, please,” she said.

He got right to work.

Trapper tapped her on the shoulder and she spared him a glance.

“Don’t you want to make friends here?” he asked. “Could be a long war.”

“Your eyes have been on my chest since I walked in, forgive me if I don’t believe friendship is what’s on your mind,” she returned.

The bartender placed her drink in front of her. In Korean, she thanked him and asked his name. He appeared surprised to be addressed by someone fluent, and happily told her his name was Kwang. She offered a slight bow of her head, he bowed back, and then, beaming, starting polishing glasses.

“You speak the local?” Trapper questioned. “Where’d you learn that?”

“I learned as a child, we had Korean neighbors,” she said.

“That’ll be helpful,” Hawkeye said. “We end up with a lot of Korean casualties here.”

She blinked. “Really?”

He nodded solemnly. It was the first honest expression she’d seen from him.

“A lot of locals end up in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he said.

“So do a lot of North Koreans,” Trapper added.

Hana’s eyes widened as she looked at him. “You mean, you treat the enemy?”

He nodded. “Of course. We’re doctors.”

Hana almost smiled. If it weren’t such a gruesome subject, she would have. She looked between these two men whose first impression had so turned her off. What a front they put up. She wondered why they hid their decency. The fact remained that it existed, and she wanted to acknowledge it.

“Hana Chigusa,” she said.

“What?” Trapper asked.

“My name,” she said. “It’s Hana Chigusa.”

He grinned. “Nice to meet you.”

“So, Chigusa,” Hawkeye said. “That’s definitely not Italian.”

She chuckled. “I’m half Japanese.”

They remained at the bar a while, and they got to know her better. She told them about growing up in Newport Beach and her mother’s tea shop there. She told them she went to nursing school at Columbia in New York City, just to experience something new. She told them she was drafted, like them, and came reluctantly to Korea.

“So, is the surgery really intense here?” she wondered.

She was pretty nervous. She only had infrequent practical experience post-nursing school. Though, she had graduated at the top of her class.

Hawkeye shrugged. “It’s meatball surgery mostly.”

“Pretty basic extraction of junk,” Trapper said. “Things get more complicated if a limb’s gotta be removed or something, but we just do whatever we can to keep them alive.”

Hana nodded. It sounded about as brutal as she expected. She hoped she’d be able to endure what she would witness. She wondered if she would end up more like Trapper and Hawkeye, with a façade to cover up the ugliness of it all. Then again, she realized she already had one up. What was one more?

Suddenly, a voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Attention!” it called. “Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded! All personnel report to the OR!”

Hana, Hawkeye, and Trapper all got to their feet. She swallowed. This was the moment to prove herself to her new co-workers. She pushed the nerves away.

“Scared?” Trapper asked.

She looked him in the eye with every ounce of confidence she had.

“Nothing scares me anymore,” she told him.

Her answer perplexed him, but he didn’t have time to analyze it. All three of them jogged out of the bar and across the camp to the hospital.

#m*a*s*h #trapper john mcintyre #m*a*s*h fic #hanako chigusa #you're still you series

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yourkeeperoftherunners · 5 years ago

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Unparalleled Service [BTS Jimin]

Plot: So your best friend’s a little obsessed with Ariana Grande and happens to have a sour break-up with her beau. She thinks dragging you to Tiffany and Co warrants drinking too many complimentary beverages and bragging about the silver friendship jewelry she’s buying for spite. “She’s a mess,” you grumbled as she dragged one clerk off to look at something. “Don’t worry, my colleague has her all taken care of,” the blonde replied with a smile. “How may I assist you today?”

Rating: PG-13 (Language, slight drunken behavior, bad break-up)

Characters: Tiffany and Co. Clerk!Jimin x Female Reader, Samantha OC, Tiffany and Co. Clerk!Taemin

Notes: Part of the Unparalleled Service series I’ve planned. I own nothing except for the idea and setting. Inspired by the author’s personal encounters with the rare friendly or welcoming clerks in high end brand boutiques. This one is inspired by Ariana Grande’s backstory for her single “7 Rings”.

“I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!” Sam blubbered as she sobbed into your shoulder.

You patted her on the back and let her cry some more, resisting the urge to say, “I told you so.”

Your poor best friend had been dating Mr. Perfect in her mind. He had excellent grades, was in involved in extracurriculars, and worked out. Because they had been together since high school, despite being long-distance at college, everyone was waiting for him to pop the question soon.

But you had your doubts about him since day 1 – on the surface he seemed textbook perfect, but you had a bad feeling about him. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something told you that this guy wasn’t her end game. His family wasn’t poor, but they were definitely working class, while her family had made their money in a successful family business that started with her grandparents.

About a few days ago, a guy friend of yours overheard him saying that Sam was only his bank account, admitting that she was pretty, but nothing special. Of course he recorded it and shared it with both of you, leading to one hell of a messy break-up. The boyfriend insisted he was goaded by the guys into saying those things, while Sam declared it was over and that she was more than the money in the bank.

A few days later, you decided to check in on Sam, bringing over her favorite foods and a cute Krunk plush you saw at Hot Topic. You knocked on the door of her apartment and frowned when you heard a husky voice chanting, “I want it, I got it” over and over.

“Hey!” Sam said as she yanked the door open. “Aww you’re the best Y/N! Come in, come in!”

“Please tell me you blocked his number,” you asked as you came and pulled the snacks out.

“Oh definitely,” she replied. She ran to her computer and paused the song that was playing. “Sorry, I was listening to Ari’s new hit – I’m obsessed and it’s such a revelation! I mean, she went through that breakup with Pete and I went through a breakup...”

“Oh yeah,” you mumbled as you stashed the ice cream in the freezer. You turned to face her and asked what she wanted to do.

Sam straightened up and studied your outfit. “Sorry, do you have anything nicer?”

“Um thanks?” you replied, trying not to look offended.

“No I didn’t mean it like that!” she backtracked. “Hang on, let me try this again. Look, I don’t wanna sit at home and mope over romcoms. Ari’s track made me think and I realized that an engagement ring is overrated. If I get something sparkly to mark something, I should be getting friendship jewelry with you, my true blue bestie.”

“Aww thanks, but I don’t see why I need to change my clothes,” you said.

“Did you know that Ari took her besties to Tiffany’s and bought matching rings after her split with Pete?”

You shook your head and waited for Sam to explain what she had in mind.

“We’re gonna doll ourselves up, look as rich as fuck, and we’re gonna go to Tiffany’s and get matching jewelry,” she declared.

“Now?”

“Oh hell yes now.”

“I’m buying okay?” she insisted once you got to the mall. “No, you’re not fighting with me on this! No friend has ever been there for me like you have Y/N. Whatever you want, I’m buying okay?”

“Oh okay, I...thank you,” you murmured. “You know I’ll always be your friend, jewelry or no jewelry.”

She nudged you and replied that she knew that. “That’s why you’re the best Y/N, you don’t care if I’m rich or not. That’s why I wanna treat you. Okay?”

You nodded and allowed her to link arms with you as you walked into Tiffany’s.

“I called ahead,” she explained as she walked to the counter. She greeted the woman behind the counter and explained that she made an appointment for a personal shopping experience.

The woman looked up the name and nodded, excusing herself to grab the clerks who would be assisting you.

“Probably the only time I’ll ever come in here,” you murmured, low enough for no one to hear.

The woman returned with two handsome young men dressed in dark suits, introducing them as Taemin and Jimin. Both greeted you with pleasant smiles and part of you had to wonder if Sam begged to have the cutest guys waiting on you.

“Before we begin, may we offer you ladies something to drink?” Taemin asked.

“Champagne please,” Sam spoke up as she stepped closer to him.

You flashed Taemin a small smile and replied that you were content with water for now. The clerk turned to his colleague, who excused himself to retrieve the beverages you requested.

“Oh absolutely not!” Sam declared, shaking her head violently. “This is a best friends occasion – she’s the only one who stuck by my side when my asshole ex tried to go all scrub on me!”

Taemin flashed a sympathetic look at Sam, tilting his head as he reassured her that she was more than just her money.

You resisted the urge to laugh behind your Evian bottle, watching as Sam dragged Taemin to the display where some of the designer collaborations were housed.

“I’m guessing things must have ended recently?” Jimin asked.

You nodded and shook your head, muttering that Sam was a mess. “I love her like a sister and I know break-ups suck,” you added. “...Look I’m not ungrateful for this outing, but you can thank Ariana Grande for inspiring this whole thing.”

Jimin chuckled before turning his attention to you. “Please don’t worry Miss Y/N, my colleague has her all taken care of. How may I assist you?”

You capped the Evian and shrugged, explaining that she wanted you to pick out a piece for yourself as a symbol of your friendship, no budget set. “But I don’t want to go for the most expensive thing here,” you said. “Maybe something understated but easy for every day.”

Jimin nodded as he looked over at the displays. “Is there a jewelry item you wear more often?”

You gave it some thought and watched as Sam tried on a bracelet out of the corner of your eye. You always wore earrings, but you tended to stick to a plain pair of small hoops – they were easy to coordinate with your outfits and you could sleep in them without weird marks. Subconsciously your hand went to tuck a strand of hair behind an ear and Jimin took note of the standard small hoops you were wearing.

“How long have you had those?” he asked, pointing to your earrings.

You paused, meeting his his eyes as your hand remained in place behind your ear. “Um, I don’t know? Maybe since I got my ears pierced? It’s been a while.”

Jimin hummed, eyes glancing over to his colleague who was assisting Sam. He beckoned for you to follow him to a display, and you took another swig from the Evian bottle before standing on one side of the display case to look at the items.

He unlocked the case from his side and pulled out a few pairs of earrings. “I don’t know if you prefer a Tiffany iconic style like our Return to Tiffany series,” he mused, pushing the small heart studs forward, “or if you want something that’s a bit more of a statement. Did you want something from the same collection as your friend?”

You snapped your head over toward Sam and then looked back at Jimin. “What is she looking at?”

Jimin retrieved a pair of delicate earrings with an oval gemstone hanging from a lever back earring. The top of the gemstone was decorated with two leaves in gold metal, making you think of olives for some reason.

“Our Olive Leaf Drop Earrings, which is from the Paloma Picasso line,” Jimin explained. “Your friend is looking at the bracelet in the same line.” He pulled a few more pairs out, each with a different gem stone. “Do you see one you prefer?”

Your eyes scanned over the choices and you pointed to a pair in your favorite gemstone color. He put the other ones back in the case and you asked if you could try them on. He nodded and turned to the back counter to grab a mirror for you to use.

You removed your hoop earrings and placed them carefully on the counter. You removed one earring from the display post and opened the lever, carefully inserting it into the hole. You closed the backing before retrieving the second earring and placing it in the other ear.

Jimin studied you before you fixed your hair so you could see both ears clearly in the mirror. He nodded in approval with a smile and you took a closer look at your reflection.

The earrings struck a nice balance between a slight upgrade to your current pair and being classy enough to wear anywhere for almost any occasion. You blinked as you stared at yourself, turning your head side to side to see each ear clearly.

“OOH! I LIKE!” Sam chirped as she looked over at you. “Is that a yes?”You looked up and nodded with a small smile. She beamed as she flashed her bracelet from the same collection, declaring it was perfect.

“Here you are ladies,” Taemin said as he presented 2 Tiffany blue bags to you. “Thank you again for shopping with us and please feel free to contact us if you have any other needs.”

Sam took her bag and thanked Taemin, while you thanked Jimin with a polite smile. You picked up your bag and linked arms with Sam as you headed out into the mall.

“So...he was cute, right?”

“Who?” you asked.

“Oh come on, Jimin!” Sam insisted. “He seemed into you.”

“Don’t start,” you warned her. “This is about friends today.”

She sighed and draped her arm over your shoulders. “You’re right, but if I’m not gonna get my man, you should.” She pointed to your bag and bet that you probably got his business card.

You rolled your eyes and dug around in the small bag, feeling around for a card. Your fingers found something and you carefully lifted it up to see it was indeed a business card.

#BTS Jimin #BTS Jimin AU #Park Jimin #Park Jimin AU #BTS AU #yourkeeperoftherunners original #number 2753

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norabrice1701 · 6 years ago

Text

An Accidental Demon

A “Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them” AU fanfic

Pairing: Vet Student!Newt Scamander / Demon!Percival Graves

Summary: All Newt wanted from IKEA was a bookshelf. Instead, he left with a demon that he accidentally summoned while trying to pronounce furniture names. Lovely.

Rating: General Audiences - nothing to fear here [full warnings on AO3 link at bottom of the post]

A/N: This was born from a post on a friend’s FB page, and I had to let it out. I might continue this?? It’s proving to be too much fun, but for now, it’s a one-shot. Also, the demonology here is pretty general.

Oh, dear. Shopping at IKEA should not be so stressful. As if assemble-it-yourself furniture wasn’t intimidating enough, there was also the indignity of trying to pronounce the furniture names.

But there was nothing for it. This was the third bookshelf that Dougal – his Great Pyrenees rescue – had taken out in as many months while chasing his sweet Niffler cat around. Honestly, one would think after a year of cohabitation, the dog and cat would be used to each other. But the sad, destroyed remains of Newt’s bookshelf told a different story.

That’s how he found himself back at IKEA. But this time, a simple replacement wouldn’t do. He needed something more robust. Hopefully, something that might be spared catastrophic damage during any future high speed chases. Maybe even something wall mounted? Perhaps those modular shelves that he could pick, arrange and mount well above Dougal’s sizable height? Hm, that might be just the ticket.

But now, as he wandered through the aisles, trying to match the product names from his internet search to the various tags of assembled, display furniture – maybe it would be simpler to just get what he got last time. Even if Dougal would likely destroy it a fourth time.

Newt ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip as he looked back down to his loopy handwriting. “No, not Ehk-t…Lix-hult. That looks familiar.” There was certainly a time and place to appreciate cultural and language differences, but navigating the aisles of IKEA was not it, in Newt’s opinion. He just wanted to buy shelves, go home, assemble them and change out of his fur covered scrubs. Yes, he loved his vet school clinical rotations but Dougal, Niffler and the others tended to be a little possessive when he was home.

He moved for the next row, holding up his paper to compare more names, mumbling under his breath. “Let’s see – oh, there’s Lix-hult, Li-xhult…err, Mos-torp. Sval-na. Um, Best-aa.”

A just barely-there puff of air brushed his cheek, carrying an odor. A rather…unpleasant, rotten odor. If Newt didn’t know better, he’d swear it was the smell of rotten eggs. But that was impossible in the middle of a furniture store. That’s when he noticed the dark shape in his peripheral. A dark shape that he distinctly didn’t recall before.

He turned, keeping his eyes down, but he couldn’t help but take in the man now standing next to him. Refined and polished, his sharp suit and shoes alone must have cost at least a year of Newt’s sad student job salary. And that was to say nothing about the sleek black overcoat that teased a luxurious white lining. The man’s dark eyes, thick brows, strong jaw, and dark hair streaked white at his temples, completed the unfairly attractive, imposing picture.

Newt – with uncombed hair, scrubs covered in all manner of animal fur, and a worn blue overcoat – felt like a downright slob by comparison to this man who looked fresh from a magazine cover. Newt blinked quickly, trying to quirk his lips in a polite smile. Small talk with strangers was always the most excruciating. Especially when the stranger was so handsome. “Um, hi…please, excuse me. If I’m in your way, that is.” He stepped back, not daring to meet the man’s gaze, feeling his cheeks flush. Curse his fair skin that betrayed him at every turn.

The dark-haired man said nothing, but Newt could feel the weight of his stare. It made him want to fidget even more than normal, and he chanced a lingering glance at the man’s face. The man studied him with an otherworldly intensity in those dark brown eyes. It reminded Newt of a predator studying a prey, learning their habits to plan a more effective kill. He wrenched a nervous swallow, suddenly wondering if he could outrun this man.

The man blinked, licking his lips quickly. “Hello, Mr. Scamander.”

The blood froze in Newt’s veins, every survival instinct kicking into gear. “H-how…do you know my name?” Sure, it was the obvious question, but it had to be asked. “We’ve never met before. And I certainly don’t know your name. Are you…have you been stalking me?” The words poured forth, more a nervous tic than anything. But still true. Newt would never have forgotten such a striking face.

“No,” mild astonishment and irritation colored the other man’s gaze, “I was quite content to mind my own business until you summoned me.”

“Summoned….I beg your pardon, summoned you?” Had Newt gone to IKEA or the Twilight Zone? Who just went up to strangers and said stuff like that? Newt blew an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “Look, if you really have nothing better to do than prank defenseless people at IKEA, then I’m sorry for you. But truly, this has gone on long enough, and I’m genuinely not amused.”

The man raised a brow, affronted. “You’re genuinely not amused? I assure you, the feeling is quite mutual. So, let us conclude our deal here, and then I’ll gladly return to my previous business.”

“Deal?” Newt echoed, shaking his head. “We have no deal to conclude. I don’t even know you!”

“Your mistake if you spoke my incantation without knowing who I am. Which, I will confess – is rather reckless of you, Mr. Scamander. In fact, no protection charms, no summoning circle,” the man’s lips curled with a devilish air as he took a step forward, gazing down Newt’s body with a calculating assessment. “Mm, the fun I could have with you right here.”

The purred words should in no way race a tingling shiver of anticipation down Newt’s spine, but dammit, they did.

Newt licked his lips, holding his ground. “A summoning circle, protection…why should I need protection from you?”

“You really don’t know who I am? Or what you’ve done?”

“Well, you said I summoned you. But I didn’t…I was just…,” Newt shook the paper with the shelf names scrawled on it, “I was just trying to pronounce the names of these shelving units-.“

“And instead, you summoned a demon. Please stop wasting my time, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt registered nothing of the man’s bored tone, stunned at the admission. At the possibility. A demon? A real, live demon?! Weren’t they just supernatural make-believe? But this man before him, pulling a silver pocket watch from his suit vest and flipping the cover back with an irritated gesture, was so very real. Newt’s eyes lit with possibility. “A demon. Truly? That’s what you are?”

“Yes,” the self-professed demon huffed mildly, “now, please, to the business at hand?”

A grin cracked Newt’s face. “I don’t even know what the business at hand is. But a real demon. My goodness.” This was far better than any Christmas morning. A chance to learn about a whole new species - a whole new creature. A supernatural creature! If everything the man said was true, then Newt wanted to learn everything there was to learn. His wild curiosity begged for so much more. Where did the demon come from? Did he have powers? What was his purpose here? “I-I have so many questions.”

“None of which I’m inclined to answer. Especially not here.” The dark eyes glanced around shrewdly, taking in the movements of other unsuspecting shoppers.

Something in the man’s - demon’s - assessment suddenly made Newt self-conscious, glancing around with a nervous edge. Goodness, what a picture he must make standing next to this man. This man, dressed to the nines, clearly many years older than Newt - supernatural implications notwithstanding - who could at best pass as Newt’s friend, and at worst a sugar daddy. Heat flamed unbidden in Newt’s cheeks at the thought.

He shook his head, physically trying to shake the thought away. “Yes, yes, of course. We should probably leave. Well, that is, assuming you’re bound or stuck to me, or something...until whatever brought you here is concluded.”

Irritation flashed in the demon’s eyes, staring back at Newt as if trying to convince himself that Newt was actually real.

Newt waited for the demon to respond, shifting his weight on his feet. Anything to lessen his discomfort under the scrutiny of those intense eyes. Annoyance bubbled as the older man said nothing and Newt puffed a sigh. “Alright, very well. If you’re coming, that’s fine - if not, then...then, good day.”

He’d been plainly aware since his arrival in New York for veterinary school that his accent and manners didn’t fit with the vibrant American hustle and bustle. But they were something he hadn’t wanted to lose. There was no cause to bring more ugliness to the world, and everyone deserved well-mannered treatment. Demon or not.

Even if the man had interrupted his bookshelf buying outing.

But if Newt did indeed now have a demon to contend with, perhaps replacing a damaged bookshelf was now the least of his worries.

The well-dressed man fell into step beside him as Newt turned to thread his way through the rest of the labyrinth store. It...this was just too absurd. And certainly not what Newt had planned for his Thursday night after clinicals. He cast a sideways glance, surprised to note that the demon was actually a couple inches shorter than he was. Something about that amused him, and a lopsided grin lifted his mouth. “You know, we haven’t properly met yet. It sounds like you already know, but I’m Newton Scamander. Newt, though, if you please.”

The man nodded almost imperceptibly. “You may call me Graves.”

Newt’s brow furrowed. “Just Graves?”

“Mr. Graves, if you prefer.”

“Don’t...don’t you have a first name or something less...severe?” The demon stared over at him, blank and hard. “Right, Mr. Graves it is. I...I take it that’s not your real name?” The smell of the cinnamon rolls and other food from the eatery reached his nose as, thankfully, they neared the exit.

“I’ve had many names over the millennia. Street. Dandridge. Clayton. Each served a purpose, just as Graves does now. And if you don’t already know my true name, then me telling you is certainly not advantageous.” Graves’ coat flared in the cool, late afternoon air as they exited into the fading sunlight. He looked completely unbothered by the transition from inside to outside, paying Newt no mind while Newt fumbled with the buttons on his coat. They were in for a chilly subway ride, after all.

Newt glanced over to Graves, intrigued. “Does... the cold not bother you? Or...or the sunlight?”

Graves’ face pinched with obvious irritation, even bewilderment. “I’m not a vampire.”

Newt’s eyes widened, excited. “Do those exist, too?”

Graves’ hand clenched at his side under the flared sleeve of his overcoat, a condescending disapproval hardening his gaze. It was impressively intimidating. Especially considering the man stood shorter than Newt. Without a word, Graves turned with a sweep of black and white fabric, and stepped forward on the curb, raising a hand at the passing line of taxis.

“No, no,” Newt moved after him with an obvious air of panic, “we’ll do better to take the subway. See, I don’t exactly live all that close. And with traffic at this time of day, well - a taxi won’t be cost effective. I don’t...I don’t know if you understand about money-”

“I understand plenty, Mr. Scamander.” The words were snarled with a coiled frustration that froze Newt in place. “I understand that you ripped me from my previous business without a purpose. I understand that you’ve initiated a contract that you don’t know the first thing about. And I understand that if I must endure New York City until our business is concluded, I will never set foot on the subway.”

A yellow cab stopped at the curb and Graves stepped up to it without waiting for Newt to respond.

Oh dear. Newt worked a hard swallow down his throat as he debated following the demon or just bolting for the subway station. Would that make things worse? Could things get worse?

The cab door stayed open behind Graves as he settled against the black interior, glancing back at Newt. The silent command on the demon’s face was unmistakable.

With another nervous swallow, Newt stepped forward and climbed into the taxi.

Full fic link to AO3!

#gramander #fantastic beasts and where to find them #percival graves #newt scamander #newt x percival #fanfic #wannabe writer

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lastbluetardis · 6 years ago

Text

And Babies Make Five and Six (12/16)

Summary: Sometimes the things we want the most stay just out of reach. But after an extra helping of heartache as they try for a third baby, James and Rose are blessed with double the joy. Triggers for infertility.

Author’s Notes: Oh look... I’ve added another expected chapter to the total. Ah well. Enjoy! And I’ve pretty much got the rest of this story written, so I’m hoping to have a new chapter posted each week from here on out.

Betaed by the marvelous @chocolatequeennk. This is also for @doctorroseprompts because it’s Doctor x Rose.

Ten x Rose AU

This chapter: NSFW, 7100 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 37, Rose: 32, Ainsley: 7, Sianin: 4

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16

James felt Rose shifting beside him. He blinked open his eyes, feeling the grittiness of sleep lingering in them, and saw that the room was still nearly dark. When he thought she would slip closer to him and they would sleep a little longer tangled together, her weight left the bed and she strode into their ensuite.

He drifted back to sleep, assuming her warm body would be pressed up next to his soon enough, but it never did.

When he awoke next, it was to the pipes clanking as the shower turned off. The weak morning light glowing from the window told him he’d slept for another hour or two since Rose first awoke.

James sat up in bed and saw Rose’s running clothes pooled on the floor by the hamper. Scrubbing his fingertips into his eyes, he reached for his phone to check the time.

Half a dozen text messages were waiting for him, all of them from Donna. A sinking sensation settled in his stomach, and his unease was confirmed when he opened the messaging app and was immediately greeted by a pink-faced newborn in a white and blue striped blanket.

His ears seemed to ring as he looked into the fat, squished face of the baby boy. Joshua Lee, according to the words under the photo. Baby Joshua was tucked in Donna’s arms, fast asleep. She looked positively exhausted, but was wearing a smile he’d never seen on her face before. Lee was perched on the bed beside her, his eyes red from the tears James was all too familiar with.

His chest ached at the memory of the wonder and awe he’d felt the first time he’d seen Ainsley and Sianin. The first time he’d held them. He’d thought he’d never seen a more beautiful child, and he’d been overwhelmed with the love he felt for his new baby. Their bodies were so fragile in his arms, and he’d known he would do anything to keep them safe.

Jealousy sank its claws into his chest, sharp and cold, as a flash of hatred shot through James.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair!

He so badly wanted what Donna and Lee had. He wanted a new baby with Rose. He wanted to see her belly grow round as their baby grew. He wanted to rest his hands on her baby bump and feel the signs of the life they’d made beneath his palms as their baby kicked and squirmed. He wanted to cry tears of joy as he held his child for the first time. Kissed their soft, sweet skin. Smelled that fresh baby scent.

He wanted.

“James?”

He realized he was staring at his blank phone screen, lost to the numbness and agony spreading through his body. His eyes burned as he lifted his gaze to Rose.

“Oh, James.”

A moment later, Rose sat beside him on the bed and wrapped her arms around him, hauling him close to her. He tucked his face into her shoulder, breathing her in, but his throat closed up the longer she held him until he let out a ragged sob.

“Breathe, love,” she murmured, stroking her fingers through his hair. “Breathe. It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

“No, James. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She hugged him tighter and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “I felt the same way when I woke up and saw the texts.”

“I feel stupid,” he whispered. “I knew she was due soon. I knew I’d get this text, and yet…”

“It caught you off guard,” Rose murmured, her voice gentle and understanding.

“I feel like an arse, too,” he admitted. “I should be happy for Donna and Lee. And I should feel so happy and blessed because we’ve already got two wonderful, perfect, beautiful kids. And yet…”

He trailed off helplessly, but Rose nodded. She carded her fingers through his hair for a few silent seconds before she said, “Can I admit something to you? I’ve felt like a shitty mum for wanting more than two kids. I would feel guilty for being so upset that I wasn’t pregnant. It felt like I was saying Ainsley and Sianin weren’t enough. And I hated myself for that. I still hate myself sometimes for it. I love them both so much, and of course they’re enough. So I would keep telling myself I was perfectly content with my life as it was. But then I’d get my period and I’d be upset I wasn’t pregnant, and the cycle began again. Over and over.”

James gave her a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not a shitty mum,” James said. “Unless I’m a shitty dad for thinking the same thing. I talked to my dad about it some last year. About how conflicted I felt. He said he’d felt the same thing when he and Mum realized I was going to be their only child. He told me that feeling the urge to have more children doesn’t mean erasing the joy that our current children bring us.”

Rose sighed into his hair. “It’s hard sometimes. I want to be happy with just having two children. I really, really want to be okay with that. And some days it feels like I’ve made my peace with it. Then there are days when it seems like I will always have this bitterness.”

“I feel the same. And I think that’s okay. It’s okay for us to be upset and disappointed, because this is a huge thing that affects the rest of our lives,” he said quietly, finally pulling back to look at her. Her eyes were dry, but a little red, as if they’d welled with tears but she’d forced them back. “We’re grieving. Perhaps not in the most traditional sense, but nevertheless, I think we need to let ourselves feel whatever we’re feeling so that we can process it and begin to move forward again.”

Rose cracked a small smile.

“I think you missed your calling as a therapist,” she teased.

“Nah,” he said. “I couldn’t deal with this on a daily basis. I talk too much and sometimes don’t listen well enough.”

“You do with me,” she said.

“Because I am emotionally invested in your well-being,” he said. “I want to listen to you and make you feel better, and hold you when I can’t.”

“Yeah, hugging your clients would probably be against the rules,” Rose agreed, burying her face into his neck.

“And they’re probably not too keen on shagging the clients, either,” he mused. “There’s got to be some sort of conflict of interest.”

She laughed against his skin, and he smiled in response.

They held each other for a few more minutes, not saying anything, just enjoying their intimate embrace. As James idly stroked his fingers up and down her spine, he realized she’d donned one of his shirts.

“I can buy you shirts in my size, y’know,” he drawled, bringing up their old argument.

“I like wearing your shirts because they smell like you, and you know it,” she shot back, giving him a playful shove at his shoulder.

“I still dunno how. It’s fresh from the laundry. Our clothes should smell the same.”

“Well, they don’t. If you could squeeze into one of my shirts, you’d realize.”

“Is that a challenge?” James asked, pulling back to look at her. “Or an insult about my weight?”

“Oh, shut up,” Rose giggled, smacking him on the shoulder. “You’re the skinniest bloke I’ve ever met. You’ve just got a bigger chest than me.”

James let his eyes wander down to her breasts. He cocked his head to the side and stared blatantly as he said, “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, love.”

Rose laughed again, and the sound was music to his ears after the conversation they’d had.

“You know what I mean,” she said, and she brought her hands up to rest at his pecs. Goosebumps broke out across his skin as she rubbed her palms across them. “You’ve got a broad chest for such a thin man. The first time I saw you without your shirt, it took me by surprise.”

“A good surprise though, right?” he asked, though he knew the answer. In addition to her odd attraction with his forearms, he knew Rose loved his chest.

She rolled her eyes in reply and dropped her hands. It took everything he had not to whimper pathetically. He was appeased when she leaned forward and pressed a feather-soft kiss to his lips, a kiss of comfort and love.

“I think you are the sexiest, most beautiful man in the world,” she whispered, nudging her nose against his. “And I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have you as mine.”

His heart stuttered through a few beats and a giggle rose up his throat. He felt as though his body could burst apart with how loved and happy he was.

“I love that sound,” she said, smiling tenderly. She pressed a parting kiss to his lips and stood up off the bed.

He watched her walk away, enjoying the subtle spring to her step. When she moved to close their bedroom door behind her, she flashed him a wide grin and said, “I’ll put the coffee on for you,” before the door snicked shut and her soft footfalls disappeared down the hall.

She looked so happy, despite the start their morning got off to, and he found that her mood was infectious. Letting out a little hum of utter contentment, James tossed back the sheets and stood up to start the day with him beautiful family.

oOoOo

They spent the rest of the summer working through all of their home decorating projects and spending time together, both with and without their kids. By the time summer drew to a close, every room in the house had been repainted, and they’d replaced a majority of the furniture in the house. They’d donated their old couch, recliners, and their bed frame to a second-hand shop and admired the new pieces that were free of the stains that came with raising kids.

Furniture shopping had been a fun day out, as they flopped and bounced on couches, recliners, and mattresses to test their comfort. They’d upscaled their bed from queen-sized to king-sized, and they got a larger couch as well, a sectional that could comfortably seat six people. They got a new area rug to better complement the charcoal gray sofa and olive-green walls, and they replaced the coffee table, too.

They were pleased that all of the furniture lasted an entire month stain-free, and they couldn’t help but laugh that James was the one who created the first mess.

“Ah, shit,” he hissed as his coffee mug accidentally tilted in his lap from where he’d precariously perched it to turn a page in his book.

“Daddy said a bad word!” Sianin sang as Rose sprang up from the seat to grab towels.

“I know I did,” he growled, grabbing tissues to soak up the coffee on the cushions. He unthinkingly set the mug on the new coffee table and swore again when he saw dribbles of coffee slide down the mug and onto the polished oak surface.

“This is not your morning,” Rose said with a stifled smile as she reappeared with dish towels to help sop up the spill. When she saw the front of his jeans was soaked, her brows pinched. “Are you all right? Did you burn yourself?”

James glanced down at himself and smirked.

“Worried I’ve damaged your favorite part of me?” he crooned. When she rolled her eyes and chucked a towel at him, he said, “Well, rest assured, nothing’s injured but my pride.” As Rose knelt beside him to spray fabric cleaner across the sofa, James hovered his lips by her ear and whispered, “But maybe we should do a thorough examination of my equipment later tonight. Just to be sure. Can’t be too careful.”

Rose snorted and jabbed her elbow in his ribs.

“Why is Daddy’s lap your favorite part, Mummy?” Sianin asked curiously.

“Daddy was just being silly,” Rose answered. She stared pointedly at James. “Wasn’t he?”

“’Course I was. I love being silly because I love making Mummy laugh.”

“Go on and get changed,” Rose said when they’d cleaned the mess as best they could. “I’ll pour your coffee into a sippy cup then we can go shopping.”

“I think a thermos will do,” James said dryly.

“If you think you can handle that,” Rose teased. “Girls, get your shoes on. We’re going school shopping!”

Ainsley let out a gleeful whoop then grabbed Sianin’s hand to run for the shoe rack by the front door.

A half hour later, the family was wandering through a mall with an ever-filling cart of school supplies, this time filled with things Sianin would need for her Reception year. They could barely believe their baby was about to start school, but they were glad to see her excited about this newest adventure.

The weekend before school was due to start found the family travelling to London for the wedding between Mickey and Martha. Rose was looking forward to celebrating the love between her friends, but she also was pleased to have a date for the reception. At Donna’s wedding the previous summer, James had been out of the country and she’d gone to the wedding with just her kids.

She spent most of the reception dancing with James, swaying in his arms across the dance floor. And when she wasn’t in his arms, their daughters took turns dancing with him. She took a multitude of photos of the sight of her family dancing together.

James had taken her camera from her later on in the afternoon.

“You’re always photographing me with the girls,” he said when she tried to protest. “I want to return the favor. I promise I won’t break your baby.”

Rose rolled her eyes, but proceeded to give him a quick tutorial of the camera.

“Yeah, yeah. Point, focus, shoot. I got it,” he said, shooing her to the dance floor where Ainsley and Sianin were dancing together, their movements far too upbeat for the slow love ballad. “Go on, love. Dance.”

Rose proceeded to dance with their daughters, both together and individually, as well as with Mickey and Robert. James documented it all, his photos not nearly as lovely as those Rose could capture, but they were decent enough.

As the reception wound down, Robert took the camera from James and pushed him to the dance floor with Rose.

“Dad’s on babysitting duty,” James said, angling his head to where his dad was sitting with the camera. “I want to dance with my beautiful wife one last time before the party ends.”

Rose beamed at him, and he ducked down to catch her lips in a kiss. One of her hands clenched the fabric of his suit jacket while her other went into his hair to hold his head where it was. He smirked against her mouth and adjusted the angle of his head to deepen the kiss.

When they returned home on Sunday, they took the afternoon to everything ready for the girls’ first day of school. They made sure their backpacks were stocked with all of their new supplies and that their uniforms were washed, pressed, and laid out for them.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” Rose asked as she tucked Sianin into bed that night.

“Yeah! I’m gonna learn lots and be smart as Ainsley!” Sianin’s eyes were bright and her wide grin showed off the new gap from where she’d lost her first tooth the week before.

“Yes you are,” James said. “You’re gonna learn so much and make loads of new friends.”

He leaned down a pressed a kiss to his youngest’s forehead and retired to his bedroom as Rose read Sianin her bedtime stories. He got himself ready for bed and slipped beneath the sheets, content to play a game on his phone as he waited for Rose.

She joined him twenty minutes later. He finished up his game as she went through her nightly routine, and set it to the side when Rose slipped under the sheets beside him.

“Big day tomorrow,” she murmured, nestling herself into his open arm.

“Yeah. Can’t believe she’s this big already,” James said, tracing idle patterns up and down her arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Great. Considering. I mean… this is a huge stepping stone for Sianin, but she’s so excited for it. And I’m excited for us to start this adventure with her.”

“Me too,” James agreed. He’d felt sad when Ainsley had started school, and he was pleased that no trace of it was present in his chest now. He felt nothing but eagerness for this newest chapter in his life, in his family’s life.

They slipped into silence, with James continuing to walk his fingers up and down her arm, then across her hip.

“D’you want to fool around for a bit?” Rose asked when his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts.

He froze, not realizing where his hand had gone. He’d been touching his wife because he’d enjoyed doing so, not because he’d meant to start anything.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, pulling his arm from around her waist. “Not really. But if you want to…”

“Nope, I’m fine,” she answered. “But can we keep cuddling like we were? It felt nice.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. They kissed for many long minutes, kisses of love and togetherness that made James feel warm all over.

They gradually pulled out of their snog and lay on their sides, tangled together as they talked. They talked for hours about everything it seemed. They debated politics, played twenty questions, discussed books they’d read and wanted to read. On and on, until they realized it was almost midnight and their stomachs were sore from how often they’d been lost in stifled laughter.

“It’s been a while since we did this,” James whispered after he’d leaned over and flicked off the lamp, shrouding them in darkness. “It was nice.”

“Yeah it was,” Rose said, her voice sounding suddenly sleepy. “We should do this more often. I love talking with you.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” he drawled, and she snorted at him.

“I just meant that it’s so nice we can still talk to each other forever, despite having known each other for decades.”

“You’re making us sound so old,” he groaned.

“Pfft.” James didn’t need to see his wife to know she was rolling her eyes. “We’re in our prime, love.”

“I’m almost forty,” he said with a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

“Yeah, but you are the sexiest, smartest, funniest, loving-est…” James laughed at her word choice and heard her echo it. “...almost-forty-year-old in the universe. And I love you.”

“Well, I guess that’s fine, then.” He squeaked when Rose smacked at his chest. He fumbled for her hand and managed to catch it to press a kiss to each of her knuckles. “I love you, too, Rose.”

She gave his fingers a squeeze, then took her hand back as she rolled onto her side.

“Can I spoon you for a little bit?” he asked.

“As long as you don’t wake me up when you change positions,” she said.

“You’ve never complained before when I’ve changed positions,” he crooned into her ear, slotting his body behind hers.

She laughed at him again, and let out a long breath as she relaxed back into him.

They awoke to two small bodies jumping on them the next morning. James wheezed out a breath when Sianin’s knee landed on his stomach, and he quickly shuffled her off of him before she could accidentally kick a more sensitive part of him.

“You two are up early,” Rose mumbled from beside him, sitting up.

“First day of school!” Sianin crowed. “You said we’d get a big breakfast!”

“It’s barely six,” James argued.

“And we leave the house at seven-thirty,” Ainsley said. “We don’t wanna be late!”

“We won’t be,” Rose said soothingly, but she slipped out of bed anyway and gestured for the girls to follow.

James groaned and stretched, then followed his family into the kitchen to help whip up the traditional first day of school breakfast. As everything cooked, he and Rose took turns sneaking off for a shower. And as Rose predicted, once breakfast was finished, there was still a half hour to go before they had to leave for school.

When the girls were finally dressed, James watched as Rose took the usual first day of school photos. She took individual ones of the girls, then a photo of them together, before she put her camera away and they decided to drive to the school, even though they’d be too early.

They all walked Sianin to her classroom, and James couldn’t help but laugh when she barely gave them a hug and kiss goodbye before she ran for the coat cubby that had her name printed on it.

“Sian, remember Ainsley will come collect you at the end of the day,” James called out.

“Yep! Bye bye!”

James shook his head at his youngest. Then, after he and Rose introduced themselves and Ainsley to Sianin’s teacher, they walked with Ainsley to her classroom.

The family soon settled into their respective school-time routines. With an entire day at her disposal, Rose found little things to occupy her time. She kept up with the household chores and finished up a few of the home renovations that hadn’t been entirely completed by the time the new term began.

She also used her newfound free time to catch up with friends she hadn’t seen in far too long.

“Penny! Hi!” Rose skipped up to her old friend and wrapped her in a hug. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I didn’t quite time the laundry right.”

“No worries,” Penny said, sitting back down in her chair. “So you had the day off?”

Rose shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you—I quit my job.” Penny’s eyebrows rose, and Rose nodded. “Yeah, I was being driven mad by my supervisory role. I couldn’t do nearly the amount of commissions as they’d said I would, and that’s the part of the job I loved the most. I grew to hate going to work and with how stressed James and I were… Well, I decided I’d had enough of being so unhappy.”

Penny gave her a gentle smile and reached across the table to squeeze Rose’s fingers. “You seem so much happier than when I saw you last. By the way, can we not go six months without doing lunch next time? Damn, Rose, with you not working anymore, we could’ve scheduled something ages back!”

Rose’s cheeks warmed and she said, “I know, I know. Sorry ‘bout that. James and I have been so busy lately. We’ve basically redone all of the rooms in the house. New coat of paint, new furniture. We’re thinking of remodeling our kitchen next.” Rose dug her phone out of her purse and scrolled through her photos to show off her home.

“Oh, wow,” Penny breathed. “Wanna come redo my house next?” She then smiled softly at a photo, and Rose leaned forward to see what had caught her friend’s attention. It was a selfie of her and James in their war-zone of a living room. They were each covered in specks of paint, their hair having gotten the most damage after their paint-smeared hands had wandered during a snog. “You two look amazing, Rose. Are things… better?”

Penny had been the only non-family person Rose had confided in about how much she’d been struggling, and how hard she and James were working to build themselves back up again.

“Yeah, loads better,” Rose said. “I feel great, and James does too. We’re both back in a really good place.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Penny said, handing Rose her phone.

“Thanks. But enough about me. How’s your work? How’s Devon and the kids?”

Penny had changed jobs over a year ago, shortly before word had come that the company they’d worked at would be restructuring. She was working at a much smaller company that primarily dealt in photography, the art form Penny preferred the most. As she listened to her friend light up as she talked about the projects she was in the middle of, a pit of longing formed in Rose’s stomach and remained even after the two parted with the promise to meet up again soon.

When she got home, Rose fired up her laptop and opened up a basic photo editing software and got to work on touching up the first day of school photographs. She lost herself to her work until her phone alarm reminder her to go collect the kids from school. Saving her work, she tried to think of where she could go to get the pictures printed off. It was irksome to no longer have high-tech printers at her disposal.

I can talk to James about maybe buying one, she mused.

But as she considered getting a new printer, she began to wish she had better art programs on her computer and tablet. She had basic packages, but nothing like the wealth of technology and programs she’d had access to while at her job. As she drove to pick up the kids, Rose couldn’t help but make a mental list of all of the artistic equipment she wished she could have. However, it didn’t seem worth it to invest so much money in something that would be just for her own amusement.

Unless…

Over the next several days, James noticed that Rose seemed preoccupied with something. Not in a bad way, but he could tell there was something on her mind. After checking in with her and getting the reassurance that it wasn’t anything worrisome, he let her have her space to think.

His patience was rewarded one night when she came to him with a nervous but determined look in her eyes.

“I’ve been thinking…”

James glanced up from his e-reader to see Rose fingering the pendant of her necklace. He set the tablet to the side and pivoted his body to face her. They sat in silence for a few seconds as James waited for her to organize her thoughts and share what was on her mind.

“I’m a pretty good artist,” Rose said at last.

Though confused, James nodded and said, “The best I’ve ever seen. Picasso and Van Gogh and whoever else have got nothing on you, love.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled and finally released her necklace, only to take her thumb and spin her engagement ring around her finger.

“I was thinking that I miss making art for other people,” Rose said. “I’ve been drawing and painting and photographing over the last few months, but they’ve all been for me, or for our family. But… art should be shared.”

Several ideas floated through James’s head. Ideas about Rose submitting some of her art to galleries, or finding a new job at a studio, or making her own website to sell her pieces. But he wasn’t sure if what he thought she could do matched with what she wanted to do, so he nodded and let her continue to speak.

“I don’t think I want to get another job like the one I had,” she said, and James checked that idea off his mental list. “But… what do you think about me someday opening up my own studio?”

Rose shrugged as she finished speaking, and she dropped her gaze to the couch cushion between them. James caught her hand as it began its journey to her mouth, and he gave it a squeeze as he said, “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

“Yeah? It’s not stupid or fanciful?”

“Of course not,” James said, frowning slightly. He squeezed her fingers again then said, “I’m here for you, no matter what. I’ll support you in whatever way I can. We could remodel the basement into a studio for you, or if you’d prefer, we could rent a flat or office space for you. Whatever you want, Rose, it’s yours.”

She finally smiled at him then scooted across the cushions towards him. “Thank you, James. Your support means a lot to me. I dunno when or how I want to do this, but within the next couple of years, I think I’d like to get something up and running.”

“Just let me know,” he whispered, opening his arm for her to cuddle into his side. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Whatever you decide to do, it’s gonna be fantastic.”

oOoOo

James’s groin felt tight as he slowly drifted out of his dream. He couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming of, only that it had been nice.

Sighing, he flexed his hips a little to try to alleviate the building ache at the front of his pants. He was about to roll over and press himself against Rose to ask if she might like to make love before his alarm went off when he realized something was already rubbing at his morning erection.

He cracked open his eyes and saw Rose lying near his hip, her head propped up by her elbow as she lazily rubbed him through his pants. She looked up at him and smiled the smile that sent butterflies fluttering in his belly.

“Happy birthday,” she said, leaning over to press a kiss to the swell of his ribs. “D’you want to do something with this?” She gave his erection a soft squeeze, sending a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I was hoping we could,” he murmured, pressing his hips up into her hand.

They moved together to get his pants off, and Rose took her top off too. Her breasts swung with her movements as she returned to her position near his hip. His breath caught in his throat when he realized what she was doing.

Her mouth was hot and wet as she pressed lingering open-mouthed kisses to his erection, an endless circuit up and down his length. He leaned back into his pillow and let her explore him, torn between letting her take her time and wanting her to hurry up before the kids woke up and potentially interrupted them.

After a couple minutes of teasing him to full hardness, she took him completely into her mouth. He bit his lip against a moan as pleasure sparked down his spine, settling deep in his gut as the pressure built.

“God, I love this,” he groaned.

She grinned around his cock and picked up the pace. He reached down to thread his fingers through her hair, not to guide her movements, but simply to touch her. Her hair was silky between his fingers, and he was mindful of the tangles and knots from sleep.

Minutes passed and James nearly let himself get consumed in her ministrations. Her hand had joined her mouth, providing him with unbelievable friction. But he heard the rustle of fabric and a soft, wet noise that wasn’t her mouth, and when he glanced down at her, he saw her other hand was down her knickers, pleasuring herself.

The sight was almost enough to make him come, but he pushed down the swelling sensation and he tugged on her hair gently.

“Wait,” he gasped. “Rose, stop for a sec.”

She pulled off of him and frowned. “Everything okay?”

He nodded and said, “How close are you?”

She slowly pulled her hand out of her knickers. “Pretty close.”

“Excellent.” He tapped a fingertip against the base of his cock and said, “The birthday boy would like to be inside his wife, if she’s agreeable.”

Rose chuckled and rolled her eyes, but she pushed her knickers down her legs and knelt beside him after retrieving a small foil packet from their bedside.

“The birthday boy’s wife is very agreeable,” she replied, slowly rolling the condom down his length. “D’you want to top? It’s your day, after all.”

But James shook his head, wanting to see her on top of him. He braced his hands at her hips to steady her as she straddled his hips and took him inside of her.

“I love being inside you,” he sighed as he filled her.

“Here I thought you loved getting a blow job,” Rose said with a cheeky grin.

“Well, I love that too,” he said, gripping her hips as she began to rock on him. “I just love making love with you however I can. I love you.”

“I love you, too, James,” she said, before her head tilted back and she groaned. “God, you feel good.”

He nodded, thrusting his hips up into her to try to get her to make that breathy squeak he loved so much. It took a couple tries, but she finally let out the noise and he grinned triumphantly.

“You’re too pleased,” she huffed breathlessly.

“Bet I can make you come first,” he replied, arching his hips to drive himself harder into her.

“I’ll take that—oh, fuck—that bet.”

Before he could reach down to rub her clit and send her over the edge she was already close to, Rose caught his hands in hers and pinned them near his head.

“Oi!” he whined.

She breathed out a laugh as she leaned closer to him until she was almost lying flat on top of him. She squeezed her muscles around him, giving him a surge of friction and pleasure as she mercilessly rocked her hips into his.

“You’re cheating,” he gasped as the coil of pleasure tightened inside of him.

“No, I’m using my extensive knowledge and experience to win this bet,” she replied, setting an unforgiving pace above him.

“Cheating,” he muttered, but he soon didn’t care as long as her hips kept moving. “I’m close, Rose. You’re gonna come too, right?”

“Mhm,” she answered, biting her lip. “Right behind you.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. It was sloppy and uncoordinated but so tender that James’s heart skipped a beat with the love he felt in the moment. She then placed her lips next to his ear and whispered, “Come for me, James.”

The words were his undoing, along with the puff of hot air across the shell of his ear. Trembling with goosebumps, James strained against her grip as he felt the coil of pleasure release. Rose let him go, and he hugged her hips tightly to his.

“Your turn,” he gritted out, trying to coordinate his hips to keep thrusting into her as he spent himself.

“Right there,” she grunted.

James’s eyes rolled back as his pleasure peaked, leaving him pulsing and throbbing inside of Rose as his heartbeat roared in his ears. He heard her whimper his name before the word died on a series of wordless moans and sighs.

His head finally cleared of the fog enough for him to watch Rose continue to ride her high, working herself against him in slow, lazy movements. God, he loved her. He loved her more than he could possibly tell her. His whole heart clenched with the feeling, and he sat up so he could wrap her in a hug.

His movements caused her to let out another hum of pleasure, and so he flexed his hips for her, delighted that this orgasm seemed to be going on for longer than usual.

“Oh, God,” she groaned, resting her forehead on the top of his head. “Jesus.”

“Just James,” he mumbled, burying his face into her neck. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They remained in their intimate embrace until James felt himself slip out of her. Grimacing, he tugged the condom off and dropped it into the rubbish bin they kept beside the bed. Before he could coax Rose off his lap, she threaded her fingers through his hair to tilt his head back so she could press her lips to his.

Their kisses were unhurried and full of tenderness. James wished they could stay in bed for another hour or so because his arousal was slowly reigniting the longer he kissed his wife. He knew she could feel the evidence of it, because she smirked against his mouth and ground her hips down on his, encouraging his erection to grow.

“We shouldn’t,” he sighed, even as he wished she would keep moving on him like that.

“Sure we should,” she argued. “I mean… if you want to go another round.”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he said firmly. His entire body was singing with renewed desire, as though he hadn’t just found his release mere minutes ago. “But the kid’s’ll be up soon.”

“They’re probably already up,” she replied.

“All the more reason we shouldn’t.”

“I can keep quiet if you can,” she whispered. But she pulled back from the kiss to look down at him. “If you want?”

He did want. He stayed silent for a few seconds, listening for the kids. The faint clattering of silverware on bowls echoed from the kitchen, and James hoped they were eating something somewhat healthy for breakfast.

Rose misinterpreted his silence and pressed a kiss to his forehead and began to shift off of his lap.

“No, no. Stay,” he murmured. “I want.”

James pulled her head back to his, catching her lips in another kiss before he coaxed her onto her back and grabbed a fresh condom before covering her body with his. There wasn’t a single place their bodies weren’t touching, and James let out a deep groan of satisfaction when Rose wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“My God, I feel like I could stay like this forever,” Rose moaned into his ear after he slipped inside of her. “You feel so, so good, James.”

“I know the feeling,” he hummed, nuzzling his nose into her neck to breathe her in.

“The kids should be fine for a few hours, right?” she asked, rolling her hips up into his.

“Definitely. They’re very self-sufficient children.”

“Then I vote we stay here all day.”

“I’m not sure they’re self-sufficient enough to drive themselves to school though,” James mused.

“That’s the next thing I’m teaching them.” She hissed and dug her nails into his lower back. “Oh, God, do that again.”

James grinned and arched his hips, rubbing his pelvis against hers as he did so. Gradually, their conversation dwindled and sighing pants and moans took their place. They smothered their sounds of pleasure into each other’s skin as they made love slowly. After sending Rose over the edge, James’s teeth sank into her shoulder as he grunted through his release.

As the final aftershocks rippled through him in time with Rose’s fingers stroking his spine, her phone blared at them.

“What happened to my alarm?” James mumbled into her breast as Rose grabbed her phone.

“I wanted a few extra minutes with you,” she answered. “I figured you’d appreciate that.”

“How many is ‘a few’?”

A guilty smile crossed her face. “Er… thirty?”

James laughed into her skin. “You impossible woman. You’re gonna make me late.”

“If you get in the shower within the next two minutes, you’ll be right on time,” Rose said. But she’d resumed trailing her fingertips up and down his spine, sending pleasant tingles across his skin and giving him no incentive to move. “I’ll have your breakfast and coffee ready for you, and you can be out the door by seven-forty.”

His entire chest warmed, and he pulled back to look at her. “You take such good care of me.”

A slow, broad smile lit up her face. “Well, of course. I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much.” He leaned down a pressed a series of kisses to her cheeks and lips as he said, “You and our daughters are my life’s greatest gift, and I’m so thankful have such a wonderful family.”

Just then, a barrage of rapid knocks sounded on their bedroom door.

“Are you done having private alone time?”

“Sianin!”

“What? I wanna show Daddy my card! Mummy needs to share Daddy.”

James bit back a laugh. He looked down at Rose, whose eyes were twinkling with amusement, and murmured, “I take back what I said. They’re absolute menaces.”

Rose giggled and smacked at his shoulder. He stuck his tongue out at her, then rolled off her.

“I’ll be out in ten minutes,” he called out. “I’m about to get a shower. I can’t wait to see your card, Sian.”

The doorknob jiggled. “Can’t we come in?”

“No, darling,” he said. “We’ll be out in a few minutes. Go finish getting ready for school.”

The pitter patter of two sets of small feet retreated down the hall, and James breathed a silent sigh.

“Her innocence is such a gift and I dread the day she realizes what her mum and dad do behind closed doors,” he said. “I was traumatized when I realized what my parents were doing during “private alone time”.”

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes. “Imagine learning your mum did that with a random bloke she met at a pub or a supermarket or the laundry. But nevertheless. I don’t want us to make a big deal of it to the kids. Yeah? What we’re doing is perfectly natural and I don’t want either Ainsley or Sianin to think it’s something dirty or secret or something to be ashamed of.”

“Agreed,” James said. “It’s just a little awkward, is all. I can see Sianin blurting out at school someday that her mum and dad have private alone time all the time.”

Rose let out a cackle and said, “Oh, she probably will. Bless her nonexistent filter. But you need to get up. You’re three minutes behind the very strict schedule I set for you.”

“Well, since I’m already running late…” He leaned over and brushed a kiss to the freckles on her shoulder. “You could just join me in the shower and make me properly late. Eh?”

She smacked her palm against the back of his head, and he pulled back with a pout. But she was grinning as she said, “You’re insatiable!”

“For you, my love?” He leaned down to press a final kiss to her shoulder. “Always.”

<-- Ch 11 | Ch 13 -->

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #soulmates #soulmates au #lemons #kid fic #my fic #perfectly matched series #and babies make five and six #themes of infertility #(not too much in this chapter though)

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lorenzo-insigne · 7 years ago

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Anche D10S Ama Napoli

Source: The Players’ Tribune (read in italian; read in english)

Before I begin this story, I have to start by apologizing to God.

And by “God,” I mean “D10S” … Mr. Maradona.

I also want to apologize to my father.

Because when I was eight years old, I committed a sin. Maybe it’s not a sin to most people, but when you grow up in Napoli, especially when I was a kid, it was definitely a sin. I had just started playing for the football school in my area, and I really wanted some proper boots. I didn’t have any, because I wasn’t even supposed to be playing for the football school yet. I was too young, and definitely too small.

I was a shorty!

But I didn’t care. I wanted to play football at all costs. So one day I showed up to the football school with my older brother, and I was just supposed to be watching him. But I had other plans. I forced my way onto the field by crying all day until they let me play. Man, it was dramatic. I threw myself to the ground and acted like I was dying. And finally one of the coaches said, “O.K.! O.K.! Let the little kid in for a minute.”

I think they just wanted to shut me up, but I guess I showed I could play, because they let me in the school with all the older kids. I was so happy, but now I needed some real football boots. Every day, I begged my father to buy me a pair, but there were two problems.

First, my family came from very humble means. Frattamaggiore, the neighborhood where I grew up, was very difficult. At that time, there was nothing. There weren’t many jobs, and my family did not have much money to keep us going, so it was almost impossible to buy some expensive boots.

Second, I wanted a very specific pair of boots. I wanted the R9s. The boots of the genius, Ronaldo. Do you remember those? Silver, blue and yellow. They were iconic. Ronaldo had just played in the ’98 World Cup in those boots, and it was all I would talk about.

“Papa, please, please, please get me the Ronaldo boots.”

Every day. Every day.

“Please, papa, the boots!”

Thinking back on it, he probably wanted to kill me, because the only player my father ever wanted to talk about was Maradona. I grew up with only the myth of El Diego and his greatness, and of course he is a legend all over the world …

But in Napoli?

In Napoli?

He is like a God. My father wanted me to get some plain black boots like Maradona wore, you know? But I said, “No, you don’t understand. Ronaldo is the greatest.”

Haha! I’m sorry, Papa! I’m sorry, El Diego!

My father was a huge Napoli supporter, and of course Ronaldo played for Inter at that time, and he was making Napoli cry. But I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better, and I was obsessed with these boots. So one night, completely by surprise, my father said to me, “Come on, we’re going to the shops.”

I asked why.

He said, “We’re going to get you your boots.”

My father definitely did not have the extra money to spend. But, somehow, he did it for me anyway, and I cannot express to you the feeling of walking the streets with him that night and searching all the sports shops in the city for those boots.

The first shop didn’t have them.

The second shop didn’t have them.

The third shop had them, but not in my size.

We walked all over town.

We went to four or five shops, with no luck. I remember it was getting dark, and I was thinking maybe it was hopeless. Finally, just as all the shops were closing for the night, the last store we went into had the R9 boots, and they had them in my size.

I know for sure — for sure — that there is one memory that will stay with me for my whole life, and it’s my father handing over the money for those boots and giving the box to me. It’s better than any gift I’ve ever received. You know, it’s funny, because as a professional footballer now, I receive so many boots for free, and after a while it loses all meaning. It doesn’t really feel like anything special.

But those boots … wow. It was an indescribable feeling putting them on, because in my mind, it was like, O.K., maybe I am small, and maybe I am from humble means, and maybe I am not even very good yet … but I am wearing these boots, and Ronaldo the genius wears these very same boots … and maybe, one day, I can become as good as him.

I am not joking — I used to clean those boots every single day. We would play on fields that were not so perfect. There was a lot of dirt and rocks, you know? So I would come home and scrub the boots with a rag, because I knew what my father had sacrificed to buy them. I wore them for so long that the shops stopped selling them, and the day that they finally broke and fell apart, I cried. I actually wept, because I cared about them so much. They were sacred to me.

Perhaps I am crazy, I don’t know. But I have always been this way, according to my family. My mother tells the story that when I was in preschool, she came to pick me up and all the kids were playing with some Lego construction blocks — building houses and castles and whatever kids do — and I was in the corner of the room kicking my feet and running around. She didn’t understand what I was doing, and then she got closer and saw that I had made a football out of some paper and I was playing by myself.

I was probably supposed to be doing my homework with that paper, but I had only one thought in my head: Football.

My dream, always, was to play in the Napoli shirt at the San Paolo. For me, there was no other dream. I didn’t play any other sports. I didn’t think about anything but football. But as I grew up and got tryouts with different youth teams — Inter, Torino, even Napoli — the scouts always told me the same thing.

Well, actually they did not tell me. They told my father, and then he broke the news to me. And it was the same verdict every time.

“We like him, but he’s a shorty.”

In Italy, people are very honest like that. They all discarded me because of my height. After I was told this by Torino at 14, let’s just say that I didn’t want to play anymore. I told my family that it was useless. I was too short. Technique, strength, speed — you can just work harder and improve. But your height? What can you do? I’d wake up every morning hoping I’d grown overnight. But nothing. So I told my dad, “It’s impossible, I’m done.”

But then he said, “O.K., so what are you going to do if not football?”

And I thought about it, and I said, “Shit, what am I gonna do?”

So I kept playing with the local football school, and finally, Napoli came along and gave me another shot when I was 15 years old. There were so many kids at the tryout. So many. But for whatever reason, the scout saw something in me, and he chose me. When I got into the youth academy, it was just incredible because my family were always huge Napoli supporters, but we could not afford to go to many matches when I was a kid. So when I was in the youth system, I would always beg to be one of the ball boys just so I could go to the San Paolo and stand on the sidelines.

That feeling of being in the stadium, and feeling that energy as a Neapolitan … I can’t express it in words. I thought, Damn, if I can just play one match here in the Napoli shirt someday, I can die happy.

It was funny, because when I got to play my first game with the senior team in 2010, we were playing away in Livorno. It was such a big deal for my family, obviously. Such an honor, to be a kid from Frattamaggiore, playing in the Napoli kit. And I remember after the match, we flew back home and my father picked me up at the airport, and on the drive back I said, “Is anyone from the neighborhood waiting for me?”

And my father said, “Oh no, no, no. It’s very late. Everyone was very proud, but it’s so late and everyone went to bed.”

I said, “Come on.”

He said, “No, really, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to be disappointed. There’s nobody waiting for you.”

So, of course, we arrive at home and the whole entire neighborhood is waiting for me in the streets, and they’re singing and shooting off fireworks, and they’ve got a special cake for me and everything. It was unbelievable. Seeing my mother’s face was the best part, because she’s crazier about football than all of the boys. I’ll come home now and I’ll find her watching the replays of Napoli matches. She will be yelling at the television, and I’ll say, “Mom, what are you doing? It already happened!”

Napoli is in our blood. And I owe everything to the club, because they stuck with me in hard times. After I made my debut in 2010, I spent two years on loan at Foggia and Pescara in the C and B leagues.

At Foggia, I was under a manager who was a real character. Mr. Zdeněk Zeman. I knew that he was super intense, and demanded a lot from his players. But it was really funny because he was like someone from an old movie. He would make all the players come into his office and be weighed at this old metal scale every morning. But he would be smoking like a chimney in there. So you would open the door, and it was all white smoke. You could barely breathe. It felt like Milan. So one day I walked in and I said, “Mister, do you think maybe you could stop smoking when we come in?”

He thought about it for a second. Then he took another puff, and he said, “… You can step out then.”

I loved him. We had a great relationship. He really believed in me, and maybe it took a character like him to believe in someone like me. I scored 18 goals that season, and when Mr. Zeman got hired at Pescara the next season, Napoli let me follow him there. That was a very, very important moment. And it was a very, very important year, because I met my wife, Jenny, that year.

If you know anything about southern Italy, it will not surprise you that I met Jenny through her cousin, who went to school with me in Frattamaggiore. Where I’m from, everybody knows everybody. Instantly, I wanted to be with her. The problem was that I was living 250 kilometers away in Pescara.

I told her, “Come with me.”

But again, if you know anything about southern Italy, then you already know what her parents said about that. They were not going to let her follow me. No, not a chance in the world. So I had a double motivation that season. I had to convince Napoli to bring me back, so I could live my dream of playing for the club, and also so that I could be with Jenny.

That season, I wasn’t going to be stopped. I scored 19 goals, and after the season ended, I had a meeting with Mr. Mazzarri, the coach of Napoli. He said, “If you want a spot here, you’re going to have to conquer it yourself.”

And I remember I said, “No problem. Ever since I grew up, no one gave me anything for free.”

Really, nothing was going to stop me. I earned my spot. Early on that season, I scored my first goal at the San Paolo against Parma, and it was so special because we had just found out that my wife was pregnant with our first son. I grabbed the ball and put it under my shirt as a dedication to him, and I remember the crowd was singing my name.

You cannot write about this feeling. It is something you can only experience in your heart.

It has been six years now that I am wearing this shirt, and I still have that same emotion when I score a goal for Napoli. It means so much to me, because I am so proud to be from my city. You know, I hear some people speak bad about Napoli, and it’s very frustrating for me, because they don’t know the city. To me, it’s the best city in the world. And if you don’t believe me, just look at my teammates. Look at how many players have stayed here instead of moving to bigger clubs. Some have been here three or four seasons, and they don’t want to leave. Our captain, Marek Hamšík, the guy is Slovakian, and he’s been here for 11 years. I ask my teammates why they want to stay, and they say, “I love the city, I love the life here, I love the fans.”

So maybe when people speak bad about Napoli, they need to wake up. Even God himself loved it here. And by God, of course I mean Mr. Maradona 🙂

My only focus now is on winning the league title. It was extremely heartbreaking to miss out on the World Cup with Italy. There is nothing I can say that will express my disappointment. It still upsets me. But I have to close that chapter and focus on trying to win Napoli’s first scudetto in my lifetime. I want to do it for my city, my neighborhood, my friends, my family, my children.

Every time I go out to play at San Paolo, I get goosebumps. Because I think about what it means for my family, and I think about everything my father sacrificed over the years to keep me going. I don’t know what he had to do to get that money for my boots, but I know it was a struggle. That sacrifice started the whole dream. And now I get to walk out on the pitch in my hometown, and I always get goosebumps because I think, “This is where the greatest player in the world played. This is where Maradona played.”

With all due respect to Ronaldo, now that I am older, and I know my history, I have to repent and say that Maradona is the greatest who ever lived.

Mr. Ronaldo, you had great boots. You were a genius. You were my inspiration. But I am a Neapolitan, and so I have to say that there is only one king, and his name is Diego.

Lorenzo Insigne

#do you know what?#i copied and pasted it #because i'm not brave enough to read this interview #and write a comment about #lorenzo insigne #ssc napoli #the players' tribune

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kimjongdaely · 7 years ago

Text

The War [Chapter 2]

Mafia!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader x Xiumin

Warnings: Language, violence

Summary: After the tragedy of your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself constantly thinking about him. Memories are hard to erase, after all. Then in comes a man you met by chance and who stole what’s left of your heart. You find yourself stuck between your old love and new love.

Prologue│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Epilogue

“Minseok! Look,” you flash him a bracelet you tried on in the accessory shop you were currently in. “How does it look?”

“Anything looks good on you, jagiya.” He chuckles softly, lacing his fingers with yours.

You smile at him as you nod at the bracelet. “I’ll buy this, then.”

“I’ll buy it for you.” Minseok offers and gently unclips the bracelet from your wrist, bringing it to the cashier.

It’s been several months since you started dating Minseok, and you must say that you are deeply and utterly in love with him. You don’t remember a day where you are genuinely angry or upset at him.

It has been bothering you, however, why he seems so well off. He buys you anything and everything with a mere blink of an eye, a mere turn of your lips. Where does he get the money? You’ve tried asking him about his job, but he merely shrugs you off and avoid the topic each time.

He often spends time with you, unlike Jongin, so there’s nothing to complain about…but you’re just worried.

Worried of what, you’re not sure. It’s just the unbearable anxiousness that grows everyday in your heart. The closer you become with Minseok, the more anxious you become.

“Minseok,” you call softly as you curl up on your sofa, “what is your job?”

You feel his body stiffen slightly beside you, so faint you could barely decide if you really felt it or not. “You always ask me that.”

“You never answer.”

He heaves a defeated sigh, and your heart speeds when you realize he might finally decide to tell you. “You really want to know?” He asks softly and you nod vigorously, sitting up straighter.

He sighs again, running a hand through his dark hair messily. “…Okay. I can take you there if you want…but you might not be happy.”

You furrow your brows, anxiety gnawing at your belly. “Why?”

He lets out a tight smile before tenderly ruffling your hair. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow. I’ll go now. Get some rest.”

He waves casually as he stands up to leave, the door closing shut softly behind him.

You should be happy and excited that Minseok is opening up to you. His work has been the only secret he’s kept from you (at least, you hope it’s the only secret), and now he’s willing to tell you too.

But you’re not.

You’re terrified.

Your mind is racing with every possible job that Minseok could have that you wouldn’t like.

That night you could barely sleep.

Minseok arrives at your apartment late afternoon, which gives you more than enough time to throw yourself into a tornado of worries. You had to busy yourself the entire day by scrubbing at your house, removing every single last piece of dust and dirt that existed.

But being busy doesn’t keep your thoughts at bay for long.

Once your doorbell rang, all your anxiety comes back full force, and you were shaking like a leaf by the time you reached the door, your hands like lead when you opened it.

Minseok sees your pale face and quickly makes his way in, pulling you into his warm arms whispering worriedly, “Jagi, are you okay? Oh my gosh, are you sick? Quick, I’ll take to you to the hospital—”

You let out a soft giggle at his tenderness, pulling away gently. Your heart is still racing, and you feel incredibly cold, but you force out a smile to settle Minseok. He doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m fine…just…scared, I guess.” You admit quietly, and he rewraps you into his embrace.

“You don’t have to know.” He says, his voice almost desperate. “We can just live like this. I won’t hurt you, God, I won’t dare hurt you, so you don’t have to—”

“No.” You say firmly, staring into his dark, warm eyes. “I want to know. I need to know. I love you, Minseok. I don’t want secrets between us.”

He exhales slowly, nodding. “Okay.” He laces his fingers with yours and gives you a tight smile. You know he’s trying his best to reassure you. “Ready?”

You nod as you allow him to lead you out of your apartment and into his car. It’s a wonder how you didn’t like his car the first time you entered, but now it feels comforting and safe.

He zooms off down the road, and after a while, you start to see less buildings and less people in your surroundings.

“Minseok? Where are we going?” You ask, your voice raising slightly in panic, but Minseok doesn’t even glance at you.

“We’re almost there.” He merely whispers.

He leads you to a well hidden factory. It’s safe to say that unless you knew the way here, no one would be able to find it. That makes you feel even more uneasy despite Minseok’s hand that is pressed in the small of your back to reassure you.

He leads you into the factory, which seems empty, but after going through a few hallways, you start to see more and more people.

Some look normal enough, while others look incredibly intimidating.

He enters a large, large room, almost like a ballroom, but at the same time nothing like it. It’s filled with unfriendly looking people, and you feel long cold stares at you when you enter.

If looks could kill, maybe you would be dead.

You know what this place is. The weapons, the cold hard looks of the people here, the faint smell of alcohol and something sweeter, like candy, mingled with the metallic smell of what you could only decipher as blood.

A mafia.

“Y-You…” You squeak as you turn to Minseok, who’s eyes are downcast as if feeling shame.

“Yes.” He whispers quietly, his hand falling limply to his side. “I’m in the mafia. This is EXO, and I’m its leader.”

“Lea—” You choke, suddenly too overwhelmed to think properly. You stumble backwards, strength leaving your legs and you feel yourself falling, but Minseok quickly grabs onto you to steady you.

In his eyes, you see that he was probably expecting you to push him away. Instead, you shake in his arms.

“I know it’s hard for you to accept…” He starts, and you see everyone spill out of the room, only a handful remaining. “…But please trust me when I tell you I love you. And,” he takes a shaky breath, his eyes closed as if he’s scared to continue looking at you. “I understand if you want to…leave me.”

His eyes when he reopens them are covered in fear and despair. You feel tears pool in your eyes as you cling onto him tightly, not sure if you should continue to do so.

“I…” You start, but instead of a cry that you were expecting, a laugh bubbles from your lips. A broken, humorless laugh that echoes chillingly off the walls. “This is a joke. This has to be a joke.”

“Jagiya…” Minseok starts, incredibly sad, but you merely laugh again, stronger this time.

“My ex…” You say, your voice dropping. “He was also in a mafia. But I don’t know which, because I didn’t bother asking and didn’t bother knowing. I just know that it’s one of the top most feared mafias in the city.” You bite your lip, no longer laughing. “Why does this keep happening to me? Every guy I meet is in the mafia…I don’t—” You sob. “I don’t understand.”

Minseok sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, looking as if he wanted to hold you but afraid to. His head hangs low. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier…”

“My biggest regret…” You inhale a shaky breath as you try to steady yourself. “Was that I gave up on him…I shouldn’t have…I should’ve stayed with him until the end.” A cry wracks through your body as you try not to break down. “I shouldn’t have…”

You see the sadness in Minseok’s eyes, and you wonder if yours matched them. Or maybe yours looked sadder?

You reach for his hands, and he lets you grasp them tightly. You pull him towards you into a tight embrace. “…So this time, I won’t leave you. No matter what you do. Because I love you, and I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

You could practically feel the joy and relief rolling off Minseok’s body as he embraced you tightly, his body shaking with emotion along with yours. “Thank you. I love you.”

It’s almost been a year since you met Minseok. The past year has been the happiest you’ve been. He pulled you from grief and gave you happiness, he completely healed your broken heart and has offered even more than you could ever ask for.

Though your time with him is not the longest, you know without a doubt that he’s the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.

It was rather cold, and you remember soft snowflakes dancing around outside, drifting down softly.

You were cuddled up with fluffy blankets and a mug of hot chocolate against Minseok. You were on the verge of dozing off when you felt Minseok’s soft lips against your forehead, his hand coming to wrap the blanket more tightly around your body.

You smiled lightly, your eyes closed.

You felt something slip onto your finger, and you gently cracked an eye to see a beautiful ice-blue ring against your finger.

“What’s this?” You mumble, still half-asleep, and you feel Minseok chuckle lightly, his chest vibrating against your back comfortably.

“I thought you were asleep?” He teases and you let out a light giggle, snuggling closer to him if possible.

“What’s this?” You repeat, flashing your new ring.

“A promise ring.” He answers softly and you frown, glancing at your ring.

“You should ask me properly.” You grumble and he laughs, squeezing you tightly.

“About what?” He teases and you pout, shifting away from his hold as he continues to chuckle.

“Ask me. Properly.” You glare at him.

“Fine, fine.” He grins before getting off the couch and going down on one knee, grabbing your hands into his. “Will you marry me?”

You beam widely at him, tears pooling in your eyes as you stare at Minseok’s sincere ones. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

He grins before straightening himself and pulling you into a tight hug, raining kisses all over your face.

“I know it hasn’t been very long since we met,” he starts softly, planting another soft kiss on your nose. “But I really love you. I know you’re the one for me. I’m so lucky to have you.”

You feel a sob break out as you try to speak. You’re so happy, so blessed. You wrap your arms tighter around his body, feeling his warmth seep into your bones. “Thank you so much, Minseok. I—I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if I didn’t meet you.”

Minseok pulls away slightly, his arms still around you, to look deeply into your eyes. Suddenly, he’s more serious and his eyes soften sadly. “I know that…There’s no way I can beat the importance of the deceased in your heart.” He trails the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “I don’t mind being second best for you.”

You shake your head furiously, tears streaming down your cheeks. You want to deny it and tell him that you love him and only him, but you can’t. So you merely grasp his hands tightly, whispering, “Thank you. I love you.”

Because no matter how much you love Minseok, Jongin will always have a special spot in your heart.

But it might not be because of love.

After all, you love Minseok. More than anything in the world. You’re going to marry him, and your ring is more than enough proof of your love for each other.

Nothing can tear the two of you apart.

Right?

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

The War Mini Masterlist

A/N: Thank you guys for reading again! I’m super excited about this story~~ Next chapter will be the start of the main plot! Please look forward to it and give this story lots of love! Tell me what you thought!

P.S, I changed the summary because I didn’t really like the old one. I hope this one is better.

©kimjongdaely

Request and let’s love!

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thecuriouscrusader · 7 years ago

Note

AU where young Dean and Cas are both strangers to each other and at a a wrestling match that features Gunnar Lawless. Dean really wants to get Gunnar's glove before the match, but Gunnar ends up giving it to Cas instead. After the match is over, Dean tries to buy the glove off of Cas with his allowance and Cas says he'll trade the glove for a kiss.

A/N: Again I had this posted on Ao3 months ago but forgot to post in here somehow. I’m so sorry nonnie! I hope you like it x

Kiss With A Fist

Dean wasbeyond excited. Not only had he and his father successfully taken care of aravenous werewolf, but his favourite wrestler Gunner Lawless had a match intown that night and John had promised Dean that they could go as a reward forhow well he had been doing with his hunters training.

Dean hadhidden himself between the beds in the abandoned house they were currentlysquatting in so that he could secretly admire his signed poster of Lawless; they did not have the privilege of owning many precious items, but that posterwas certainly one of Dean’s.

“I’m going to get one of those gloves” he said determinedly as he traced hisfinger across the image.

He knew that Gunner often gave one of his fans an item of his wrestling gear before thematch to symbolise his reciprocated admiration. That was one of the many thingsDean liked about him; he could kick ass but he was kind too.

When heheard the heavy footsteps of his father coming up the stairs Dean quicklyrolled up the poster and stuffed it back into his duffle.

“Dean?”

“Inhere, dad” Dean called as he stood up and tried not to looksuspicious.

"I just heard a report on the radio about another attack. It seems that that werewolfhad a missus" John informed him.

Dean’sheart sank. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?“

"Youknow it can’t” John said sternly, but softened when he saw how crestfallenhis son was. “I’m sorry, kiddo” he said as he placed a comfortinghand on his Dean’s shoulder. “I know you were looking forward to tonight.We can find out where his next match will be and follow him down.”

Deansighed dejectedly knowing damn well that would not happen. “Can’t I justgo by myself?”

“Yougotta be at least eighteen if you don’t go with an adult” John remindedhim.

“WellI’m sixteen and I hunt monsters” Dean huffed. “That’s gotta count formy maturity levels.”

“Notwhen you say it with a pout like that” John said with a small smile.“It’s getting late so you need to stay here and look after Sammy.”

“Alright”Dean replied dejectedly.

“Ok”John said. He reached the doorframe before pausing and turning back to thisson. “I’m serious, Dean. I do not want a repeat of what happened in NewYork. Stay in this house.”

“Yes,sir.”

“I’llmake it up to you. I promise.”

John leftand Dean laid down on the bed with a heavy sigh. He felt the corners of hiseyes begin to sting and rubbed at them furiously. He had been looking forwardto this for weeks: not only because he would get to see Gunner wrestle, but hewould get to spend time with his dad which did not entail killingsomething.

Heremembered the rush and the thrill he had felt strolling around New York Cityby himself. Up until that point he had been his dad’s good little soldier whonever stepped a foot out of line, and it had been so awesome to rebel againstall the restrictions his dad had put into place. He had felt free, and the morehe thought about it….the more he wanted to do it again.

The fearof facing his father’s wrath did not outweigh his desire to actually ownsomething which belonged to one of his heroes, and to see him rise to glory.

“Ideserve this” Dean tried to convince himself as stood up and started topace the room. “I look after Sammy, I do my training every morning, I cookfor us all, and I save people’s lives. I deserve to go and see Gunner Lawlesswrestle.”

Hegrabbed his bag and rummaged around until he found the sock he kept all of hisallowance rolled up in; John gave Dean and Sam ten dollars at the end of everymonth to go and play video games or whatever they wanted, but Dean has beensaving up for years, just in case he needed it to buy him and Sammy food orsomething of the similar import.

He foundthe sock and stuffed it into his pocket. He bounded down and stairs and towardsthe front door before he could try and talk himself out of it.

“Sammy!I’m going out and if you tell dad I’ll shave your head in the middle of thenight.”

Sam, whohad been sat on the sofa reading, looked up at his brother with a puzzledfrown.

“Whereare you going?”

“Itold you…” Dean said as he hopped around trying to pull his boot on.“Out.”

“That’snot an explanation, Dean” Sam deadpanned. “You’re sneaking off to seethe wrestling match, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,okay?” Dean said as he grabbed his jacket.

Samclosed his book with a grin and hurried over to his brother.

“CanI come with you?"

"Hellno.”

“Dean!I really wanted to go too. Please?” He begged. “What if I get eatenby a werewolf because you weren’t here?”

“Don’t…”Dean started, but he trailed off with a sigh and closed his eyes as hepainfully remembered the incident with Shtriga. “Alright, but you have todo everything that I tell you” he said as he pointed a stern finger in hisbrother’s face. “Understand?"

"Yes,I understand” Sam said with a firm nod.

“Alright.Get your coat; it’s chilly.”

When theyarrived at the venue Dean was immediately awestruck by the amount of fansroaming around outside in their tribute wrestler costumes. He had to try andpush their way though hustle and bustle in order to find the ticket stands.

“Dean”Sam complained as they finally broke free of the crowd.

“Stopsquirming!” Dean hissed.

“Letgo of my hand! I’m twelve for God sake.”

“No,you wanted to come with, this is part of the deal” Dean stressed as hebrandished their clasped together hands in Sam’s face.

“Fine,but you’re only making yourself look stupid too.”

“Idon’t care.”

Theyjoined one of the queues to get tickets. Dean bobbed up and down on his feetnervously and craned his neck so he could see how far they still had to go; hedid not want to miss out on getting Gunner’s glove.

Theyfinally reached the front of the line and a stern looking man glanced Dean upand down.

“ID?”

Deanfroze for a moment and he thought that he could hear his heart hammeringagainst his chest.

“Ah,well, you see…”

“Getthe hell out of here.”

“Please!You don’t understand how much this means to me. I’m eighteen I swear!”

“Yeahand I’m the queen of England. Beat it!”

Deanopened his mouth to protest again but he was already being pushed away bysecurity.

“Thequeen of England would have much better manners than you” Sam retorted asDean tugged him away.

Theyheaded around the side of the building and Dean slumped down against the wallwith defeat.

“Don’tworry. You’ll think of something” Sam said as he sat down next to him.

“You’rethe smart one; you think of something” Dean mumbled.

“You’resmart, Dean-”

“Clearlynot otherwise I would have friggin’ thought to bring fake ID!” The younger Winchesteryelled. He sighed and looked down the ground. “I’m sorry” he sniffed.

“It’sokay” Sam said with a face of concern; he did not want his brother tothink that he had let him down. He placed a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“It’sthese stupid freckles!” Dean exclaimed as he indicated to his cheeks.“I wish I could scrub ‘em all off.”

“Don’tsay that; I think they’re very charming.”

Both ofthe brothers looked up to see a boy about Dean’s age with unruly dark hair andthe brightest blue eyes they had ever seen.

“Uh…thanks”Dean said; he felt a blush start to spread though his cheeks.

“Myname is Castiel” the other teen said with a gentle smile.

“Whoa,like the Angel?” Sam asked with awe as he stood up to be face-to-face withCastiel. “That’s so cool! I’ve read all about him in this book I found atthe library about Seraph Mythology-”

Deanquickly stood up and elbowed his brother gently in the arm. “Shut up,nerd.”

“It’squite alright” Castiel chuckled. “I like reading too.”

“Hejust doesn’t want me to embarrass him because he thinks you’re pretty” Samcasually claimed.

“Sam!”Dean exclaimed.

“Wellyour brother is rather pretty himself” Castiel smirked.

Dean’seyes widened and the heat in his cheeks only got worse.

“Sammy,there’s a food cart over there. Go get us some hotdogs” Dean said as hestared at Castiel and absentmindedly handed Sam some crumpled dollar bills.

“Dean,this is fifty dollars-”

“Go.”

Samshrugged and walked away.

“Isaw that they wouldn’t let you in so I wanted to suggest that you come with meand my brother” Castiel explained. “We have two spare tickets; myother brothers were supposed to come but they have to work."

"Really?That would be great!” Dean exclaimed excitedly. “I-I mean, not aboutyour brothers not being able to come; I’m sure that’s sad for you, but thankyou so much!” He pulled Castiel into a bone crushing hug.

“I’mglad to be of assistance” Castiel chuckled as he patted the other teen’sback unsurely. “Who are you here to support?”

“GunnerLawless” Dean said a little dreamily as he pulled away. “I’ve lovedhim since I was a kid and I take his poster everywhere with me…my dad wouldprobably freak if he knew how much I make-out with it” he joked.

Castiellaughed again; Dean thought that there was something musical about it which hereally liked.

“Heis ruggedly handsome” Castiel agreed. “He’s my favourite too. I havefour older brothers who have been dragging me to wrestling matches since I wasfive.”

“Yeah?My dad’s been bringing me since I was about that age too” Dean said.“And he promised that he’d come with me tonight but he…has to worktoo.”

“Well,I’m sorry about that, but I’m very glad to have met you” Castiel said witha small a smile.

“Yeah,likewise” Dean said with a tentative smile of his own.

“Weshould get Sam and then find my brother” Castiel said.

“Alright.He’s just…Sam?”

Dean hadturned to look at the food cart be he could not see his little brother’s messymop of hair anywhere.

Dean feltsomething tighten in his chest. “Oh god, no…Sammy!” He yelled as heran over, Castiel right behind him.

He pushedhis way through the gathered group of customers but his brother was nowhere insight.

“Hey!”Dean shouted to the vender. “Have you seen-”

“Getto the back of the line, squirt!” One already drunken customer yelled ashe shoved Dean out of the way.

“Thiscan’t be happening” Dean said as his chest started to heave with panic andhis eyes began to fill with tears that he had always felt he was never allowedto let fall.

“Dean,it’s going to be okay” Castiel’s steady voice assured him. “Look atme” he said as he placed both of his hands on Dean’s shoulders; the olderWinchester did as asked. “We will find him. We’ll split up. You go aroundthe left, and I’ll go around the right.”

“Okay”Dean said with a determined nod; now was not the time to freak out. He had tobe level-headed for Sammy’s sake.

The twoteens took off running. Dean tried to battle away all the horrible images thatwere running through his mind just to stop himself from crumbling. If anythingbad had happened to his baby brother he would never forgive himself; and hisfather certainly would not either.

The moreground he covered without sight of Sam the fuller of dread Dean became.

He turnedthe final corner, and at the far end of the otherwise desolate stretch he sawhis little brother backed up against the wall as a burly and clearlyintoxicated man loomed over him.

“Isaw the money, kid” he slurred. “Give it to me!"

"No!It’s my brother’s!” Sam retorted.

“Whyyou-” the man made a fist.

“Sammy!”Dean yelled as he sprinted towards them.

“De-”

The mantried to land a hit but Castiel seemingly appeared out of nowhere and pushedSam out of the way. The man’s fist hit the concrete wall with a sticking crackand he cried out with pain.

“Sammy”Dean breathed as he reached his brother and pulled him into a relieved hug.

“Youasshole!” The man yelled at Castiel.

He triedto swing at the teen with his other fist, but Castiel seemed unfazed and readyas he ducked and then straightened up to land a punch square on the man’s nose.

The manstumbled backwards.

“I’llkill you!” He shrieked. “I’ll kill all you little runts!”

“Idon’t think you will” Castiel said as grabbed the man’s shoulders andpulled him down to slam his knee into the man’s chest. The man fell to theground. “Remember this before you dare to try and hit or steal from achild ever again!”

“Whoa,Cas” Dean said as he and Sam had been watching with wide eyes. “How’dyou learn how to fight like that?”

“Mybrother’s name is Lucifer; you probably don’t want to ask why.”

“Whatare we going to do about him?” Sam asked nervously.

“Leaveit too me” a voice called; Dean would know it anywhere.

Theyturned around to see Gunner Lawless stood at an open fire exit door.

“C'mon,boys, inside. I’ll get medical to take care of him.”

Dean,Sam, and Castiel all quickly hurried over and followed Gunner inside where theyall huddled into the dressing room.

Dean’sbreath caught; it was really like a dream come true, he just wished it had nothappened under these circumstances.

“Areyou boys alright?” Gunner asked. “I heard all the commotion but mytight ass management wouldn’t let me check it out.”

“We’refine” Castiel responded as Dean seemed too star-struck to talk. “If alittle bruised” he said as he clenched his throbbing fist.

“Ah,well I believe I have something to make sure you take less damage nexttime” Gunner said as he grabbed one of his gloves. “You beat up a guyalmost twice as big as you for the sake of a kid, I think you deserve a littlesomething.”

“Wow.Thank you, sir” Castiel breathed as he took the glove and admired everysingle stitch.

“Andhow does front row sound to all of you, huh? I’ll get my manager to leave thetickets at the front.”

“Thatwould be amazing!” Dean grinned. “I-I mean, thank you, S-Sir. I’m ahuge fan.”

“Yes,thank you” Castiel said. “We’ll need four tickets if that’salright."

"Nota problem” Lawless grinned. “You deserve it. I’m sorry but, I have toget ready now.”

“Ofcourse, we don’t want to put you off or anything” Dean said as he grabbedhis brother and Castiel and started ushering them out of the room. “Goodluck, Mister Lawless, we’ll be rooting for you!”

“I’mcounting on it” Gunner chuckled.

The threeboys wandered down the hall for a moment before Dean felt it necessary to stopand lean against the wall.

“Ohmy god, I just breathed the same air as Gunner Lawless” he gushed.

“Yeah,and all it took was for me to nearly get beat to a pulp” Sam huffed.

“Whathappened exactly?” Castiel asked.

“Iwas just holding the money ready to make an order when that guy must have seen.He tired to grab my arm but I slipped out. He started following me so Ipanicked and ran. I tripped and he caught up with me.”

“Sammy,I’m so sorry” Dean said feeling the guilt that seemed to be always lurkingabout in him claw its way up. “I shouldn’t have made you go off byyourself. If Cas hadn’t gotten there when he did-”

“Buthe did” Sam stressed as he took his brother’s hand. “So it doesn’tmatter. Maybe he’s our guardian; just like the angel Castiel!”

“Hush,you mustn’t blow my cover” Castiel teased with a finger to his lips.

“God,Cas, thank you so much” Dean said as he hugged the other teen again.“You’re a real badass!”

“Itry” Castiel said with a smile. “There’s need to thank me; I only didwhat I hope others would have too.”

“Andplease don’t blame yourself” Sam said to Dean; he knew exaclty how hisbrother’s mind worked. “It’s nobody’s fault but that idiots.”

“Iknow” Dean reassured him. “Actually, it’s Cas’ fault for being sohot.”

“That’shardly something I can help-”

“Guys!Please don’t start flirting again” Sam said as he covered his ears.“It’s gross.”

“Weshould go and get the tickets and find my brother” Castiel said.

“Alright.Sammy, you sure you’re okay to stay? We can go home if you want to” Deansaid seriously.

“No.I’m fine, Dean. I promise. I’ve been really looking forward to to this and Iknow you have too. You deserve to have some fun. You do.”

“Okay”Dean smiled at his little brother. “Let’s go.”

This timewhen he held his little brother’s hand, Sam did not protest. And nor did Deanwhen Castiel took hold of his too.

Dean wassure that he had never felt so exhilarated as he watched Gunner Lawless rise tovictory. He found himself completely consumed by the hyped atmosphere aroundhim as he jumped up and down from his seat, clapping and cheering at eachmove that Gunner made.

He wishedthat his dad was there to see it, but he was having a good time with Sam, Cas,and Cas’ brother; who Dean did not think seemed scary at all. He was relievedto see that Sammy was enjoying himself too; the horror of earlier seemedforgotten as he reflected his older brother’s excitement.

AfterLawless delivered his final move and his opponent laid groaning on the floor,Dean was sure that he was one of the ones cheering the loudest as Gunner wasconfirmed the winner.

As Gunnerwalked around the ring and basked in his fans cheering, Dean swore that hewinked at him. The older Winchester blushed profusely.

What anight.

When itwas time to leave Sam and Dean followed Castiel and his brother into theparking lot.

“Hey,Cas, don’t suppose I could buy that glove off you?” Dean only half-joked.“It’s sorta been my dream…I-I mean you every right to keep it because ofwhat you did, but-"

"Youcan have it” Castiel said with a small smile. “But I don’t wantmoney. I’d like a kiss, if you are willing?”

Dean’smouth fell open a little. Castiel was very beautiful and damn, seeing him kickass had made Dean feel warm inside. It was not too much to ask, as for Dean akiss from Castiel would bring him great pleasure too.

“Ithink I can manage that” he smiled.

They bothleaned in and locked their lips together. Dean closed his eyes and relished inthe heart-warming sensation. There was a natural spark which could not bedenied, and Dean found himself lusting for more.

WhenCastiel pulled away Dean immediately felt as if something was missing and hewhimpered softly.

“Ihope we will meet again” Castiel said as he handed Dean the glove.

“I’llmake sure of it” Dean replied. He traced his fingers along the glove withawe and silently swore to hang on to it forever.

Castielsmiled warmly. “Goodbye, Sam. Remember to keep my secret safe” hewhispered.

“Youcan count on me” Sam said determinedly.

Castielwent to join his brother in their car, but he turned to the Winchesters and wavedbefore getting inside.

Sam andDean waved back and watched the car drive into the distance before starting tomake their own way back.

“So,is he your boyfriend now?” Sam asked as he took Dean’s hand.

“Nah”Dean said a little disappointedly. “But who knows? Maybe if I pray reallyhard.”

“Wellhe is an angel; I’m sure he’ll hear you.”

Deanlaughed and shook his head. “Never become a teenager, Sammy. That’s whenyou start to lose belief.”

“Well,I believe that dad is going to kill us if we don’t hurry back” Sam said.“He must be close to done by now.”

“Ah,well, even if he does find out it will have been worth it” Dean claimed.

“Becauseof a glove?” Sam asked with a frown.

“No.Because of a kiss.”

#destiel #destiel fanfiction #destiel au #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #my stuff #curious writes

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lyriumlotus · 7 years ago

Text

A New Dawn: Asunder

CHAPTER TWO: {A day on the town and to new friends} (AO3)

After some furious scrubbing and a long relaxing soak, into fresh clothing, Amanita felt a great deal better. The defeated mood from earlier had all but left her, along with the dirt and grime of the past few days.

Now, she stood, outside of her dorm building, hands on hips,

breathing in lungfuls of fresh air and basking in its dazzling clear blue sunlight.

Blue sunlight may have been a bit of a stretch, for the sky actually shimmered many colours.

Soft hues of blue, pink , green and purple.

Though the city from outside of the gates, seemed hidden in mist,

Inside its giant protective walls was another story altogether.

Magic, no doubt was what contributed to this strange weather pattern.

For outside the walls, it was nearing the end of Winter.

Whilst within, it felt and smelt, more like the middle of summer.

Further into the City, well past the many towns and buildings,

she spied the main.. Palace? Kingdom?

Whatever they called it, the heart of the great New Dawn Arlathan.

Where it was said that Mythal still in some form or other guided and watched over her people,

along with her fierce general Fenharel and his compassionate heart, at his side.

Though, Amanita didn’t much expect she would ever be allowed to venture so far into that domain,

since it was more heavily guarded and protected then the rest of the city seemed to be.. she instead, contented herself with being thankful for being allowed to wander the city freely, as was.

Making her way down a smaller pebbled street, she spent her time, stopping to marvel at the occasional mosaic mural or highly decorative water fountain, with half a dozen rainbow coloured fish that swam and danced around its crystallised blue and pink water lilies.

Dipping a finger into the cool fresh water, she realised with a start, that the fish were not even real, as their images rippled into a blur of muted colour, before settling again when the waters calmed.

Bizarre thing to spend magical energies on. She mused.

The warm scent of baked bread was enough to draw her attention away shortly after,

and, following the direction of said scent, tummy rumbling all the while no less,

brought her out into yet another market area.

It was possible, she realised, that the market area she had first spied upon entering the city, was not infact the main one at all.. and that.. the city itself was large enough, that many of them were probably scattered throughout.

This one was smaller then the last though.

And apparently, happened to be occupied by many bakers and sweet candied sellers.

She passed by delicacies unfamiliar to her, written in eloquent names that she dared not even attempt to speak.

Many looked familiar enough all the same, with glazed custard fruit tarts, jams, creams and sugar coated pastries and bread rolls.

She simply had to try one, her stomach informed her urgently.

Else she might keel over from being so famished.

Digging into her robes, she fished out her coin pouch and drew nearer to the next stall.

Eyes already set on the freshly displayed breads. Still cooling away on their racks.

“Excuse me? If I may. How much for one of the loaves?” She asked the ruddy cheeked burly male setting the newest batch into the oven. He side eyed her, pulling off his gloves then tossing them to the side “Bought seven coins, Miss. For the smallest ones” He gestured to the ones off to the side.

Amanita rummaged out the coins needed and handed them to him with a smile.

Accepting the wrapped bounty. She thanked him, then stopped at another stall, to buy a slab of wrapped butter.

As she awaited her change.

She felt a presence behind her, and a deeply rich male voice spoke, alittle too close to her ear causing her to jump. “You know, he overcharged you a helluva lot back there, right?”

She spun to face him,

finding herself staring into the face of one particularly handsome young male elf.

Skin as dark as dark skin could be and a lopsided smile, revealing dazzling whites to match.

Dark hair that fell in tousled locks across amber eyes much like her own. eyes that were currently alight with mischief, as he clearly enjoyed her reaction… Gold earrings lined both pointed ears and gold bangles decorated his naked arms and wrists. Strange clothing attire… he’d clearly ripped the sleeves off, unless some place somewhere sold clothing already made like this.

No. Impossibly silly thought, in any given era.

Topped off with fingerless leather gloves and well fitted leather-skin trousers . He certainly wasnt one of the Ancient Elvhen, yet neither did he appear to be Dalish by any means.

“P-Pardon???” She blinked. Confused.

He pointed to the wrapped bread loaf she held dearly.

“Ole swindler sells those loaves for three coin. Yet he charged you seven.

Total stingy bastard. You gotta keep your wits about you, y’know?

Unless you want some of these assholes walking all over you…

because…. trust me.. If they can, they will. “

A wink as he continued;

“Next time I suggest the baker around the corner there. Shes a sight prettier and treats all customers fairly and equal regardless of where they may come from..”

Well, she didnt know what to say to all of that.

“I- I’m new here.. “ She dipped her head in a light bow

“Amanita Lavellan. And you are?”

“Ahh”

He bowed in turn

“It’s an honour to meet one of Clan Lavellan. I am Ellas’elera, and I hail from Rivain, Incase you couldn’t already tell”

She couldn’t, honestly, but she wasn’t going to admit as much.

“Well, Thank you, Ellas’elera, I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to buy anything”

He beamed.

“I take it, Miss Lavellan, that being new to the area, means you don’t particularly know anyone here yet either? Eh?”

She shook her head “Just Amanita is fine, & yeah I only arrived the other day to be honest” “We’ll, My friend and I, are much like yourself, ‘outsiders’, you see. So you’re quite welcome to join us if you’d like? And, if you ain’t got nuthin’ else goin on that is?”

“Truly? You wouldn’t mind?” She tilted her head, peering up at him surprised.

Hardly wanting to say no to such a request. It never hurt to know more people. He shook his head

“Nah. Won’t mind at all. I know it can be quite unsettling to be the new kid in town.”

He rubbed his chin, thoughtful like,

“I’ve been here almost a full two seasons.. and Lailani, at least half the year now….”

He waited till she pocketed her coin pouch, then offered to carry her butter.

“We were just sitting down for a break, ourselves anyway”

He called over his shoulder as he started leading the way.

She noticed the sword strapped to his back this time, as she followed behind

“Oh.. A Swordsman?”

“Did the sword give me away?”

He laughed, slowing enough for her to keep pace

“What style do you practice?”

She asked curiously, because there was a saying that you could tell a lot about a person by their craft and class, and also, because a class was how many made their coin or provided for their families.

He took a moment to answer her, mainly because they had to cut through a crowd of students on their way to or from class. A scattering of spirits, mingled in amongst them.

“Swordplay?, Wouldn’t really say I practice one method.”

“Oh?”

“Well, If a style of swordplay interests me… I will study and learn what parts appeal to me , then leave out the rest… the junk… until I find another style and another.. Its… ‘mixed’ swordplay. If you will.“ “I had no clue there was such a thing as mixed swordplay...”

“Didn’t really see much point in learning an entire single method, when most swordsman tend to favour few techniques, rather then incorporate all teachings into each battle anyway. We always stick with what works best for us I guess. Only difference I have, is learning enough of other styles to give me an edge if one style doesn’t work on an opponent. Or, If my opponent gets accustomed to my current technique, I can always then switch it up to one he or she isn’t so familiar with.

…. Make sense?” He looked to her.

“I- Yes…. Yes it does” Smart. She would have to consider trying some of this as well.

“And what of you?” He nudged her lightly

“Trained in the methods of the Rogue. Not strong enough for combat with swordplay, but I’m pretty good with daggers” She pipped up.

Her Clan had often called her nimble and proficient.

Straight for the kill or slowly wear down the heavy hitters until they made a single mistake, was her usual methods.

She was proud of her talent.

A talent that also took her away from the Clan for a time when the Great War began.

“Ahh.. Got it. So don’t go pissin` you off any time soon then aye? You Rogues are well known for being a helluva crafty bunch after all” He teased before pointing to a large open gate, leading into a massive courtyard garden, about three open field sizes in length.

She followed through, taking in the odd beauty of the place.

Some elves sat on the soft kept lawns and others sat on marble benches and seats,

surrounded on all sides by greenery and strangely bizarre flowers of every size and colour imaginable.

“What is this place? I’ve never seen anything like it...” She gasped

“Hmm?” Ellas’elera followed her gaze “Ah yes, Really something else. Isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“They call it something like ‘Paradise of the people’ , but really, Its sort of more like some kinda garden experiment workshop.”

She shot him a confused look.

And He continued trying best to explain.

“None of these flowers, or plants can be found in the wild. Everything you see here was created by someone with magic. Powerful magic. Even the lawn you walk on, if you could believe it”

He chuckled plucking one of the flowers they passed, only for it to magically dissolve from between his fingertips and regrow itself to the plant it was plucked from, within mere seconds.

Amanita nearly bumped into him, for getting distracted by the magically self growing flora.

“But… its the closest thing you’ll get to actual nature here.. So hence.. its where Lailani and I, usually spend a good deal of our free time.. especially, when we find ourselves alittle homesick”

He commented.

As bizarre a place as it was, she could see his meaning behind it.

Nothing like home, but better all the same, then nothing at all.

Ahead of them, sitting alone at one of the marble tables, by one of the gardens statued dragon fountains, another equally beautiful elf shot up their hand, waving the two over.

This surely must be Lailani, Amanita realised.

Ellas’elera took one of the benched seats, tapping the empty space beside him, for Amanita to join them.

“Lailani, This is Amanita Lavellan. …. Amanita, this is Lailani Lyandria”

Lailani looked to her, a soft smile on her even softer face

“Hello.”

“Its wonderful to meet you, Lailani…. And .. Lyandria? I don’t believe I have heard the name before” She sat, placing the bread down.

“Thats probably because its not actually a real one..” Ellas’elera commented, elbows on table, chin propped in his hands.

“It is real, in a way. I took it for myself.” Lailani responded, shy blush to her face as blue eyes twinkled with wonder. “Originally, I came from Orlais. And as you could probably imagine.. my kind didn’t exactly have the best living conditions there. I belonged to a older Mistress. She died not long before the war. Old age, I think.

After it, when the masters fell. I left the city and travelled, taking the pilgrimage here with others of my kind until we found our new home, in the free marches.”

“Then its a beautiful name, and it suits you perfectly” Amanita concluded. It was, a big deal for city elves to have an identity of their own, after all. Naming oneself probably helped give them back a piece of that power and freedom over themselves that was once taken away. It was a small, but tremendously powerful step in a better direction at least.

“And you? Lavellan? Does this mean you knew or grew up with the Lady Herald, Lavellan?”

“Wellll… We came from the same clan, yet it would be a great mistruth to say I knew her…

In actual truth, we barely spoke. She was first inline to eventually be Clans Keeper, after all.. A mage of her talents.. So for the majority of her time.. she was under Clan Keepers teachings.”

Amanita unwrapped her breadloaf and, slipping a flipknife from her inner pockets, proceeded cutting the bread, and then the butter , to place in the centre of the table, offering the other two to help themselves.

“I was rogue, also.. So.. a good deal of my own time in the Clan was hunting or foraging for food, or… you know… keeping lookout for human groups or demons that wandered too close.”

She finished, smearing a generous amount of butter onto one of the thick slices of bread.

By the Forbidden Gods, did it smell so good.

She had to quickly tuck in, lest the butter, warmed by the bread, could dribble down her fingers.

Not a difficult thing to do, since it tasted even better then it smelt.

Ellas’elera took no convincing, comfortably helping himself, whilst an embarrassed tummy grumbling Lailani needed to be encouraged further to help herself by Amanita,

insisting she wouldn’t feel comfortable, if they both didnt eat too.

They spent the next hour or so, talking and laughing over silly things. Mostly about what brought them all here.

Ellas’elera, was looking to hone his skills and techniques more, and to also teach something in return.

Lailani was a gifted mage who was teaching the young ones, alternative magic. For they were after all, awoken or born into a world where every other inhabitant had entirely different styles of battle and its laws and rules, to what their parents or elder teachers had once known, before their long slumber.

And Amanita. Well. She sighed, describing how she had come to teach, how the Dalish lived.

Their stories and their history. Only to be met with an empty classroom.

“How Am I to teach. When no one wants to listen?” She asked the other two.

Ellas’elera spoke first.

Taking the sword from his back, to lovingly admire its craftsmanship.

There are rune markings carved into its steel and they light up briefly when his fingers brush across them, as if responding to their wielders touch like a loving pet.

“Y’know, I had the same trouble when I arrived here too.. No one wanted to bother with an outsider, though no one out right dared say so of course…. So instead, I went asking about,

trying to find who the best of the best was.

The most respected teacher of swords here.

Ended up in one of his classes, eventually.

They called him Teacher Sahren, ironically enough. “ He chuckled some, remembering back to the encounter.

“So, I go in there, acting alittle more arrogant then usual. Knowing full well this would probably get Teacher Sahren to notice and try to make an example of me to the other unruly arrogant students there. Which he did.” Ellas’elera sheathed the sword to his back, again.

“Only, didn’t quite work out so well, did it?

Well for him, it didn’t. For me? It worked out wonderfully for me.”

That deviously cheeky grin had returned to his face once more.

Amanita had to resist reaching over to pinch his cheek.

Instead contending herself to listen to the rest of the story.

“So, He brings me to the front of the entire class, offers me a dullen blunt sword and requests that I try to best him in sword to sword combat, against his own equally dullen blade.

I obliged, then, repeatedly disarmed the man, infront of his very own students.

No small act by any means I assure you, as he hadn’t garnered that kind of reputation for nothing.

He eventually lost his cool after I showed him up the seventh or eight time though,

and kicked me out cursing and sneering in pure rage, the whole while.

By the next morning, rumour had already spread, and sure enough,

I arrive to find I have actual students, ready and eager to learn something new.

Do they respect me more? Probably not…

Buuut… they hold their tongues and they tolerate me alot better now, at least.

You just gotta find the right angle though, give them something they haven’t seen or have need or use of, and they’ll eventually come around.”

Lailani nodded when he finished then turned to her and spoke.

“Children are usually more ready to accept new things then older people, so I chose to work with them. I love children, even back when I was a slave, some would sneak me treats and delicious food, when their parents weren’t looking. I had minded or taught some of the human children, back when I was young too. So I had alittle experience, and knew this was what I wanted to do.

They are usually very bright and always always curious… They ask so many questions.. and are forever eager to learn. Smarter then most elders I’ve ever known too.. Myself included at times.” She smiled lightly

“I was even able to teach them how to use their magical abilities to create art.

You see, Ice mages can make ice sculptures. Fire mages can use their magic to create blown glass art. Those with the ability to create and make lightning are even learning to fashion art from something so simple as dry sand, that, if you could believe it, actually turns into stone crafts, and those with healing, regenerative magic, are learning how to repair and rejuvenate damaged art pieces or even the occasional furniture or decorative piece they may accidentally break at home.

Soon, we are going to practice teaming up in groups, to see what mixed magic can be created together!”

Amanita could tell from the way Lailanis’ eyes lit up as she spoke, that she really was passionate about working with children. And why not. They are the future, after all, and it was exciting to imagine how different the world would be under their leadership and guidance, should the older generations of any people, not hinder their progress in any way.

“I even make my own art from time to time, using my fire crafting, which I sometimes sell down at the markets… makes quite a bit of gold for me too, because theres always someone looking to own something unique or different in their homes”

She beamed at the other two then took a sip of her honeyed drink.

“Thats a clever idea, I should look into finding work here too.. I mean, I know we get paid decent enough coin, regardless, for our time here, enough to cover shelter and food.. but it wouldn’t hurt to make alittle more, and keep busy so I don’t look or feel like some kind of slacker”

Ellas’elera snapped his fingers

“Oh, right! You know you could try down at the Culture and economic centre, right?

The Guidance volunteers down there, are the people who helped implement the ‘cultural exchange’ plan, between our peoples, in the first place. Well, there’s another centre there that also helps resettle their own people into jobs or find work that suits them. I’m sure they’d help you as well, if your willing. Can take you down there myself, tomorrow too if ya like?.

I have some letters to send home, anyway. “

Amanita nodded “Yes. Thank you! That would help me a great deal!”

The rest of the day, Ellas’elera and Lailani both, had shown her around the city.

Not the entire city, for it was too large an area to cover, but the general area in which she lived, or would be working. in order to help her know her way around.

They had Various Bars, Scholar classes, Political podiums where they would all gather to debate.

Art museums, Libraries.. so many libraries.. builders working on newer structures, armour and weapon craftsmen, the market places too, were many in number, she thought she would become dizzy, trying to remember everything. They also showed her how she could use the mosaic or mural artworks on the city walls to help know her way around, if she couldnt read the ancient peoples words on the street and city signs, as that was what they themselves usually did.

And her own building, was easier then she realised, to find. since it was on the very outskirts of the city.. Meaning she only had to follow the massive castle walls surrounding the city , until she recognised her own street.

They finally bid her farewell when the light of day started to dim, and she hugged them both, thankful for their patience and general kindness towards her.

When they left, she wandered around by herself for a while, just enjoying the scenery really,

as the lights from the other night, started to slowly brim to life under her very aching feet.

Most elves paid her little mind, though she did see a few side eye her or downright stop and stare..

but she ignored them for the most part in return, smiling only at those who smiled to her.

She was fascinated by their fashion. It seemed that mages and scholars usually donned thick full-bodied robes, some, like that Abelas guy, wore gold plaited armour.

Most of them, carried weapons.. not that she remembered Abelas or the first Elvhen she met, having any. Others didnt dress all that much differently from her own peoples. Though their symbols or sewn in patches were of different things to what the Dalish had.

Most of them were bald too. The women, children and men.

Those that had hair, usually had exceptionally long blonde, of white, red, black or brown locks,

wrapped up in bundles, braided or plaited and held back with gold or silver, feathers or flowers of varied hair ornaments. Kinds she hadnt even seen worn from wealthy Orlesian folk.

Though, she imagined, if any ‘had’ the chance to visit here, they would be quick to take these new ‘savage’ styles back with them.

Thankfully, the elvhen were very particular about whom they allowed into their gates.

Mind you, despite this, she believed, she had seen the occasional dwarf or Tal vashoth amongst the crowds too. So, clearly, it wasnt only elves, that were accepted into here.

Finally when she believed her feet could carry her no more, did she return to her building.

Eating what last remained of her bread and butter, then turning in for the night.

All things considered. It hadnt been a terrible day.

She had her work cut out for her, in regards to not having any students yet,

but at least she met some wonderful new friends.

And the city still held many wonders and possibilities to explore and see.

Tomorrow morning, she would see about getting work.

Tonight however? She would sleep like the dead.

#abellan #abelas/lavellan #a new dawn asunder #abelas #lavellan #abelavellan #ANDA

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flange5 · 8 years ago

Note

Ok let's talk about make up, specifically lipstick. I love the idea of it in the same way that I love nail polish specifically because it allows me to wear crazy colors, but I also cannot seem to figure it out??? Like how do I chose lipstick that looks good for my skin? Do I have to start wearing other make up now too like foundation? That seems way too time consuming. Sorry, I guess I had more feels about this than I thought and you seem very knowledgeable on the subject.

Honestly, I can’t pretend to be an expert, but I’ll give you a quick run-through of what I know from experience.

First, mildly amusing story-up until 5 years ago, all of my lip cosmetics were pretty much natural or neutral, because I was convinced that red was just too ... much for my skin/look, until I was hanging out with my friend who has much darker skin than mine, but very similar undertones, and who always wears fabulous red lipsticks (She’s a Chanel/Dior kind of person) and she got me to play with hers and a month later, I had a burgeoning collection.

So here are some of the things to kind of be aware of:

1) Your skin undertones and how they interact with other colors-

Just like some awesome hair colors don’t play nice with different skin-colors, the same thing applies to lipsticks. Being aware of how undertones interact with your skin tones is tricky, but essential. What someone calls neutral may not be on your skin. So, knowing if you have warm or cool undertones is a good thing, and you may want to avoid colors that either are or have strong undertones of the complementary color (color wheel!) of your predominant undertones. I, for example, have a lot of yellow undertones in my skin, but for the most part, my blue to neutral red lipsticks don’t accentuate that. I love the idea of more berry or orchid-toned lipsticks, but. they. all. make. me. look, like. a. 2. days. disinterred. corpse. Basically, this green/yellow undertone in my skin roars to life when its complement is on the field of play. This is why you will rarely see me in polish in these colors and never in lipsticks, though Besamé’s new Orchid lipstick makes me want to try one. more. time.

Honestly, think about the colors you like to wear for *clothes*, and which ones you know you shouldn’t even stand near (for me, melon, salmon, mulberry, fuchsia, most purples). Avoid these colors on your lips bc yeah, right there on your face and the same color issues apply. The trickier part is undertones-a blue-red lipstick and an orange-red lipstick are going to look radically different on your face. It’s not fool-proof, but if you wouldn’t wear a blue shirt because it makes the circles under your eyes look like they have baggage, or it turns you yellow or orange or green or ashy, etc., chances are you want to avoid not only blue lipstick but also blue undertoned neutrals, pinks, and reds. (there are distinctions of course-sky blue and navy might be radically different next to your fact, and you want to translate that to your guess if a color would look good. A good dramatic but fairly clean of orange or blue undertones red would be Besamé Victory Red. It’s a smidge cool, but I suspect it would look good on most skintones. Chanel Pirate is another super-kind red, but Chanel prices are ... Chanel prices :P

So basically, I can’t wear this because it’s pretty much guaranteed to contrast with and thus bring out my yellow/green undertones bc of its pink/purple cast

I’m good with blues, though, so a blue-undertoned red like Cherry Red is just fine for me

Though there’s a blue/cool undertone, there’s no purple cast to it, so I can wear it and its even pinker, cooler cousin, American Beauty, which is about as close to purple or berry as I can go.

My personal perfect red Victory Red, fairly neutral and flattering on most skin tones, I suspect. It’s close to Cherry Red, but a bit brighter, lighter, and has less blue in it. Its neutrality with regards to orange, brown, or blue undertones makes it pretty kind to most complexions.

2) by themselves most lipsticks won’t look exactly like their swatch colors because your natural lip pigment matters. If you want a closer match, wear foundation/concealer on your lips to give yourself a more neutral base for your lip-color. If you’re worried about feathering or other color integrity issues, a lipliner is a good idea.

3) I am a firm believer that red is for everyone, but again, being aware of your skin’s undertones can help you pick out one that won’t make you feel sallow, ashy, bruised-looking, or washed out. For me, once I got a very vibrant hair-color, bold lips were pretty much a necessity, because I really do look really washed out in more subtle or natural colors.

4) If you have a creme lipstick and worry about transfer (definitely a bigger deal with bolder colors), I recommend one light coat, blotting with tissue, a thin dusting of translucent powder (I use NYX’s translucent Finishing powder, which Target and Ulta sell for $10), then a second coat of the lipstick. It wears really well. If you have a steady hand for application and will not tolerate any transfer at all, I *strongly* recommend BeautyBakerie’s liquid lipsticks which I can put on at 8am and take off at 10pm with only a tiny touchup after eating in the inner circle of the lips. They have matte (x) and metallic (x) colors and typically swatch on three different skin-tones. Their instagram page is also a great place to see what the colors look like on various skin-tones.

5) I love mattes, but take care of your lips when using them whether liquid or traditional bc they dry/chap the hell out of your lips generally. I’m a fan of tokyomilk dark’s lip balms (x), which come in a large tin for $7 at Sephora and which I can put on at night and have soft lips in the morning. Scrubs to exfoliate occasionally are good, and you can buy them or if you’re feeling crafty you can make your own pretty affordably out of exotic items like honey and sugar and coconut oil. Google lip sugar scrub recipes and go wild. I am lazy and use Fresh’s lip scrub, which is about $24 (x)

6) It’s going to look weird if it’s something you don’t usually do, so when trying a new look/color/color family you are really looking less for ‘DOES MY FACE LOOK WEIRD TO ME’ (it will) than do I look suddenly more tired, sallow, bruised about the eye and other thin-skinned areas, or unnaturally fluorescent? You want to see if the lipsticks are drawing out undertones you like/don’t like in your skin. Again, 2 frames can help you predict this-1) the Color Wheel, and avoiding colors that are/have strong undertones of the complementary or opposite color to your own undertones, and 2) colors that look good/bad on you in clothes--those colors or colors (reds/pinks/neutrals, whatever, with strong undertones of those colors will probably have similar effects on your skin-so if you can’t for the life of you wear orange shirts of any stripe, you likely don’t want a red-orange lipstick and coral may or may not be your best bet either-you’d want to try it out and see how strong the warm vs cool undertones were.

Everyone also has exceptions, so be willing to go to a Sephora or other place that has samples and have a good time. If the actual product is too expensive, write its brand and color name down, and google “XXX dupes” to see if there’s a more affordable color in the same color range. Win!

I don’t know if this was at all helpful, but I hope it was :)

#cosmetics #lipsticks #Anonymous

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artificialqueens · 8 years ago

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saint in the city ch.2 (katlaska) - comeapart

a/n: angst angst angst and also smut. i write the blues so you don’t have to. i should’ve specified before that alaska is a orthopaedic clinical nurse specialist and katya is the head (trauma) surgeon. it’s becoming more increasingly clear that my interests in both drag queens and medicine are clashing. (ch.1 here)

If Alaska had to rank her ideas from the smartest to the stupidest, this was a solid eight. But realistically, changing her scrubs to reveal more cleavage wasn’t that bad. Changing her bra might’ve been, but she had to compensate. If she didn’t have long blonde hair and eyebrows arched to the heavens, people pointed out the androgyny that stayed in her features and form. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but years of public school bullying and the unfortunate term long phase where she only wore fishing boots and boy clothes didn’t exactly give her confidence.

She knocked twice. The fact that she had put thought into it was almost embarrassing, but she was always embarrassing. Having a crush just made it more obvious. She let herself in quietly, smiling and waving her hand as she looked over. Katya was sat alone behind her desk, a cling-film wrapped sandwich balanced carefully on a binder and a paper cup that was now empty balanced on the edge, with files lining the small space between her and her computer. Alaska probably stopped breathing for a second there.

“Yes?” Katya hummed, not even bothering to look up from the notes she was making. Even in the simplest of conversation, she had an accent. Alaska was a sucker for accents, and Russian was one of the prettiest languages she could imagine, if she was the kind of person with enough concentration to actually learn a language and not just get into it because it sounded hot in that one foreign porn Willam had sent her. Actually, the more she thought about it, the more she suspected Willam had seen Katya earlier. The cup matched the one Willam had brought her when she came to collect the theatre appointments, and it wasn’t from the same floor they were on either.

“Hi, Katya.”

“Oh,” she said, head still tilted down to focus on her paperwork, “Hello.” She was still frowning slightly, a crease showing between her eyebrows, which Alaska very carefully chose to believe was a reaction to her work and not to her presence. She could’ve missed it at a different angle, with her fringe carefully covering it.

“I have referrals for you,” Alaska said quietly, handing over the two files. “Spine and a leg. Willam said she wanted you to have it. The spine is Scout Jefferson. She’s a sixteen-year old girl with adolescent scoliosis, with a history of hand numbness, intermittent pyrexia and weight loss of ten pounds. The MRI revealed that her spine has been getting worse, and over the span of two months, it’s had an increased curve. I- well, my team and I - think that she’s a candidate for surgery.”

“Sixteen… Are you sure?” Katya asked, opening the file up and deciding to completely ignore the other that she had left on the desk. Somehow, Alaska could imagine that Willam would end up with that case later.

Alaska kept her smile, even though she knew that Katya was doubting her ability to judge. She liked Katya a lot, but she did wish that she hadn’t picked up the habit of implying that she rushed into things. She knew what she had to do. She wouldn’t have gotten her job on levels of incompetence. “I’m sure,” she nodded, watching as Katya put the file to the side and looked up at her properly for the first time all day.

“Okay. I’ll give her details to my secretary.”

“Thank you,” Alaska said carefully, standing up. At the doorway she paused for a moment, biting her lip and taking another shot in the dark, “I don’t know if you want to, but on Friday, Willam and Courtney and I are going to see the Harry Potter movie, and if you wanted to, or if you like, uh, liked-”

“I don’t care about Harry Potter,” Katya said, looking back down at the files on her desk. Alaska hated how she was completely unreadable, and she wished that she could master that expression too. She was too expressive, and she cared too much. She could feel her face fall, and that made her even more self conscious. Ever since Sharon, she had cared a little too much about things that nobody else noticed. She was embarrassing.

“Okay,” she murmured, letting herself out of the room. “Bye, Katya.”

By Friday, Alaska realised with a sense of survival and pride in her around half past seven that she was nearly done. She was overworked, but the four days off to follow would give her a second to recover. It didn’t even matter that she was on call for two of the days, because the idea of her bed was more than enough to keep her going. She had to stop wearing heels to work, because it killed her back. She got the discharges complete, dropping them off at Bianca’s desk, and snuck out of the back before anyone could stop her and ask her to do something, secretly thankful that Bianca wasn’t hovering with a last minute admission to process. Alaska was barely awake enough to actually manage. The amount of hours she had clocked up over the week were more than enough to cover the desperate need for a shopping trip at somewhere fancy and expensive over the weekend, and she knew that she would be able to get Willam to come with.

She checked her phone on her way out. It was 8:11, which felt early. She normally left around 9 or 10, sometimes later if needed. She wasn’t going to get in trouble for leaving, but she still managed to feel perpetual anxiety as she walked across the car park, scared that Bianca was going to track her down and tell her to come back. It wasn’t until she was halfway home until she actually let herself breathe, stretching out and turning the heat up in her shitty car. She wasn’t on call, and unless there was a genuine emergency, she was free until Wednesday eight AM.

She decided against stopping on her way back to get fresh food, making a mental note to text Willam and Courtney and guilt one of them into getting the groceries. She would just stop at the gas station on her way home, buy a jumbo pack of Cheetos, and feel a ridiculous amount of self pity as she ate them all in her bed. At the checkout, she picked up a bottle of fancy wine that she couldn’t pronounce the name of and a pack of menthols. The thought of being able to sleep for a whole four days straight was amazing, even if she’d managed to get scheduled for the entire weekend next week.

Once she was back, she dumped her things in her room and went to check the other rooms. Courtney and Willam were still at work, probably busy with work or finding somewhere to make out. She texted Willam with ‘guess where i am bitch’ in order to properly gloat. She put on Cyndi Lauper as loud as she could get away with at quarter to nine, stripping down to her underwear and deciding to shower. Willam wouldn’t be back until at least midnight, and Courtney was too nice to leave Willam alone at work, so she would pick up whatever hours she needed to stay with her.

When Alaska had first moved out to New York, she had come out and gone to college, living in shitty half-student accommodation that had managed to stay with her the entire way through med school. Her next apartment hadn’t been much better, with thinner walls and cheaper rent, and the third had been shared with Sharon, which was a change that she had never really been able to get used to. She was earning more than enough to live alone, in a nice place as well, but after she had lived with Sharon, she wasn’t able to switch back to being alone. Especially after the situation that relationship had left her with, with Courtney forcing her into bed rest to heal her wounds. It only made sense that she moved in as a third wheel, and saved all of them a lot of money. The best part about the shared apartment was that she only knew what Willam and Courtney sounded like having sex, and none of her other neighbours.

She changed into clean underwear once she was done in the shower, letting her hair fall to her back and not bothering to brush out the messy ringlets that were now showing through as she moved to the couch. She flicked through the endless channels that Willam paid for, settling on an episode of Scrubs. Courtney loved to poke fun at her for her choice in TV, because it was ridiculous that she worked full time at a hospital and then got home to watch shows about hospitals, but Alaska thought it was hilarious, and that JD was cute. She wanted Turk and JD to date, but she had seen it through hundreds of times, and knew that it wasn’t a realistic expectation. When people died, they played a sad song and then the credits rolled, and it was a nice change to hearing how things were going down in the hospital morgue from one of Courtney’s friends. Besides, Dr Cox was awesome, and no matter what Willam and Courtney said, she didn’t remind Alaska of anyone and they were dirty liars.

She stayed up a lot later than she had actually planned to, considering she had been ready to crash at any given moment a few hours ago. It was nearly one am when the doorbell rang, and Alaska nearly dropped the half-empty packet of Cheetos down herself. Willam hadn’t given her the warning text, so it couldn’t have been her roommates, and besides, they both had keys. Sometimes Sharon would try to come over, but after the very loud fight she had had with Courtney, Alaska was pretty sure that it wasn’t her. The doorbell rang again, with more urgency, before someone was actually knocking on her door.

She stood up, pulling on one of Willam’s hoodies and zipping it up to give herself some dignity before going to answer the door. She wished she had actually put on clothes after showering, but she liked to air dry. She was just going to send whoever it was away, anyway, unless it was someone who actually lived with her. She readjusted her bra a little, making sure the sheer fabric actually covered her up before leaning down and looking through the peephole. She nearly fell backwards trying to step back, shocked. Katya Zamolodchikova was outside of her door, her arms folded tightly over her chest and her nails tapping against her arm as she waited.

Alaska sighed, realising that her look was probably the least subtle thing possible before opening the door. “Hieee,” she hummed, watching as Katya turned to look at her. Alaska looked her up and down twice before raising a brow, biting her lip. Katya looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week, with her hair sticking up in every direction possible, and her eyes dark and lined with heavy bags. “Shit… are you okay?”

Katya nodded, clearly ignoring the actual question as she looked down at Alaska, trying not to stare at her impossibly long legs and the fact that she wasn’t wearing pants. The hoodie that she had put on barely covered the top of her thighs, and the panties that she was wearing barely managed to cover her dignity. Her parents would probably have killed her if they knew their perfect daughter had turned out like this. “Can I come in?” She asked, looking up at Alaska properly for the first time in what must’ve been years.

Alaska stepped aside, and Katya came in with the same jagged movements that showed in her look, her whole person lacking composure. It was like she wasn’t sure how to react to Alaska, like there was fear, or maybe regret. Alaska had never seen this side of Katya, with every single move she had ever seen calculated and cool and incredibly controlled. She looked down, and Katya’s hands were shaking, completely different to what she knew from the surgeon.

“Girl… What happened?” Alaska asked quietly, shutting the door behind them and looking up at her. Katya turned around, but didn’t respond. Instead, she moved forward, taking her hips, pushing Alaska tight up against the door and kissed her.

Alaska tried not to overreact. She really did. Out of all the possible explanations she could’ve thought of for Katya appearing at her door, this wasn’t the one she expected. At this point, she had completely accepted that Katya wasn’t into her, and the fantasy of her actually realising that she was head over heels for Alaska was completely unrealistic. Katya’s mouth was hot and hard and desperate and demanding, and she closed her hands around Alaska’s hips and dug her nails in deep.

“Hey- hey,” Alaska breathed, pulling back and trying to look at her, breaking away for a moment, “What are you-”

“Don’t,” Katya said, her accent thick as she kissed her again, nipping at her bottom lip. “C’mon, you want this. Don’t you want this?” The last was more of an agreement, Alaska kissing back in response, because yes, yeah, she had definitely wanted this. She had wanted this for years, since she had first seen Katya, and she was helpless under her touch. Katya was rocking her hips up against Alaska, and Alaska was fully prepared to wake up at any given moment. This was the stuff her wet dreams were made of. Alaska let out a little noise, moving her hand up to cup Katya’s face and into her hair, and Katya made what could only be described as a growling sound from her throat, tightening her fingers in the soft fabric of Willam’s hoodie, moving to pull the zip down and helping her shrug it off without once breaking the kiss.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Katya breathed, and Alaska had to stop herself from freaking out, because they were really actually definitely doing this, then. Alaska had sort of thought that if one day this ever happened, it would be after a stupid cheesy date with Katya where they talked shit on the food and tipped way too much, and it would actually be at Katya’s because Willam and Courtney lived with Alaska and that was too risky normally to bring back trade. But at the same time, she had been waiting and wanting for four years, and she didn’t really have any idea how that kind of relationship would’ve worked out considering. She pushed away from the wall, fumbling with the buttons on Katya’s work shirt and then at her pants, leading her through to her bedroom and suddenly hoping that she hadn’t left scrubs everywhere. She had a habit of trashing the place when she wasn’t expecting company.

She caught Alaska by surprise when she pushed her pants down, their mouths still caught together in a kiss, with Alaska’s arms pulled tightly around her neck, as close as she could get. It was another shock to step forward and realise that Katya had discarded her own underwear somewhere along the line, with nothing between them except Alaska’s stupid sheer bralette and a couple of ugly block bracelets that she had put on to fiddle with while she watched TV.

In the bedroom, they stood and kissed for a while, Katya’s hands firm on Alaska’s hips and dragging her in as closely as she could. Then Katya pulled away ever so slightly, mumbling into Alaska’s mouth, “I want to fuck you,” her breath hot against Alaska’s mouth. Alaska turned her head slightly, soft moans already threatening their way out as she gasped, letting Katya suck hot kisses down the line of her throat, not hard enough. Katya was too gentle, treating her like a princess, and it wasn’t fair.

“Alaska,” Katya mumbled, kissing her collarbone gently as she looked up, bringing Alaska back to the moment.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Of course,” Alaska said, trying to regain some composure as she looked down, catching Katya’s smile and biting her lip. That must’ve been the first time she had actually seen any real emotion on her face, something real and something that wasn’t icy. And it was all for Alaska, at least for a night.

Alaska twisted and moved under Katya’s touch, pressing up against Katya’s fingers and ah, fuck, Katya was good at this. She was well practised, and it made Alaska remember that she was one of many. This was only special to her. Alaska wrapped one arm up around Katya’s back, pressing her hand against the skin between her shoulder blades, and lifted her head up again to look up at her with heavy lids, straining until Katya leaned down and kissed her again, leaning down against her and almost crushing her as she moved.

“Hey, Katya-” Alaska breathed out, because Katya wouldn’t fucking stop, desperate and determined to find every corner of Alaska’s mouth with her own. “Katya, baby, are you al-”

“I’m fine,” Katya nearly hissed, moving back and readjusting her position before pulling Alaska in closer and starting to move her hand at the perfect angle with the same defined desperation, making Alaska moan out again and again beneath her. Alaska hadn’t realised, but Katya was getting herself off too, hand moving and synchronised with what she was doing to Alaska, and her breathing was starting to get ragged too. Before she could even offer to try and help, Katya’s hips were jerking forward and she slumped forward into Alaska’s shoulder, mumbling curse words in a language that Alaska couldn’t recognise against her skin.

Alaska barely had time to feel disappointed, though, as Katya was moving down and kissing her in all the right places on her way, slicking her tongue over the wetness, and that was it, Alaska was long gone. She arched her back and let out a soft whine of something incoherent, which was comforting as she was pretty sure that anything she could have possibly said would not have been appropriate for first time sex, relaxing her whole body back into the mattress. Katya pulled away, clearly not too worried with the situation as she swallowed, looking up at Alaska and smiling again. She was going to have to remember that for when Katya inevitably started ignoring her again, treating her as she always had.

Alaska reached out to try and pet the side of her face, but missed, instead clumsily patting at her neck and mumbling out a “Sorry,” before putting her hand back over her stomach carefully, suddenly aware of how naked she actually was. She hadn’t even taken her bra off, but it hid nothing, so it was almost like she wasn’t even wearing a bra.

Katya shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said, moving up on the bed again and lying down next to Alaska. It felt like something out of a dream. Katya was lying in Alaska’s bed, stretched out and beautiful and everything she had ever imagined from the woman beside her. Alaska reached out absently, running her nail along the bumps in Katya’s spine without paying any attention, bringing out a slight shiver and the question, “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Um,” Alaska said, ever so slightly confused. Katya had never once implied that she would ever want to spend time with her outside of necessary bounds. “Of course.”

They both moved, levering themselves under the blankets and stretching as Alaska turned off the light. Katya laid on her stomach, face turned so that she wasn’t looking at Alaska, but she didn’t complain when Alaska moved and curled up against her side, nuzzling as closely as possible into her forearm. She hadn’t pegged Katya as the kind to pass out immediately after sex, but she didn’t really mind. She had Katya Zamolodchikova naked and asleep in her bed, with her body still mildly aroused and her mouth still pleasantly tingling. They could find time to talk in the morning.

She was almost asleep too when her phone rang, inside her work trousers where she had left them across the room after getting home. For a moment, she didn’t move, before realising that something could’ve happened. The awful thing about working at a hospital was that human error was all too real, and that any patient she had could get seriously injured, could be taken in after an accident and end up in critical, or worse. She forced herself up out of the bed, leaving Katya asleep in her bed as she took the phone and walked into the bathroom, flipping the switch so that she could stare at herself in the mirror while she talked.

The phone flashed up as Willam, and she blinked twice before actually registering it. Willam never called with hospital business, considering they lived together, but it was nearly two in the morning and Alaska couldn’t think of any other reason as to why she was calling. She picked up and answered, keeping her voice low and looking back out at the bed. Katya still hadn’t even so much as twitched.

“Lasky, girl, have you seen Katya?” Willam asked, worry lacing her voice. Willam, who never spoke fast, was actually rushing her words. Alaska could feel her throat tighten.

“Um.” Alaska mumbled, looking at the bed again and pulling her arm over her body, trying to cover up. “Why?”

“The- Fuck, I’m definitely not supposed to tell you this, but who gives a shit? We live together, you’d find out somehow.” Willam started, and Alaska felt a little relief at the fact she still had some of her basic qualities to her. “The ER was short tonight, so they sent Katya down, and there was this girl with a case of swine flu. She was like, four years old, but her parents didn’t realise what had happened until it was late. The- Katya was there almost immediately, but the girl died.”

Alaska could feel the room getting colder around her, and she suddenly felt ill. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Willam sighed. She sounded tired, and Alaska could imagine. She’d been sent to the ER before, and some of the things she had experienced had changed her as a person. She could almost see Willam, pushing the ridiculous bouncy hair back and pacing around the room. “I guess Katya isn’t used to seeing death outside of surgery, I, uh, I guess? She took off quickly. I’m worried she’s going to have done something stupid, Trixie can’t even get hold of her.”

Too late, Alaska thought miserably, staring down at the sink. She wanted to wash her hands, or maybe drown herself. “I’m- I don��t, I’m sure she’s fine. She wouldn’t come to me anyway.” It wasn’t like she could admit this anyway, not for a few days. She would need a lot of wine and Courtney to talk her through what happened, and exactly why it wasn’t worth killing herself over.

“Yeah, I know. We’re all just worried. Sorry, baby, go back to sleep. Me and Court probably won’t be home till early,” Willam sighed.

“Bye,” Alaska mumbled, standing motionlessly for a moment as she watched Katya move in her sleep, tossing her head restlessly for a moment. A moment earlier, and this would’ve been amazing. Everything would have been okay, and Katya wouldn’t have still been the ultimate problem area in the complex life of Alaska Thunder.

After what felt like a lifetime, she crossed back into her bedroom and found new underwear, putting it on and wincing ever so slightly before she climbed back into the bed. Katya was stirring in her sleep, reaching around and mumbling things in hushed Russian. If nursing had taught Alaska anything, it was that warmth was good for shock, and she moved in close to her and let her adjust as she liked. She could deal with her own guilt later. For now, she had to think of Katya, and pretend that she had never gotten the call.

#alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #willam belli #courtney act #katlaska #witney #hospital au #tw hospitals #smut #comeapart #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au #saint in the city #submission

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