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shewhowillnotbenamed1 · 4 years ago

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I wanted to get this ‘Valentine’s Day’ piece out, even though it’s massively, supremely late. 😭It’s part of a longer piece (because I couldn’t stop writing it😶) and I’m still not sure whether or not it’s not terrible.😖

prompt list

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This couldn't be right.

Damian almost did a double take, his cool smirk withering when he glanced up, transfixed by the sleek storefront at the cross streets where he stood. Why on earth would Raven be in a place like this?

The building towered above the tottering sea of gray, black and blue below. And the mannequins in the display lorded over their dominion, propped loftily on their perches, arms and legs of impractical proportions, stilted at absurd angles.

And why would she summon him here?

His trousers began to buzz audibly and the shifting crowd of passersby jostled him closer to the glass. Damian delivered the faceless caricatures of the female form a final foreboding glare, before he reached down to free the device vibrating in his pocket. New Message. Raven. Apparently, it was urgent. He tapped the speech bubble icon with a fingertip and his jaw went slack.

I Need You.

The three words seemed etched into the surface of the screen. And they were more than enough to get him to take a deep breath and grasp the curved door handle, his jaw set, and wingtips marching determinedly onward.

The atmosphere inside the store was even more unexpected than the outside. When translated, the pounding music and low lighting read as more nightclub than boutique. It was completely impractical in Damian's view—how could anyone locate a price tag, let alone see the item they were intending to purchase? Although, after a few minutes of skulking around in the dark, he could see how the implementation of such a design was advantageous. With stealthiness like his, he wasn't in danger of being accosted by overly helpful employees hungry for commissions, before he located the heading of a dramatic script that read Dressing Rooms, and turned underneath it.

Down the row each stall had a flood light stationed above it, but only one appeared to be presently occupied: the corner room at the farthest end of the hall. And as he got closer he noticed it also appeared to be the largest. Damian glanced behind him and rapped on the door with a knuckle. And just as he began to wonder if he'd needed some sort of special knock or password prepared, the lock glowed black and unlatched itself.

"I'm here." The door creaked open and the floor groaned under his solid weight. Damian turned swiftly to shut it, growing steadily concerned.

"So what is it? What's the—big emergency..." He started, but his tongue began to feel heavy and leaden inside his rapidly drying mouth. And his eardrums began to beat violently until they matched the thumping of his maddened heart.

Red.

Blood red.

Burning. Blinding. Blazing.

In the carpet, the walls, the curtains, the chandelier.

It was everywhere—even in the deafening pounding hammering away at his head.

Thundering images suspended before him, going in and out of focus. They were searing his eyes, blearing his vision. In sinful shapes marred over pale flesh, it was red repeating over and over. Criss-crossing crimson. Damian had to dig his fingernails into his palms to ground himself with the tangibility of a familiar sensation.

And suddenly he realized that all the times before were incomparable, this was what it meant to be blindsided by a breath-taking blow. This was what it meant to receive a rush of blood to the head…

…or a rush of blood to the—

"I'm glad you came so quickly."

And the silhouette of Raven turned where she sat on a velvet ottoman, leaning forward in a way that was guaranteed to diffuse away the rest of his brain's processing ability. It was all he could do not to goggle at her like some cartoon character. Tawdry and tactless. Damian inwardly cursed the merciless Goddess above as he took in the cleavage created by cups, a series of straps and bows and elastic and he didn't know what. Only that he shouldn't have been so disarmed by it—by Raven's breasts pushed up to high-heaven. Like they weren't perky enough or distracting enough in their usual sheath of simple black cotton.

His wide emerald eyes strayed downward in spite of themselves and onto shapely, stocking clad legs folded one over the other, with a lace-up heel tapping out the bass of the synth pop bleeding into the background. Raven slid to her feet seamlessly, swaying slightly to the song. She took a single step, allowing the shadows to part for her as she did so.

There was a muted click, clack, click of her heels on the carpet as she drew near. He'd never seen her in stilettos, and he stared at them through slits.

Gods, they had to be four inches at least. Their impressive height only seemed to serve to make her look even more powerful. Just about as powerful as the force rooting him to the spot.

The deep panging in Damian's chest carried on, a racehorse charging from the starting gate, galloping faster and faster, as she grew closer and closer.

Suddenly he'd become aware of the fact that it was far too warm in here for the dead of winter. Or was it simply that Raven radiated such an intense heat?

Most definitely the latter.

The garnet colored lace gracing Raven's skin was a perfect match to her chakra stone. The semi-sheer fabric of her bra offered up a playful glimpse of the darker skin of her nipples beneath. When his gaze wound down her tapering waist, it appeared that the lack of opaqueness carried over to the front of her panties. He could just make out a little shadow—a promise laying underneath a tempting, well-kept diamond shape in plum wine. And last, but certainly not least were the thigh highs trimmed by garnet lacings and affixed to a red and black garter.

Damian's throat had somehow gone even drier. He tried to swallow with great difficulty, then tugged at his turtleneck for a reprieve.

However, there would be no such alleviation for his trousers.

"There's no emergency, Damian..." Raven assured him with a tilt of her head, lilac tendrils skating across a valley between pale peaks. "You'll have to forgive me, but I had to get you here. I had to know..." She paused, folding her arms as she prepared to pose a question to him. "Tell me... what do you think...of my outfit?"

Damian froze, fingers mid-tug and blinked several times as if he'd been struck dumb.

What?

That wasn't...

There was no way...

Was that a serious request?

She was being facetious—she had to be. It was the only explanation, unless Raven was somehow messing with his mind and Damian sincerely doubted that. But how could she ask him this with such bold-faced sincerity? Even if the wooden arch behind her housed a funhouse mirror and had been reflecting distorted proportions back at her. Or was there actually some warped reality in which they weren't looking at the same picture?

Although...

If he could muster up a voice to speak he would have asked, what outfit?

Lackadaisically, she trailed a hand down her body, tugging at the cups spilled over with supple skin. "The bra—do you like the pattern?" Raven traced the gorge between the swell of her breasts. "It's tulle and...French lace," she confirmed, squeezing the scant, semi-sheer embroidery molded to her chest. And Damian grimaced as though in physical pain.

"No?" she assessed, seemingly marking off boxes on a mental checklist. Raven smoothed her hands over her hips for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. She paced slowly, revolving a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to pause with her back to him.

"And what about..." She swept a purple curtain over the nape of her neck to glance over her shoulder and he saw—of all things—a bow below the dimples on her back, nestled into the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "My panties...?"

Damian gritted his teeth, though not before letting a sound escape, like a hiss coupled with a wince.

"Are these okay?" The soft profile of her lips pressed.

Gods, it was almost as if she were seeking to offer all of this up to him. And who needed to clarify anything when she was all wrapped up and presented? Covered in the finest cardstock wrappings in gold-flecked marble, then laced up with champagne silk ribbon to await her unravelling.

Though his own would be more likely.

Right now, he'd forsake all his names, both Wayne and Al Ghul to get her to stop. Stop slinking closer, stop speaking in that sweet, scratchy undertone, and stop directing his focus to her various attributes, more than it already was.

It would only make his growing pain more pronounced.

A pale hand dangled down and spread across a smooth, silken thigh. "My stockings, then?" Raven hummed.

Though, Damian didn't speak. He wasn't entirely certain he was still breathing. Somehow, he'd managed to remain motionless and drag his unwilling eyes toward the floor. All his carefully constructed control was necessary to keep himself calm and centered in this moment. He could do this—he had to do this. Otherwise, what was the point of all those long years of training he'd endured?

Shiny purple strands bobbed; she'd started to shake her head slowly at the stony silence from the stoic cashmere wall standing before her, as if she expected as much.

"I bet you're still wondering why I called you here." Damian heard her voice go up in the middle, which it did whenever she was apprehensive or unsure. "I wanted you here to find out what you like—exactly what you like." When he arrived, Raven was blushing a delicious pink, so by now it had to be a violent red. "I wanted to get it right because...you're the first person, or only person I've ever been intimate with in any world, dimension, or universe..." She lingered.

And once again, Damian said nothing, and she resumed speaking.

"I do know that this is something that one does traditionally." Raven paused to worry her already cherry-red bottom lip. "That couples do... Buying underwear for your significant other is supposed to be something special, particularly for this holiday."

He was a mountain, immobile, unwavering...

"Oh, I see..." Her mouth set into a line. "Perhaps, it's the fit—or is it the color...?" Raven's large amethyst eyes swept over the room and landed on her reflection. "I thought dark red was classic. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Donna. I should have gotten something in black." She dragged a distraught hand through dark purple. "It's too much...or maybe it's not enough..."

"Don't," Damian growled low. His inflection was level and gave nothing away. If Raven was surprised by the outburst, she didn't let on, instead she continued.

"I bet the old string of socialites shuffling in and out of the manor were never caught dead in skivvies that weren't Kiki de Montparnasse or at least Agent Provocateur. But this..." Raven lifted her chin toward the mirror. "It's not your taste though, is it?"

That was far more than enough.

Far more than he could stand to hear and far more than he could stand to bear.

When his eyes flew back to hers at last, they weren't steely anymore, they burned—whittling her retinas down like they were wicks on candlesticks. As if he were all but telling her he dared her to do that again, to say that again.

"It's okay. I'm glad I found out before I bought—"

"I said...don't." Damian placed his hands on her wrists and whisked her right up to his chest. And he closed his eyes. He skimmed his lips along the length of hers like it was something sacred, his mouth trembling as Raven muffled out a note denoting her surprise.

He murmured to her, "you're brilliant, deadly beautiful—an empath...and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I'm your blindspot." Damian sighed resolutely. "But Raven, can't you take pity on me? I'm still a man." One that had been barely keeping it together since he arrived, but... "And you're you, so..."

There was no way in any world, dimension, or universe that he could ever resist.

Purple eyes grew wider as he told her and lifted a finger to her chin. Then it was Damian turning the tables and tipping her mouth towards his own. And though he hungered for her, he took slow and sweet and gentle grazes. It was tortuous, but he should only have a little at a time. This was an excess of an impossibly decadent dessert, an indulgence he was undeserving of. It was like the power in his sub zero freezer had short-circuited and he had no choice but to guzzle down that buried pint of vanilla caramel gelato.

Though who could blame him for being greedy when he had all of this spread out before him? And when her ass in those panties even resembled two round, creamy spoonfuls.

To hell with it then.

Damian lunged, face forward, longing for more of her. In an instant, he was inhaling her pulse, intaking the scent of leather-bound books with aged pages and the nectar from plums she'd probably narrowly avoided dripping on them. He dipped his tongue along the hollow of her collarbone as if he sought to test this.

"Mmm, that's nice."

"Nice?" Damian scoffed, his eyes on hers. "That's not what I was going for. Surely you didn't wear this because you wanted me to be nice." At the present, he wanted nothing more than to rip the tiny pieces of lace into twos, but Raven had selected them specifically for him. So he would continue to be patient and continue to savor this.

Let the pieces of fabric hold up for as long as he could hold out.

"Wait a moment," Raven gasped, quickly clutching his arm. "So your present...?"

"Present? Tch..." Damian's lip curled under his front teeth and he let out a piercing click. "If you're seriously considering getting me a present..." His palms glided down her chest and he gathered a scoop of softness in either hand. "Then these are perfect," he whispered in her ear.

And then Damian's mouth pushed back into hers and he was kissing her in ways that would make it impossible to return this lingerie after trying it on. He nipped urgently to gain entrance to her castle, then trapped her lip between his teeth like it was a drawbridge, at last releasing her tongue to collide with his own. All the while, his thumbs were sliding over her nipples, which puckered and pointed at his touch. He pushed up the cups of her bra for better access, head inclined towards his goal, soon to be met by a full mouth.

Each brush of his lips on Raven's chest made her fingers clench further and further into his shirt like it was a life preserver, and she was in danger of losing herself to the depths.

And after all, wasn't this the answer that she'd wanted from this—that she needed from him?

A chance to lose herself.

To stand in a dressing room in his arms, moaning his name like a breathy spell, her body bending until her back was arched under the avid swipes of tongue. He tugged her nipples between his teeth and they reddened, their response a glowing rave.

Yes.

Raven's eyelids squeezed, her pink face contorting in pleasure while Damian enjoyed the full weight of her breasts in his hands. He continued polishing the plush, pink rings. Left then right—until they were glistening.

"Gods, Damian..." Raven groaned. "Just—"

Just as sudden, there was a wet noise, a slip of suction. Damian had released a rosy nipple, taking note of Raven's expression. Hungry and dazed, and all his doing. Whether unconsciously or not, she pressed her legs together, clenching them as she watched Damian slip off the left sleeve of his coat and let it crumple to the ground in a heap.

The glaze of her gaze, her diaphragm's continuous rise and fall, her fingers digging into his arm, she needed this.

So why deny her?

"Yes, these are beautiful..." He whispered as he admired his handiwork under the chandelier light. The way the red nips and bites were like Damian Wayne watermarks upon the pale flesh. "But perhaps..." Damian's hands glided freely down the small of her back, just over the hill of her ass and stroked the burgundy bow, like an X marking the spot. "This."

When Damian glanced down at Raven, she was barely biting back another mewl, and moving restlessly in his arms. "I wonder what would happen if I were to pull this bow... Raven what do you think?"

"Damian... We shouldn't..." Raven murmured, sounding somewhat apprehensive and holding the fabric at his back tightly.

"Yes, we should Raven," he rasped darkly. "Right now, I can't seem to think of a reason why not..."

"Well, there's the fact that we're in public—"

"Public," Damian repeated flatly. "What of it? The outside world ceased to exist the second I entered the door of my own little version of Narnia."

Raven's jaw had unhinged in unmasked shock and Damian supposed this was an instance to take her remaining breath away by kissing her. Yes, he'd walked through a door and suddenly he was laying eyes on his half-naked demoness dangerous in dark red. So clearly nothing else in creation mattered.

When he pulled away her lips opened and closed, while her eyes remained shut, like a thirsty traveler prematurely cut off from a longer drink. And even though it seemed her body knew the truth, a darker part of him wanted her to beg for it.

"But, that's not what I asked," he said with a hard smile that wasn't. Damian drummed a divot on her lower back. "I fear I've gotten ahead of myself again. Tell me about the bow, Raven. What happens if I pull it?" His hand jutted out, he made a motion with his fingers, in mimicry of it.

"Why ask when you know the answer?" Raven asked him, her brow rising shakily.

"I could have asked you the same earlier. But..."

"But?"

Raven bit her lip but made no motion to stop his hands from climbing onto the curve of her ass. He taunted her twice, by tugging lightly on the tulle, until at last... The bow in the back came loose, and her panties slid down her legs with ease. She secured one pale thigh tightly over the other to hide herself.

No bottoms and bra half-undone, she was nothing short of delicious.

Though that scrap of fabric had barely covered much of anything, so why bother to tease? Or hadn't that been the sole purpose of this outfit?

A devious smirk sidled onto Damian's face as he realized something: these were the exact kind of underwear that one put on simply to take off.

"I pulled the bow, Raven," he murmured almost mockingly. "Don't I at least get to see the rest of my present?"

She stared up at him through her soot colored lashes and slowly opened her thighs.

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writing-with-whiplash · 4 years ago

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Stealing More Than Kisses

“Stealing More Than Kisses”

Hey guys! This is a fanfic of @jangofctts amazing clone oc Sweets! Go check out her awesome clone oc’s by searching for “sunburst squadron” on her blog and also check out all the other amazing fics she has! Sweets is her creation. I do not own his character, I’m just writing for him.

Sweets x mechanic!reader

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: clone discrimination, stealing, mild swearing, fluff, gender-neutral reader

This is my first fic, so I’d appreciate any constructive comments and reblogs! Have an awesome day!

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When you had been assigned as the new mechanic to the Sunburst Squadron, you had no idea why all the others before you had quit. That is, until you met the wild bunch that you affectionately called the Sunburst Boys. Although they were loyal and dependable soldiers, and your closest friends, you couldn’t help but think of the squadron as a bit chaotic. Between the death-defying trick flying of the pilot Kamikaze and the reckless altruism of the trooper Blue, it’s no wonder that you and Commander Blanche hadn’t had heart attacks trying to keep the squad together. Or in your case, keep the ship together, which brought you to your current predicament.

“Kamikaze!” you hollered across the hangar as the Sunburst Boys unloaded from their battered spacecraft. “What did I tell you about bringing the ship back all banged up?”

Kami turned sheepishly toward you, raising his hands in defeat. “Couldn’t help it,” he shrugged. He must’ve been exhausted to not send a snippy quip your way about the ship’s state. In fact, all of the soldiers looked worse for wear, their shoulders sagging under the weight of their brightly colored armor.

You decided to take it easy on him today. There would be more opportunities in the future to drag him for his dare-devil piloting. “You boys go rest. I’ll take care of the scrap pile,” you huffed. Kami rolled his eyes and slumped past you toward the barracks. The rest of the squadron followed suit, although one trooper lingered by the ship’s ramp. “What’s up, Sweets?” you asked softly, hoping to not startle the shy sharp shooter. Sweets lifted his eyes from the floor to meet your own, his teal bangs plastered to his forehead. He offered a half-hearted shrug and quickly shifted his eyes back to the floor. “Was the mission rough?” you asked, although you could already guess the answer. Sweets was normally quiet, but this time seemed different. The trooper nodded at your question and shook his head when you asked if he wanted to talk about it. “You just wanna hang out with me while I try to fix whatever Kami’s done to the ship this time?” The ghost of an amused smile danced across Sweets’ lips as he nodded again.

Sweets had been the first trooper of the squadron to grow on you when you first started out. Out of the rambunctious bunch, he was the youngest and quietest. While his brothers preferred to bond through roughhousing and swapping insults, Sweets preferred to just be near you. He didn’t talk much, but he loved to listen to you talk or hum while you tinkered on the ship. The quiet sharpshooter also loved to bring you little gifts that he picked up while on missions--a rock here, a bead there, a little figurine from a market on some backwater planet or another. You knew that not everything he brought back was...purchased, per say, but you didn’t mind. Everything he gave you was small and heartfelt and it’s not like the soldiers were paid anyway. If these boys were risking their lives on the frontlines to protect the entire galaxy, then you figured they deserved to swipe the occasional small item without worrying about what anyone would say. Maker, you knew they deserved so much more than that.

Recently, Sweets had been bringing back items that felt more personal than random rocks. He always had a knack for figuring out what you liked best. Not long after mentioning offhand that a particular type of stone had caught your eye in a jewelry shop, you found a pendant in the same stone in your tool box. When you talked about your favorite kind of candy that you hadn’t been able to find in a while, a few pieces of it appeared in your locker. Sweets had always been such a sweetheart to you and you had begun to fall for him as soon as you started working with him. You didn’t want to ruin your friendship by telling the shy soldier that you had feelings for him. Instead, you simply enjoyed his company as he hovered around your work station in the hangar.

The ship was truly a mess. Carbon scoring painted the hull that, miraculously, had stayed intact despite heavy damages. The edge of the starboard wing was crinkled and battered--there was an endless amount of reckless maneuvers Kami normally pulled that would cause that kind of damage. You clicked your tongue and shook your head, making a list of all the replacement parts you would need to buy for it. A wiring harness here, a set of gears there, a few durasteel panels damaged beyond repair. You had a lot of welding to do. The hangar had most of the replacement parts you needed, but working on such a small base on an Outer Rim planet left you with a few things to be had. Ah well, you grinned to yourself, all that meant was a chance to stretch your legs at the local market and swap meet.

“Hey, Sweets,” you called from beneath the ship, scooting toward him on your creeper seat. “Do you want to run to the market with me for some parts?”

Sweets’ eyes lit up as he nodded enthusiastically, making you chuckle at him and smile. Had you looked at him a little closer, you would have seen the quiet blush spread across his cheeks, highlighting the heart tattoo beneath his eye as he averted his gaze. The sniper couldn’t find the words to say it aloud to you, but he would go with you anywhere in the entire galaxy, just as long as he got to spend time with you.

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The marketplace was bustling when the two of you arrived, the sounds of vendors hollering and the scents of various foods wafting through the crowds. The sea of customers and travelers parted around you as you wandered from stall to stall, quietly stretching your parts-run as long as possible. Although you could make it through a crowd just fine, you knew that many of the onlookers gave you a wide berth on account of the helmeted clone trooper who hovered over your shoulder at every stall you stopped at.

Sweets always kept his helmet on during your frequent market outings, telling you that he preferred to see rather than be seen, but secretly he just wanted to watch you without you noticing. He loved the way your fingers danced across the items you touched, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled at friendly vendors, the way you fidgeted while waiting in line or running parts numbers in your head. All of these little observations over the past several months had allowed Sweets to figure out all the little quirks about you and the interests you never verbally divulged. He knew by the way that you tilted your head and looked at the ground while talking to a vendor that you were about to turn down his price on some wiring. Just as he predicted, you walked back toward him empty handed, a small frown pulling your soft lips down.

“If I were allowed a bigger budget for replacement parts I wouldn’t mind buying from that guy, but I just don’t have enough to cover it.” Sweets nodded sympathetically as you shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to keep going on down the line. What a shame that we’ll have to spend so much more time in the market, rather than sitting around the base.” You winked at Sweets, earning a quiet chuckle from his helmet’s vocoder.

The two of you wandered aimlessly throughout the market, striding slowly by stall after stall of alien fruits, handmade items, and spacecraft parts that weren’t on your shopping list. You had to practically drag Sweets away from a booth boasting several species of small cage pets, knowing that he would try to pocket one of the adorable, squishy-cheeked rodents. Just as you turned to tell him not to get in trouble with the vendor, a particular booth caught your eye.

“Ooh, look at this one!” The pet vendor didn’t have the chance to chew Sweets out as you grabbed the trooper lightly by the arm and pulled him to a booth full of wood bead jewelry.

Sweets was once again grateful for the cover of his helmet, as his face flushed at your contact. He leaned slightly into your touch, craving more, but, in your intense focus on the beads, you didn’t notice his change in demeanor.

“Look at this one,” you murmured to him, plucking a bracelet from the top of a large pile of wooden jewelry and displaying it in your hand. Your fingers swiped over the central bead, a little carved heart the same color as Sweets’ tattoo. “It’s you as a bracelet,” you beamed, staring directly into Sweets’ melting gaze, although his eyes were hidden behind his dark visor. Sweets swore his heart completely stopped when you looked at him like that, but all he could do was sheepishly nod. You had already turned around, grabbing a near identical bracelet, this time with the heart painted in what Sweets knew was your favorite color. “We should get matching ones.”

The old lady running the booth finally made her way over to you after you said that, eyeing you with suspicion. “Can I help you, dear?” she asked flatly. You noted how she only addressed you, almost refusing to look at the soldier standing beside you.

“Yes, my friend and I would like these two bracelets here,” you offered, already fishing the credits out of your pocket.

The old shopkeeper huffed. “Honey, this fella here ain’t your friend. He’s a soldier. A clone,” she sneered, arching an eyebrow at him. “He’s only here to shoot droids and serve the Republic, not buddy up with you. And I know for a fact that he can’t even pay for his own bracelet. Just shameful.”

You tensed and grabbed Sweets’ hand as he attempted to back away from the woman. Anger boiled in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your mouth. That old vendor had no right to speak about any soldier like that, especially not in front of one. Not in front of Sweets. You tossed the bracelets back onto the pile with a little more force than necessary. “Well if that’s how you feel about the men giving their lives to make sure that you can sell your cheap jewelry and bitch about them, then I don’t want to buy from you anyway.” You squeezed Sweets’ hand lightly with your own shaky one and turned to leave.

Before the rude shopkeeper could say anything, a small boy ran up to the booth screeching, “Nan!” The old woman cast one last seething glare at you before plastering on a smile for who appeared to be her grandson.

The instant she turned her back on you you felt a surge of boldness. You quickly snatched the bracelets you had thrown down and rushed back in the direction of the army base, sniper in tow. He had definitely begun to rub off on you. When you felt that you were far enough away from the booth you had just stolen from, you slowed down, heart still racing. Sweets pulled you into the alleyway between a noisy cantina and a bustling restaurant. Nobody seemed to notice the pair of you as Sweets pulled his helmet off and cupped your cheek. Your breath hitched at the contact and your eyes flitted up to his soft gaze.

“Are you okay?” he murmured. His other hand grabbed your wrist, rubbing small circles into the soft skin there.

“Yah, I’m fine,” you whispered breathlessly. “I just can’t believe she’d say something like that! That little--” Sweets cut you off with his thumb against your bottom lip.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled. You watched forlornly as his normally bright eyes cast down and away from you. His shoulders began to curl inward and you placed your free hand against his chestplate.

“No, it’s not. I’m so sorry that you had to hear that. You don’t deserve that. None of you do. You deserve so much better than that.” You sniffed as your voice cracked, throat tightening. Sweets dropped your wrist and leaned closer at your words. You took the opportunity to pull the first bracelet out of your pocket and slide it up between his vambrace and glove. “I hope you actually wanted this,” you chuckled, “because it’s yours now. I’m not taking it back.”

Sweets rolled his eyes and stepped even closer, his face mere inches from yours. “I love it,” he breathed. The words fanned across your face and you pulled yours even closer to his, noses just brushing. Eyes closing, Sweets dipped his mouth down to press against you. You returned the kiss softly, your lips slotting gently together.

A fire lit within your chest at that first soft, slow kiss. You gently twisted your fingers through Sweets’ mop of curls while he pulled you close to his chest. You caught his breath between your lips when you parted mouths, panting slightly and pressing the tip of your nose to his. Sweets gazed into your eyes with such warmth and admiration that your knees almost buckled, but he was there to catch you. He nuzzled into your neck, breathing a quiet “thank you” into your ear. You responded with a kiss to his cheek and a sweet smile in his hair.

Neither of you wanted the moment to end. Days could have passed and the suns would have gazed down upon the two of you standing in the alleway, never parting. But, eventually your comm buzzed with orders to return to base. Reluctantly, the pair of you headed back, hand in hand, wearing matching stolen bracelets, and feeling the happiest you had ever felt in your life. Sweets snuck in one more kiss before replacing his helmet, smirking slightly at your flustered giggle. If this was the kind of response you got from getting Sweets gifts, then you thought you’d be okay with stealing more little things for him. Afterall, he had already stolen the best prize in the galaxy in his opinion: your heart.

#clone oc #clone oc x reader #jangofctts #sunburst squadron #not my oc #clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfic #clone wars fanfic #my writing

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konglindorm · 4 years ago

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Lindworm: Chapter 1

(This is a little over half of the first chapter I had planned to share the whole thing, but then I realized it was 7,000 words. You can buy and read the rest of Lindworm here!)

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” Marit said, “but really I would rather not marry a monster.”

Marit would not have thought herself the sort of person to talk back to kings, had she ever had cause to contemplate such matters. But then she never would have thought the king the sort of person to sacrifice a girl to a lindworm, and yet here she was, the third victim.

She was only seventeen, and this wedding was a death sentence.

Six months ago, Prince Harald had set out to find a bride, and had been stopped by a great serpent in the road. Since then, the serpent—the lindworm—had eaten two foreign princesses, both after a sham of a wedding. Both women had thought they were coming to marry Prince Harald.

Here, in the forest outside the capital city, rumors had flown. Rumors that they would shortly be at war with both kingdoms that had lost a princess, and rumors, more interesting to their small family with no members likely to be sent to the battlefield, of the lindworm, of why a man-eating dragon would be welcomed to the palace and fed. Rumors that said the lindworm was Prince Harald’s brother, that the king humored it instead of killing it because the monster was family.

Marit didn’t know how much truth there might be to such rumors. She didn’t know how a queen could bear and birth a serpent, but she did know the world was full of strange, incomprehensible things.

The king stared at her, his men standing stiffly by. It had not, of course, been thoughtfulness that led him to her cottage in the woods. Marit knew this, and knew that the marriage was not optional, and that one could not speak to a king in this manner and expect to keep one’s head. But when one has already been sentenced to death, such things as respect for royalty matter very little.

“It is not an offer,” the king informed her when he found his voice. “It is a command, and you may choose to obey or not, but willing or unwilling, you will find yourself before a priest in my great hall one week from now.”

One week, she thought. One week to live the rest of her life. She could run—could she run?

No, if the king was leaving her a few days to say her goodbyes, it was only because he knew she could not run. There would be guards posted. She would be caught and brought back. She would still end the week dead, and likely her father and sister, too, if the king suspected they had helped her. As they certainly would.

Her family—they were away from the house now, deeper into the woods, scavenging. There was little left to eat, their winter stores almost empty by March, and the ground still too frozen to begin the year’s planting. She had stayed behind to tend to the animals, too likely to slow them down after twisting her ankle yesterday, falling from a tree; it had barely hurt, and would be healed by tomorrow. The king would be long gone before they returned, and it would fall to her to explain her upcoming death.

“There will be a bride price, of course,” said the king.

Marit wasn’t quite sure what a bride price was, thought it may be like a dowry—she’d sewn items, slowly, over the last several years for her dowry, but doubted the lindworm would demand her linens as well as her life.

The king went on to explain the bride price, the amount of money her father would be given for this farce of a marriage—the opposite of a dowry, then, and a staggering amount.

It had been a long, brutal winter following a short, dry summer, and for that price Marit may have volunteered herself. Any number of young women may have; it was enough to save not only their own small farm, but those of a few near neighbors. Enough to buy a second goat, a few more chickens, enough to pay all of their debts in the city and have their broken tools repaired.

For such a sum, she would have volunteered. She would have gladly given her life to so dramatically improve the lives of her father and younger sister.

But the king had not asked. The king had demanded, and Marit knew she would resent him for however many days she had left to do so.

He left her, as she’d expected, with guards posted nearby, and she led the animals back to their shed and let herself back into the cottage, not wanting to look at them, their clean uniforms with shiny brass buttons, their polished boots slowly gathering mud, their faces as they avoided her eyes, because they knew, must know, that this was wrong, and yet they were loyal to their king, and would not let her run.

Marit watched through the back window, working idly on her knitting, unable to stay focused on the difficult stitch she’d meant to master this week, until she saw her sister and her father coming out from the woods. She ran to meet them, and hurried them inside before they could ask about the soldiers scattered about. And then she told them.

“Why you?” Greta cried. “Why you?”

She hadn’t asked how he’d chosen her, out of all the unwed maids within walking distance of the palace. She didn’t think she wanted to know why it was her that must die, and not Annette, who had no father to protect her, or Martine, who was more beautiful, or Signe or Gretchen or any of the other girls she knew.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who wished death on her friends, either.

Besides, the lindworm had already eaten two women, and there was no reason to expect he might stop at a third. They may all be dead before this ended, Gretchen and Signe and Annette and Martine, and the younger girls, Greta and her friends, all the forest, all the city, someday all the kingdom sacrificed to satisfy the appetite of a monster that should have been killed the moment it showed itself to Prince Harald.

She could only hope that the fathers of the dead princesses would declare war, that they would kill her king and his lindworm with him before the whole country was devoured.

King Olaf had always been known as a kind and noble king. He’d lowered taxes and held festivals and been much loved, before these last six months, and Marit didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how a good king could become a bad one overnight because of one monster.

Maybe it was his son. Marit would throw the whole world over for Greta, she knew, but she’d been at Greta’s side since she’d emerged from their mother’s stomach, been the first to hold the new baby, tiny and wrinkled and red, getting blood all over her vest, as their father had said his goodbyes to Mama, only turning his attention to Marit and the new baby when his wife was gone.

For Greta, for her father, for Mama if she’d lived, Marit would do anything. But if a boar walked out of the woods and claimed to be her long lost brother, she wouldn’t take him at his word, wouldn’t escort him into the city to trample the blacksmith just because he asked her.

She didn’t think the king could hide a paternal relationship with a lindworm for several years. They must have met only when he stopped the prince on the road. And Marit didn’t understand.

She gathered Greta in her arms and listened to the younger girl cry, unable to shed any tears for herself, unsure why. She looked over Greta’s head at her father, and saw the same desperate sadness in his eyes that she had seen when she was five years old, and her mother was dying in childbirth. Her father loved her, but he could do nothing to save her, and they all knew it. He could not defy the king; to try would only make him angry, would likely risk Greta’s life too.

He came and wrapped himself around them both, and Marit thought, but was not quite sure, that he wept too. She sat, dry-eyed, between them, for long hours, until it was time for dinner and bed.

They watched out the window as a new group of soldiers marched in, and the first group left. At least they weren’t expected to feed and board their prison guards.

In the morning they found that the soldiers would let Marit go where she pleased, but one or two would always follow, from a respectful distance. No one followed her sister or father, so they went in three different directions, to the neighbors and to the city, Marit to make her farewells, and all of them to give warning. The king is feeding maidens to his lindworm. Marit is the first; she will not likely be the last. Send your daughters quietly to family in other cities, if you can. Marry them quickly to boys in the village, if you can. We do not know why the lindworm wants weddings, but he does, so make your daughters unweddable.

Gretchen, when Marit told her, said it probably had to do with a dragon’s fondness for virgins. She then said that if the king came to her, she would rid herself of virginity with the first man she could find before she would go to the lindworm, with the whole town to watch as proof, if necessary.

Gretchen’s older brother, the only other person there save the guards, too far away to overhear, made a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

Marit wondered if it was too late to try Gretchen’s plan for herself, and concluded it probably was—if the lindworm demanded a virgin, then the soldiers would not let her cease to be one. The small chance of success wasn’t worth giving herself to a man she didn’t want and wouldn’t be allowed to keep. And the kind of man who might cooperate with such a plan would likely not make it a happy experience to cherish in her final days. She reminded Gretchen of the soldiers before moving on to the next neighbors.

Marit spend her days wandering, mostly. There was work to be done, and she helped, or tried to—her father said not to trouble herself with anything in these last few days, and when she insisted, she often found herself too distracted to finish, or at least to finish well, haunted constantly by imaginings of what the lindworm might be like, how it might feel to be eaten. She remembered breaking a finger in a slamming door as a child, the sharp crack of it, the pain. She imagined the pain and the cracking both amplified as an enormous snake swallowed her whole, as snakes will do, and then, bizarrely, imagined cowering on a banquet table as the lindworm sliced her to pieces with a knife held in its tail, popping each slice into its mouth one at a time, sometimes dipping a slice in a butter-sauce first.

She still had not cried, though she had found herself several times laughing hysterically at humorless jokes she couldn’t explain. Greta didn’t need to know about the butter sauce.

When there were two days left before the wedding, she went out intending to collect eggs from the chickens, and her feet carried her, instead, deeper into the woods.

The guards followed at a distance.

Marit stopped when she saw an old woman ahead. She was short, with white hair spilling from her cap, bright and cheerful in a blue skirt and red vest, and she smiled like an old friend at Marit, and asked why she was so sad.

Marit wasn’t a fool. She knew how it was with mysterious old women in forests, knew they were to be respected. Knew how often they carried magic within themselves. Knew that to cross them was idiocy, and that to be kind and respectful could change the course of one’s life.

So Marit told the woman her troubles, and the woman smiled again. “It will be all right,” she said. “If you obey me, it will be all right. Now, here is what you must do.”

Marit wasn’t foolish enough to think she might live through this, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the gift of a wise woman in the wood, either, even when that gift was the strangest advice she’d ever been given. Wear ten shifts beneath your dress, have milk and lye and whips waiting in your bedchamber.

She was already going to die; what did it matter if the king’s servants thought her a madwoman?

Ten shifts, though, would not be an easy thing to manage. Marit had two shifts, and two night shifts, which were wool instead of linen, with sleeves too wide to be hidden beneath her dress. She would have to rip them off. Greta owned the same, not much smaller as she was tall for her age, but Marit could not deprive her sister of all her undergarments, so only took one day shift and one night shift from her. That brought her to six, and four more yet to find. She couldn’t buy them; the king’s money wouldn’t come to her father until the day after the wedding. She had her dowry linens, unneeded now, and could use the fabric to make more shifts. But she had two days left to live, and wasn’t willing to spend her last precious moments sewing. With Greta’s help she converted one white bedsheet into a shift, but would sacrifice no more time when she had so many goodbyes to say—to friends, to livestock, to trees and streams and every future she had ever imagined for herself.

She begged one more shift from Olga, whose family was wealthier and who had one to spare for an acquaintance going to her death. Eight shifts, eight, two short, and no time to find more. It would have to be enough.

The morning she was to be taken away, Marit’s father pulled out her mother’s wedding dress and offered it to her.

Marit shook her head. “It should go to Greta. To a real wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” her father said. “Take it, so your mother can be with you, as Greta and I cannot.”

So Marit put on her eight shifts, and she put on the dress. She was a bit smaller than her mother had been when she married, and it still fit despite the extra layers. Greta had wanted to make her a crown of flowers to match, but there were still few flowers in bloom, so she wove the crown from evergreen branches instead, coating her hands in sap, and placed it carefully on her sister’s head.

The three of them waited, solemnly, for Marit to be taken away. There was nothing left to say. All of the goodbyes were finished, all of the plans made. The next morning someone would come from the palace with the bride price and whatever was left of Marit to be buried. Her father would sell the animals and the house, give them away if he couldn’t sell them fast enough, and he would hire a wagon to take them far, far from the capital, to start a new life where the lindworm would never touch Greta. They’d gone over the details last night. Greta had cried again.

Marit still hadn’t cried, and thought she might be able to, now, but would not let herself; she didn’t want her tears seen by whoever took her away. She found she was more angry than sad. She felt a sharpness growing within her. Her life was forfeit, and so too was her sense of obligation to respect, to loyalty. The king, the queen, the prince, the priests who’d performed the weddings and the soldiers and couriers who’d stood by—damn them, she thought, damn them all, and damn the idea she owed them the barest amount of anything.

The king came to fetch her himself, and she refrained from spitting in his face only because of the guards that surrounded him, the fear they might kill her where she stood and cost her father the bride price.

The king was different, not angry and demanding as he had been a week ago, but stiff with an awkwardness that might almost be shame. Marit hugged her father and Greta one last time, and followed him back toward the city, his guards forming a circle around them. She didn’t care that he may feel shame; she had enough anger by now for the both of them.

He was quiet, and Marit didn’t want quiet. Not quite understanding the compulsion, she found herself goading him.

“What will happen after this?” she asked, and the king looked at her, then quickly away again. It was a long walk on foot, and she didn’t know why a king wouldn’t take a carriage, but she didn’t mind the extra time in her forest.

“You will be prepared for the wedding by lady’s maids. The wedding will be in the great hall, and after that we will have a banquet.”

“Not tonight,” Marit said, spurred by the thought of Annette being sent hundreds of miles away to an uncle she’d never met, of Gretchen searching for a man to defile her rather than be eaten. “Not to me. What will happen to your kingdom? After me, you’ll kill off every maid in the country, and then I suppose you’ll have to go to war, and find slaves to feed his appetite? Discipline is important for growing boys, Your Majesty. Learn to say no to your son.”

He raised a hand as if to slap her, and she tilted her chin forward, daring him—let him hit her, here surrounded by a small army, let all these soldiers, already uneasy with their roles, go home and report to their friends and families that their king was a man who struck defenseless maidens.

He lowered his hand, leaving Marit oddly disappointed. It would have been another reason to be angry, and her anger was protecting her from her fear.

The king sighed heavily. “We all do foolish things for our children.”

She wondered if he meant the lindworm, or only Prince Harald, who could not be married until it was satisfied. It didn’t matter—the result was the same for her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Maybe a king could afford to do foolish things for his children. Her own father had to be sensible—foolishness would only have hurt Greta. She felt the anger draining away, the fear rising up again. She didn’t want to die.

They arrived at the palace from a side gate, not taking the wide, paved road beneath the cherry trees, where any number of people might have seen their arrival. The king and his soldiers handed her off to a large group of women, some more elegant than others, and she asked him, before he left, what time the wedding would be.

“At eight o’clock,” he said. “Will that give you enough time to prepare?” One of the more elegant women assured him it would, and he told her, “Give the girl whatever she wants. It’s her wedding day, after all.” He laughed, unamused, more bitter than cruel, and then he was gone.

“Is there anything special we can do for you, miss?” asked one of the plainer women, who was likely a maid.

Marit thought of the old woman in the forest. “This is going to sound a little strange.”

All of the more plainly dressed women left to carry out her last request, leaving Marit with a flock of beautiful women whose most simple everyday clothes were likely ten times more expensive than her mother’s wedding dress. They tried to have her out of it, into borrowed silks instead, but she refused. It was the last gift from her father, the only familiar thing in this place. She kept her evergreen crown as well, but let them take it away long enough to clean away the sap, rubbing it from the branches and brushing it out of her hair.

They re-braided her hair into a more elaborate style, stringing in gemstones to match her dress, and applied powders and creams to her face, which itched and made her sneeze. She watched them carefully, picking out one who seemed both kind and fancy enough to know little of a peasant’s daily life. She drew her away from the crowd and explained, in a whisper, “I haven’t any underthings. I only own the one shift, and I left it for my sister, so she would have one to wear on laundry day. I didn’t think it would matter, when I’m only to die tonight, but I’m—I’m embarrassed to have all these fine people watching me, thinking that if the light hits just so they’ll see I’m not dressed properly.”

The woman believed, somehow, that a peasant girl might have come to a royal wedding with no undergarments, and offered to find a spare shift.

“Could I have two, please?” The woman raised her eyebrows, and Marit ducked her head. “It’s a tradition—I know it shan’t be a real wedding night, but it’s a tradition to make the groom work a little harder the first time.”

The woman believed the tradition she’d never heard of, as well, and came back shortly with two more shifts, beautiful, silken things, bringing Marit to the required ten.

The next problem came when she realized the women had no intention of leaving her alone while she took off her wedding dress and put on the shifts, which was awkward for more reasons than the eight shifts she already wore. She explained that she was not accustomed to being seen undressed by strangers, and finally they left her, for the first moment of privacy she’d had in hours, and the last she expected to have in her life.

She took off the dress and put on the shifts. She paused to look in the mirror—a thing she’d heard of but never before seen—and wondered if that was what she truly looked like, or only the effect of the powders and creams. She pulled the dress back on, took a few deep breaths—she had not cried yet, she would not cry now—and reopened the door so that the women could help re-fasten the dress in the back.

They set the evergreen crown back on her head, and took her to the priest that would read her last rites.

The hall where they held the wedding was gorgeous, with shining wood floors and dark walls covered in rosemåling, blue and gold and red. All the court was seated when she arrived, dressed in their finest clothes, looking horrified. She recognized the king and the queen and the prince, familiar from a dozen parades, sitting in the front row. The rest were strangers.

And then she saw the lindworm.

It was the height of six or seven men, white like a maggot, or the mold on stale bread. It had dark wings on its back, too small to hold its weight in flight, and shiny white fangs quite visible even when its mouth was shut. It had no legs. There was a crown balanced at the top of its head, the size a man would wear, which might have been funny if it hadn’t planned to eat her.

It was staring at her with an expression of mild curiosity, recognizable because its eyes were the eyes of a man, over-large, but still small in its serpent head, the same shade of blue as a dozen young men she’d seen in the city.

#lindworm #fairy tales #folklore #Fairy tale retellings #new release #my book #it's almost here #two days #prince lindworm #king lindworm #king lindorm #kong lindorm #wax heart press

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fairfaxleasee · 3 years ago

Text

DADW

So this is another prompt I accidentally gave myself for @dadrunkwriting from my OC Questions on Twitter:

Cullen/Lyta

Modern (Coffee shop) AU (this totally got away from me, I'm going to have to follow up later...)

Lyta Adaar glared at the abominations that were being passed off as croissants in the display. She'd made the mistake of trying one during one of her breaks and they were not fit for human (or dwarf, elf, or Qunari) consumption. Well, they might be fit for Qun-adherent Qunari consumption but they weren't fit for anyone who should know what a croissant was supposed to taste like.

"You know glaring at them isn't going to make them taste any better, right?" Dorian, the owner, had appeared at her right shoulder with a wink.

She shifted her glare from the 'croissants' to him, "Nothing is going to make them taste better! We shouldn't even have them here! It's -"

"Now, Lyta, dear - trust me. I know how you feel about the pastries, but we're a coffee shop, not a bakery."

"We could be a bakery if you'd just let me bake!"

"And be denied your riveting company?"

"...you don't want my company, you just want me to deal with customers you don't want to flirt with and bus tables."

"Exactly! Riveting company. And great teamwork."

She narrowed her eyes slightly more at him, but that just provoked an even bigger grin and another wink. "We'd sell more of these if they didn't taste like cardboard!"

"Lyta, sell the coffee. Coffee is just ridiculously expensive water with a much better profit margin than -"

Lyta cut him off with one of the sugar cookies from the display (which somehow tasted worse than the croissants).

After several minutes of sputtering, glaring, and drinking entire glasses of water in one gulp, Dorian said, "I'm tempted to dock your pay for that cookie..."

"That wasn't a cookie and you know it!" Lyta opened the drawer where she'd put her pack at the beginning of her shift and pulled out the tin she'd brought for this debate. "These are cookies." She opened it to reveal a pile of her snickerdoodles."

Dorian sighed, "Lyta, we've been over this before -"

She shoved one of them in his mouth.

He chewed for a few seconds and said, "Throw out those abominations in the display and put these in instead. Congratulations, you are now our official baker. Wait here while I adjust some prices a tad."

Lyta shook her head slightly but decided to focus on finally being able to get rid of what was (somehow) by far the worst-tasting item in the display (just how the company Dorian had been buying from managed to mess up sugar cookies still didn't make any sense to Lyta). She turned her head at the sound of the door opening and called out, "I'll be right with you."

"That's fine. I'm... not quite sure what I want to be honest."

Lyta froze at the voice.

No. It couldn't be. There was no possible way for it to be...

As slowly and quietly as possible, she shifted to peek out over the counter, only to see the golden-blonde curls, honey eyes, and chiseled jaw of Cullen Rutherford.

Ahhhh! What is he doing here?

She let out a slightly terrified squeak and tried to duck under the counter (even if with her back pressed against it she could tell her damn horns were sticking out over the top... again!). She'd seen him around the neighborhood and was fairly certain he worked nearby, but she was entirely unprepared for the man she had a crush on just walking into her coffee shop.

Of all the coffee shops in all of Thedas he just had to walk into mine...

"I... uh... maybe you can help me... Lyta?"

She looked up to see Cullen leaning over the counter and directly down at her.

He knows my name? HE KNOWS MY NAME?!?

It took a few minutes of them staring at each other in utter silence for Lyta to remember Cullen had asked her a question.

"I... uh... I'd love to... I mean I'd be happy to, but it's my break so I'm just going to go and not stare at you, so bye!"

She stood and tried to make a run for the employee's area, but before she'd taken her first step she felt a tug at the back of her apron. She turned to find Dorian with the worst grin imaginable on his face.

She shook her head at him.

His grin got worse and he nodded, winked, and inclined his head to Cullen. "Lyta, dear. As your manager and friend, I'm not going to allow you to take a break right now. Help the gentleman out." He pushed her in front of Cullen.

"I... uh... I can't. I need to finish the display," she tried to move towards that.

"No you don't." Dorian stood her in front of Cullen again.

"I need to bus the tables?" she tried (Dorian hated bussing tables).

"No you don't. You want to help the intrepid Commander here."

Cullen flushed slightly and scratched at the tip of his nose, "Please, the title's not necessary. But I do need a bit of help ordering. I admit, I feel like I should be getting something other than just a black coffee."

"My dear Commander," Dorian said, "I would never allow anyone to leave here with just a black coffee. Now Lyta will get you all sorted out. Won't you Lyta?"

"...you're doing this on purpose!" she hissed at him.

"Of course I am. You can thank me in your wedding toast," Dorian didn't bother to try and whisper. At the word 'wedding' Cullen coughed slightly and looked away, but his flush had become a full-on blush.

"I... uh..." Lyta's mind spun as she tried to come up with something she could say that would get her out of this. "I'm suddenly feeling sick?"

Dorian chuckled, "Well, you do seem quite, shall we say hot under the collar. But in my expert opinion, the only thing to be done is to talk to the utterly gorgeous man you've been infatuated with since you first saw him walk by months ago."

A grin was pulling at Cullen's lips. Lyta focused on glaring at Dorian in an attempt to forget about Cullen's lips.

Dorian clapped her shoulder, "Now, Lyta - unless you want your strapping Commander to walk out of here with the most expensive coffee we serve and a sugar cookie, you're going to help him with his order."

"You wouldn't!" she all but shouted in horror.

"Oh, I very much would." Dorian shot back immediately. "But seeing as I'm such a wonderful human being, I'll let you give him one of your cookies on the house. Well, in exchange for a plus one to the wedding, but for now on the house. Oh, and I'm an autumn so do keep that in mind when you're considering color schemes. Now, take the man's order." Dorian made one final adjustment to the angle of her shoulders and walked away.

Lyta tried to laugh but gave up fairly quickly. Cullen was still grinning and looking at her very intently which was far more enjoyable than it should be. After several attempts, she caught his gaze and held it as she asked, "So, um... what can I get you?"

"Could I have your phone number?"

She laughed. "I, um, yeah - I think I could manage that."

She really hoped she'd be able to remember it by the time she slid the napkin over to write it on.

#dadwc #da drunk writing circle #fanfic #dragon age #cullen x adaar #cullen/adaar #cullen/female inquisitor #cullen x female adaar #modern au #coffee shop #dragon age cullen #cullen rutherford

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robertreich · 4 years ago

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Monopoly Mayhem: Corporations Win, Workers Lose

Why do big corporations continue to win while workers get shafted? It all comes down to power: who has it, and who doesn’t. Big corporations have become so dominant that workers and consumers have fewer options and have to accept the wages and prices these giant corporations offer. This has become even worse now that thousands of small businesses have had to close as a result of the pandemic, while mammoth corporations are being bailed out. At the same time, worker bargaining power has declined as fewer workers are unionized and technologies have made outsourcing easy, allowing corporations to get the labor they need for cheap. These two changes in bargaining power didn’t happen by accident. As corporations have gained power, they’ve been able to gut anti-monopoly laws, allowing them to grow even more dominant. At the same time, fewer workers have joined unions because corporations have undermined the nation’s labor laws, and many state legislatures -- under intense corporate lobbying -- have enacted laws making it harder to form unions. Because of these deliberate power shifts, even before the pandemic, a steadily larger portion of corporate revenues have been siphoned off to profits, and a shrinking portion allocated to wages. Once the economy tanked, the stock market retained much of its value while millions of workers lost jobs and the unemployment rate soared to Great Depression-era levels. To understand the current concentration of corporate power we need to go back in time.

In the late nineteenth century, corporate power was a central concern. “Robber barons,” like John D. Rockefeller and Cornelius Vanderbilt, amassed unprecedented wealth for themselves by crushing labor unions, driving competitors out of business, and making their employees work long hours in dangerous conditions for low wages.

As wealth accumulated at the top, so too did power: Politicians of the era put corporate interests ahead of workers, even sending state militias to violently suppress striking workers. By 1890, public anger at the unchecked greed of the robber barons culminated in the creation of America’s first anti-monopoly law, the Sherman Antitrust Act.

In the following years, antitrust enforcement waxed or waned depending on the administration in office; but after 1980, it virtually disappeared. The new view was that large corporations produced economies of scale, which were good for consumers, and anything that was good for consumers was good for America. Power, the argument went, was no longer at issue. America’s emerging corporate oligarchy used this faulty academic analysis to justify killing off antitrust. As the federal government all but abandoned antitrust enforcement in the 1980s, American industry grew more and more concentrated. The government green-lighted Wall Street’s consolidation into five giant banks. It okayed airline mergers, bringing the total number of American carriers down from twelve in 1980 to just four today. Three giant cable companies came to dominate broadband. A handful of drug companies control the pharmaceutical industry. Today, just five giant corporations preside over key, high-tech platforms, together comprising more than a quarter of the value of the entire U.S. stock market. Facebook and Google are the first stops for many Americans seeking news. Apple dominates smartphones and laptop computers. Amazon is now the first stop for a third of all American consumers seeking to buy anything. The monopolies of yesteryear are back with a vengeance. Thanks to the abandonment of antitrust, we’re now living in a new Gilded Age, as consolidation has inflated corporate profits, suppressed worker pay, supercharged economic inequality, and stifled innovation. Meanwhile, big investors have made bundles of money off the growing concentration of American industry. Warren Buffett, one of America’s wealthiest men, has been considered the conscience of American capitalism because he wants the rich to pay higher taxes. But Buffett has made his fortune by investing in monopolies that keep out competitors. -- The sky-high profits at Wall Street banks have come from their being too big to fail and their political power to keep regulators at bay. -- The high profits the four remaining airlines enjoyed before the pandemic came from inflated prices, overcrowded planes, overbooked flights, and weak unions. -- High profits of Big Tech have come from wanton invasions of personal privacy, the weaponizing of false information, and disproportionate power that prevents innovative startups from entering the market. If Buffett really wanted to be the conscience of American capitalism, he’d be a crusader for breaking up large concentrations of economic power and creating incentives for startups to enter the marketplace and increase competition. This mega-concentration of American industry has also made the entire economy more fragile -- and susceptible to deep downturns. Even before the coronavirus, it was harder for newer firms to gain footholds. The rate at which new businesses formed had already been halved from the pace in 1980. And the coronavirus has exacerbated this trend even more, bringing new business formations to a standstill with no rescue plan in sight. And it’s brought workers to their knees. There’s no way an economy can fully recover unless working people have enough money in their pockets to spend. Consumer spending is two-thirds of this economy. Perhaps the worst consequence of monopolization is that as wealth accumulates at the top, so too does political power. These massive corporations provide significant campaign contributions; they have platoons of lobbyists and lawyers and directly employ many voters. So items they want included in legislation are inserted; those they don’t want are scrapped.

They get tax cuts, tax loopholes, subsidies, bailouts, and regulatory exemptions. When the government is handing out money to stimulate the economy, these giant corporations are first in line. When they’ve gone so deep into debt to buy back their shares of stock that they might not be able to repay their creditors, what happens? They get bailed out. It’s the same old story. The financial returns on their political investments are sky-high. Take Amazon – the richest corporation in America. It paid nothing in federal taxes in 2018. Meanwhile, it held a national auction to extort billions of dollars in tax breaks and subsidies from cities eager to house its second headquarters. It also forced Seattle, its home headquarters, to back away from a tax on big corporations, like Amazon, to pay for homeless shelters for a growing population that can’t afford the city’s sky-high rents, caused in part by Amazon!

And throughout this pandemic, Amazon has raked in record profits thanks to its monopoly of online marketplaces, even as it refuses to provide its essential workers with robust paid sick leave and has fired multiple workers for speaking out against the company's safety issues. While corporations are monopolizing, power has shifted in exactly the opposite direction for workers.

In the mid-1950s, 35 percent of all private-sector workers in the United States were unionized. Today, 6.2 percent of them are. Since the 1980s, corporations have fought to bust unions and keep workers’ wages low. They’ve campaigned against union votes, warning workers that unions will make them less “competitive” and threaten their jobs. They fired workers who try to organize, a move that’s illegal under the National Labor Relations Act but happens all the time because the penalty for doing so is minor compared to the profits that come from discouraging unionization.

Corporations have replaced striking workers with non-union workers. Under shareholder capitalism, striking workers often lose their jobs forever. You can guess the kind of chilling effect that has on workers’ incentives to take a stand against poor conditions. As a result of this power shift, workers have less choice of whom to work for. This also keeps their wages low. Corporations have imposed non-compete, anti-poaching, and mandatory arbitration agreements, further narrowing workers’ alternatives.

Corporations have used their increased power to move jobs overseas if workers don’t agree to pay cuts. In 1988, General Electric threatened to close a factory in Fort Wayne, Indiana that made electrical motors and to relocate it abroad unless workers agreed to a 12 percent pay cut. The Fort Wayne workers eventually agreed to the cut. One of the factory’s union leaders remarked, “It used to be that companies had an allegiance to the worker and the country. Today, companies have an allegiance to the corporate shareholder. Period.” Meanwhile, as unions have shrunk, so too has their political power. In 2009, even with a Democratic president and Democrats in control of Congress, unions could not muster enough votes to enact a simple reform that would have made it easier for workplaces to unionize. All the while, corporations have been getting states to enact so-called “right-to-work” laws barring unions from requiring dues from workers they represent. Since worker representation costs money, these laws effectively gut the unions by not requiring workers to pay dues. In 2018, the Supreme Court, in an opinion delivered by the court’s five Republican appointees, extended “right-to-work” to public employees. This great shift in bargaining power from workers to corporate shareholders has created an increasingly angry working class vulnerable to demagogues peddling authoritarianism, racism, and xenophobia. Trump took full advantage. All of this has pushed a larger portion of national income into profits and a lower portion into wages than at any time since World War II.

That’s true even during a severe downturn. For the last decade, most profits have been going into stock buybacks and higher executive pay rather than new investment. The declining share of total U.S. income going to the bottom 90 percent over the last four decades correlates directly with the decline in unionization. Most of the increasing value of the stock market has come directly out of the pockets of American workers. Shareholders have gained because workers stopped sharing the gains. So, what can be done to restore bargaining power to workers and narrow the widening gap between corporate profits and wages? For one, make stock buybacks illegal, as they were before the SEC legalized them under Ronald Reagan. This would prevent corporate juggernauts from siphoning profits into buybacks, and instead direct profits towards economic investment. Another solution: Enact a national ban on “right-to-work” laws, thereby restoring power to unions and the workers they represent. Require greater worker representation on corporate boards, as Germany has done through its “employee co-determination” system. Break up monopolies. Break up any bank that’s “too big to fail”, and expand the Federal Trade Commission’s ability to find monopolies and review and halt anti-competitive mergers. Designate large technology platforms as “utilities” whose prices are regulated in the public interest and require that services like Amazon Marketplace and Google Search be spun off from their respective companies. Above all, antitrust laws must stop mergers that harm workers, stifle competition, or result in unfair pricing. This is all about power. The good news is that rebalancing the power of workers and corporations can create an economy and a democracy that works for all, not just a privileged few.

#monopoly #antitrust #unions #wages #jobs and wages #video #videos

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 3 years ago

Note

Goddamn it Kyra I wasn't even interested in the Lego Lokis before, but now that you've so rudely posted pics of the options I'm probably going to have to buy some. So, couple questions: I'm not familiar with the website you linked to (it doesn't help that I'm on my phone lol) - do you get them from that site or just Aliexpress? I've kind of poked around there but I don't think I've ever actually bought anything - do you have links to those ones you bought or any tips for finding them on the site? (or like. using the site in general without getting scammed or something? Idk much about it other than stuff being low priced lol).

😇😇😇

putting the rest behind a cut because oops this got long

OKAY SO the cool thing about knockoff Lego figures is that a) there are a ton of them, so you can probably find multiple versions of most characters, and b) they're super cheap, so if you do end up getting ripped off, you're probably only out a few bucks. plus if you don't get ripped off, you feel like a genius, because authentic Lego minifigs tend to cost way more than they should (and if you get them online, you probably don't have a good way to know that they're authentic) and here you are getting something just as good or better for way less.

the site I was getting pictures from is HeroBloks, which I only just discovered myself a couple days ago; it looks like mostly it's good for tracking your collection (and learning more about bootleg Lego minifigs in general, maybe--I didn't really realize until now how many different companies there are making Lego-like minifigs) rather than buying, with individual pages including sale links that are only mildly useful. like, the extremely sad TVA Loki has an AliExpress search link that apparently just searches for "blocks," which is the least helpful search term imaginable; the eBay link uses "xinh+xh1745+loki (tva)" as the search term and that's definitely better, although it doesn't actually turn up anything. maybe that one's too new to be widely available yet, I don't know. (I hope that's the case. I need him and his sad little face to come and live with me.)

anyway--eBay is a possible source. searching for "loki minifigure" gets me results for several of the new ones I’ve been seeing, and they all seem to be shipping from Japan or South Korea. the problem is they're all selling for $4.99 plus $7.49 shipping each, which is...more than I want to spend on something I know is a knockoff of some kind when I don't know anything about the quality control and I'm not guaranteed to get what's in the picture. (here's another listing asking $40 total for all 8 figures I bought yesterday, which is actually a better price, and I'd probably end up doing that if I hadn't found them elsewhere, but that's because I have a problem.)

this is why I like AliExpress, because the risks are slightly higher but the prices tend to be much lower, even with shipping prices having gone up a bit over the last couple years. as I understand it, the site is basically just a huge marketplace for tons of different sellers in Asia, like if eBay only allowed fixed-price listings and it was based in China. the vast majority of the site reads like it went through Google Translate, because it probably did. you can find...basically anything there. I have no idea if any of it's authentic. (I also don't know anything about how or where any of the knockoff stuff is made, so...there is that.) I would not, for instance, drop $300 on a Hot Toys Loki from here, even though I absolutely would have the option to do so, for the obvious reason that I'm not going to risk that much money on an item that might be a cheap knockoff or could arrive broken. there is, in general, a solid possibility of breakable things arriving broken, because decent packaging costs more. cheap shipping will be slow (by which I mean like...up to 90 days), and most purchases either won't have tracking at all or won't have accurate tracking, so this is absolutely not a place to buy anything you want to get quickly. you also don't want to just buy something and forget about it, because there are (variable but generous) time limits past which you can't get a refund if you don't receive your items. the site's UI is...mostly functional. you often have to get a little creative with your search terms to find what you want (and sometimes you won’t find what you want through searching, but through looking at related items on the pages of things that aren’t quite what you want or are what you want but aren’t a good price). you will, absolutely, come across a lot of stolen art on things like pins, t-shirts, stickers, and phone cases, which you might not realize until you see something you recognize from a fanartist you like, and obviously that sucks. listing photos are nearly always stock photos, so in many cases they won't tell you anything about the item you're actually getting. you know the Wish app, and all the crazy things people get from that? you can find all the same stuff on AliExpress, at similar levels of quality.

however, if you approach it keeping all that in mind, it can be a great resource. I can't make any guarantees about the site's safety, but to the best of my knowledge it's secure and I've never had any weird charges show up after buying something. it's also my understanding that Alibaba, the parent company, is more or less the Chinese equivalent of Amazon in terms of the amount of business it does, which would probably be pretty tough if customer data were routinely being exposed to thieves, you know? I've also successfully gotten several refunds for items that never arrived, which actually hasn't happened all that often--but knowing that it can happen and that the return period expires, I’ll check back on the site if it seems like it’s been an unusually long time and I’ll make a reminder for myself of the deadline so I can contact the seller in time if necessary.

so the way I shop there is, I don't buy expensive or fragile things in general, because I recognize there's a nonzero chance I'll get a cheap knockoff, or something that was broken in transit because the seller tossed it in a box with no padding and called it good, or sometimes nothing at all. but like eBay, the sellers and items have ratings and reviews from customers, so that helps avoid some risk. items with lots of reviews tend to include at least a few customer photos, which are great for getting a better idea of what the thing you're buying actually looks like. I took a bit of a risk last year buying a Hot Toys (or the equivalent, I actually have no idea) Steve Rogers head for about $20, for instance, but I wasn't super worried about it because the customer photos looked good, the seller I used had a lot of sales and a lot of good ratings, and it was still a lot less than I would've paid for an authentic Hot Toys Steve Rogers head--and in fact he got here just fine and he looked fantastic. I also spent about $20 for a knockoff Iron Studios Loki statue, because in that case it was like...yep I’d love the real thing, nope I’m not willing to spend hundreds of dollars on it, yep I am willing to spend $20 on something that doesn’t look quite as nice but still looks good enough for me in the customer photos. well, and I’ve also bought knockoffs I knew would look bad, because they were cheap and I want all the Lokis and I have enough of an addiction that all the Lokis does in fact sometimes mean “even ones that look really bad” to me.

anyway, uh, Lego-type minifigs. this is an especially good area to go knockoff, because--okay, apparently I can’t link to a page of HeroBloks search results for some reason, but it’s the best resource I’ve found for this type of thing that isn’t just authentic Lego figures. but if you go there and do a search for “loki” you’ll get a bunch of results and you’ll see that they come from like...9 or 10 different brands. Lego specifically has only four Loki options: Avengers Loki in black, Avengers Loki in gray for some reason (which, frankly, looks like a cheap knockoff but isn’t), movie-inaccurate Ragnarok Loki with the blue outfit and the full helmet, an ugly Classic Loki, and a mostly green Loki from I guess the first Thor movie (and then I think they’re going to release a TVA Loki, a Sylvie, and a Throg). all those other results--all those different outfits from every single Loki appearance, and different variations on those outfits, nearly all of them more screen-accurate and/or detailed than the Lego versions--are technically knockoffs. they’re better and you can buy them for way less. (I mean, a lot of them are new so I don’t have them yet, but I do have frost giant Loki, better Ragnarok Loki, better Avengers Loki, opera Loki who actually has another face that’s half-Jotun, and at least one chrome-helmet option, and they all look basically like the photos. so I think I can reasonably expect most of the new ones to look basically like their photos too.)

for reasons that I don’t understand aside from a vague guess that it’s copyright-related, AliExpress pretty much no longer shows full pictures of Lego-type figures in their listings--instead, you have to pick just based on the heads. this is a problem when lots of heads look very similar to each other! luckily, the listings also typically have the actual serial numbers for each figure, as do the HeroBloks listings, so you can cross-reference them to see what you’re really getting. for instance let’s take this listing because it’s cheap and it offers most of the Loki figures that are currently available. say you’re interested in one of the horn-less Lokis. there are...let’s see, five of them, but you have no idea what they actually look like aside from slightly different facial expressions and maybe weapons. however, the first one listed says XH1359 for its color...and what do you know, 1359 is the serial number for this Loki by a company called Xinh. okay cool, how about the last one? the “color” is listed as WM2182--and yes, HeroBloks has a listing for a Ragnarok Loki from World Minifigures with the serial number 2182. (I just ordered all 8 of the new World Minifigures ones yesterday, so again, I can’t personally guarantee yet that they’ll look as good in person as in the pictures--but I think they probably will, and more importantly they cost a whole dollar each.) and if HeroBloks doesn’t have a particular figure, you can probably find something useful just by googling the serial number.

I specifically bought from this listing yesterday because they currently have a bit of a sale going and a deal for free shipping if you buy 10 figures, and I wanted a couple duplicates, so it worked out to be the cheapest option. the same store has another listing for a bunch more Marvel characters, including a couple more Lokis I already had, so it should be pretty easy to get the free shipping so the figures are less than a dollar each and you’re only risking about $10. if you’d rather try one or two and see how it goes, it looks like this listing is probably the cheapest, with figures currently going for a little over a dollar each once you add shipping (although it’s totally possible shipping is more for me because Alaska).

that’s...probably already way more information than you really wanted, but I hope at least some of it makes sense. feel free to ask other specific questions if they come up--I might not be able to give answers exactly, but I can probably tell you what my experience has been, which is better than nothing.

#loki #action figures #lego #marvel cinematic universe #conversations #scintillatingshortgirl19

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stronghours · 3 years ago

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CUSTOMER SERVICE

E T S Y

Darling Fallon Sep 3, 2013

Sensational (sin-sational!). i write on behalf of myself (S) and my lover (m). we have been ripped off by bulk-produced molded hoods before and i can only say HAND CUT LATEX ONLY never look back!! worth the money and will eventually pay for itself. neck fit like loving glove and adds dynamic intensifier to breathplay. Lovely proprietor replied prompt when “m” had questions re: breathability (she added extra breathing hole at no extra cost). class acts all around (and not just in our dungeon!) will return for more but “m” needs a break first if u get the drift lol1!! thanks to lady j!

Purchased item: DeMarco FetishWear – Latex Chrysalis Hood (translucent…

3 Helpful

myMister Aug 24, 2013

this one writes on behalf and with permission of MISTER. this one quaked with bliss when package arrived. truly awful to behold in the wise hands of MISTER. this one’s neck is small and delicate For His Pleasure and all item adjustments were made to order and did not affect shipping time. if this one could be so efficient For His Pleasure this one would be in heaven on earth. instead, this one is less than a hole. item truly enhanced <O sensation. without a doubt will be used over and over in this household for due punishments of this very worthless one. discrete pgk’ing. thanks to designer J for deepening this one’s service to MISTER.

(NOTE FROM MISTER – WILL PROPRIETER PLEASE PRIVATELY EMAIL TO DISCLOSE IF YOU ARE MALE/FEMALE/OTHER SO “myMister” (this one) WILL BE ABLE TO PROPERLY ADDRESS YOU IN ACCORDANCE WITH ITS FORMAL ROLE)

Purchased item: DeMarco FetishWear – Throttle Collar w/ attached Gas…

1 Helpful

JulieJuice August 3, 2013

LOL rip-off!!! cant believe all u ppl sucking this guys dick. says everywhere in product descript. (and you guys reviews!!) that custom sizing is no additl. cost but mine cost more!! only small alteration to titty holes cause of my cleave situation. bullshit. not buying from him again.

Response from J

Hi again Julie. If you check our many enlightening inbox conversations from 7/5-7/16 you will be reminded the additional cost was due to your request of more ring hinge insertions as the standard amount in pattern block “was not bling enough”. Cleavage was irrelevant. Sizing related alterations are always no added cost. Custom alterations requiring additional materials/effort and adjusted pricing will always be discussed and approved on client end before any exchange of payment.

Purchased item: DeMarco FetishWear – Hexagon Restrictor Harness…

HELPFUL?

HannahCakes! Jun 1, 2013

Hey Whats Up I’m Caleb (obviously don’t have an etsy) and using my lady’s account. She got the catsuit for my birthday and she looked so sexy like J-Lo or someone. Didn’t want her doin the latex stuff because I thought shed have to shave off all her pubes and personally i like that kind of thing a lot but no harm done. Anyway she was super sexy and the suit thing looked good and stayed together even when we started rockin. To other full bush guys out there if youre girl wants to wear the latex stuff SHE CAN KEEP HER BUSH she just has to use lube to oil up the bush that she has.

Purchased item: DeMarco FetishWear – Domina Catsuit w/ Pussycat Zipper (red…

7 Helpful

HannahCakes! 3 months ago Friend Ignore

Caleb Review

Hi J,

Saw my boyfriend’s 6/1 review and I was like uh ohhh. I asked him to leave one because he went gaga over the catsuit, but I wasn’t expecting all the bush stuff. If you don’t want to be associated with that and want to delete, that’s ok on my end. A little embarrassing! – Hannah!

Reply from DeMarco FetishWear 3 months ago Friend Ignore

Hi Hannah. Please don’t worry about it, any positive review is welcome. His feedback has apparently hit a chord with some specific hesitations and concerns buyers have been experiencing but not confiding with me, so I plan on keeping it up for the time being. Enjoy your garment.

JoeyoftheHerd 3 months ago Friend Ignore

Moo-cow snout muzzle thing – (idea i had)

Hi. Is this idea good

Reply from DeMarco FetishWear 3 months ago Friend Ignore

Hi Joey. Are you interested in a custom cow muzzle/mask, like the pup play masks on my page or are you just brainstorming for personal reasons?

Reply from JoeyoftheHerd 3 months ago Friend Ignore

idk it’s just an idea i had

Reply from DeMarco FetishWear 3 months ago Friend Ignore

It’s a cool idea

Reply from JoeyoftheHerd 3 months ago Friend Ignore

Thanks man i thought so 2

1234Brett10093456 3 months ago Friend Ignore

I REMEMBER YOU FROM RAWHIDE

JULES yes I know who you are and I know your name are you scared yet?? I remember when you used to hang with Roscoe out at Rawhide because Roscoe pretended to hire you because he secretly wanted to fuck and suck you till you cried and I saw all that. I have brown flippy hair, blue eyes and am tall/cut versatile but lean TOP. I know you faked being gay. You heard of bi-now-gay-later but have you heard of gay-then-straight-betrayer (you)? That is fucked up that you still sell stuff but pretend to be a gay guy because that makes your stuff sell better because the gay guys want to fuck you. I know you are faking because my muscle bud Tomas (latino) saw you making out with a ginger chick at the wet bar in Entrance last week. He said it was probably a joke but I know it wasn’t because he said he saw tongue. I wont let you be a breeder without a fight. I am willing to tell EVERYBODY YOURE SECRET. But I wont if you prove to me YOU CAN STILL BE GAY. Im attaching a pic of my cock so you know im not lying and can follow through. I will only believe YOU ARE GAY if we can see each other face/face (i can host only on fri- I have two roommates) and our cocks have to touch and you have to stay hard for at least five minutes while I suck and jack your cock and tongue your balls (shave or dont i will leave that up to you). condoms ok but if you want to be a breeder so bad maybe I will just breed your ass but if youre actually a gay guy you’ll like it and cum thick ropes as I fuck your dirty little slut hole and youll tell me youre a hole while I fuck it with the shiny precum head of my cut fucking cock (7inches erect). you will smell my hole and BECOME GAY again IT WILL HAPPEN - Brett Costino

TheSteelyDanMan 2 months ago Friend Ignore

Latex & Breastfeeding Concerns

Good morning, J I hope you are well. Returning customer, here. My kajira/wife and I are splinter Gor lifestylers (NOT KAOTIANS) [link] but are currently isolated due to our deviation from standard kajira beautification ideals and the arrival of our first child (girl - Gemma) two months ago. My wife’s submission has usually been expressed fashion-wise in various strict latex outfits, a few of which you have kindly provided us over the past couple of years. Naturally, the arrival of a mini-me results in some changes! My wife, insecure after birth, wants to return to strict full-coverage latex, but this desire is at odds with her physical situation of actively nursing Gemma and we both have worries. Does the constriction of latex effect or otherwise harm milk production, or could secondhand latex exposure harm our baby? I imagine you have catered to many lifestyle situations where this might be relevant so I thought I would ask. Thanks very much. LEO

Reply from DeMarco FetishWear 2 months ago Friend Ignore

Hi Leo. While I have catered to many lifestyles, I’m afraid I must exercise discretion in this situation, as it would be on par with giving medical advice. I will say any allergy is a possibility and one should exercise undue care with a very young infant, not just in matters of latex. I highly encourage you and your wife to discuss this with her doctor as frankly as possible. In the long run it might be worth reevaluating aspects of your wife’s submission and temporarily making do with latex pieces that do not restrict the breasts, while nursing is a part of her daily reality (I’m sure I don’t have to tell you examples are available on my page). Best of luck and congratulations on the new addition to your family.

NoraBarnacle 2 months ago Friend Ignore

A sincere offer…

Several months ago, I bought a pair of latex gauntlet gloves from your shop. Since then, astonishing changes have come over me. I used to be high-powered, highly controlled, a formidable woman (natural ash blond, green eyes, 45”-40”-44”) I was determined to keep these feelings to myself, but I can no longer resist, as I wholeheartedly believe your Dominating spirit, imbued in the gauntlets, is leading me forcefully but masterfully into your care. If it pleases you, know I have not touched my aching slit for one month total as I am uncertain whether you desire me to feel pleasure that is not approved by you. There are no images of you on your site, but I have drawn an accurate picture of you in my mind and I know you are the Man that I never knew I was waiting for, the Man who will lead me, the Man who will hold my neck and strike my forehead to his knee in his insistence that I allow myself to be led. When I wear the gauntlets, they are your own gallant hands restricting my weak bones. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I can no longer resist. I do not desire to resist. Please message back so I can properly present my acquiescence, body and soul, unto you. I squat disgracefully on my plump thighs, full of whorish tremor that makes me unworthy, but still I desire. I will service your home with my ardent hands and service your thick and striving cock with my wet tongue. Respond to this small soul. I submit to your gallant wisdom – A Secret Admirer

RicoMetals 1 month ago Friend Ignore

Redhead Modle in Pic for Serve Her Serrated Corselette

Hey man-to-man who is she. I love redheads. Does she modle for other people/would she modle for my pieces? there’s no head in the pick – what’s her nose situation? we could all do collab and I think it would be hot. Let me kno - RICO

Reply from DeMarco FetishWear 1 month ago Friend Ignore

Hi Rico. I have not blocked you (yet) because said model wanted me to reply to you first and inform you, she’s already an established performer in her own right and does not want to model for a guy who “thinks I need some sissy seamstress to pimp me out to shitty welders online”. As I only have basic welding experience, I can offer no further comment or defense on your behalf.

DerryBerry454 1 month ago Friend Ignore

Inquiry re: standard leather sleep-sack dimensions

Hello Miss J, quick question:

I will buy this item no hesitation no delay if you tell me right now about your vagina. Questions I prioritize:

1. Color labia (outer)

2. Color labia (inner – aroused)

3. Clit length in centimeters or whatever measurement is most flattering to you

4. Range of clit engorgement

5. Depth of vaginal canal (I will allow ballpark figure as I know not everyone has graded speculums lying around)

6. Percentage of clit orgasms v. vaginal orgasms – bonus points if you describe uterine orgasm, if that is your experience (no pressure to answer last part, as I understand it is not necessarily vagina-adjacent)

7. Are you hairy? What color?

8. When you wash your vagina do you douche or do you use fingers to rub through labia folds and that is it?

9. Color of menstrual blood

10. If you wear panties, do you find the crotch of your panties degrades due to PH of your vaginal discharge? (give me the qualities and I will calculate this for you)

While a picture of your vagina is welcome (and will only be for my private use) I really do like gathering these stats (I’m kind of a nerd) and would appreciate as much openness on your behalf as possible and you will benefit too because I’ll give you money for your lovely product. Talk to you soon! 😊

B O A R D

[RUBBERVALLEY FIENDS THREAD 3/3 2006-PRESENT] TOPICS: 850 POSTS: 10,356

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): Hey people, we’ve reached the end of the summer and you know what that means – Ivan himself of the halls of Rubber Valley presents inaugural post of their annual sweeps week filming extravaganza – first photoset already up and we’ve got the goddamn brilliant LYDIA SUCKS sons! The greatest bitch on the face of the planet almost psyched us out but she’s here she’s low and she’s ready to blow. Vid upload will probably take till tomorrow to render but we’ve got some great pic galleries already. Ivan really spoiling us pigs lmfao. Seeing lots of setup and dress-up and behind scenes stuff for yall candid pervs. We’ve got full body latex and face coverage hoods and I see a breathing tube and the barn inversion setup. Possible inverted ceiling fuck? The boys can dream. Links to download pics results in PERMABAN – only official links to Rubber Valley site allowed, don’t know how often I have to say it. You want to pass ripped screenshots you do that through email *casts pearls before swine*

GOBgobGOB: no pic of lyds upside down yet ☹

LordJim: Not interested until I see Ivan haul out the FuckRacers from two years ago – wonder why he doesn’t bring those around more often? Great view stats on current vids and who doesn’t like a fat ass getting auto-fucked while she steers the go-cart supine?

SUCKPUNTER: lmfao all views are you bro

GOBgobGOB: D I R E C T H I T

SUCKPUNTER: hey lordjim where’d you learn the word supine

LordJim: Yeah “laugh out loud” very funny guys.

SUCKPUNTER: did you learn it at college

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): Lydia looks gr8 folks. Queen pristine and ready to cream. SUCKPUNTER – chill out because I’ve got my eye on you. Don’t take the bait Jim. You’re like thirty.

SUCKPUNTER: at least I don’t get off on bitches doing the pinewood derby

LockSTOCK2FUCKINGBARRELS: LYDIA!

GOBgobGOB: LYDIA!!!

McLovin: LYDIA LYDIA LYDIA

TheWorldofMartinAmis: Goddess. Wish she’d get her boobs done though.

LockSTOCK2FUCKINGBARRELS: same! I’ve been waiting for years for her to get into xtreme body mod. Right up her alley. If she’s at EXXXOTICA EXPO next year I’m going to try to get her meet and greet and ask. I know tattoo guys who’d pay HER to give her first tat.

McLovin: Lydia wouldn’t go. She’s like indie transgressive.

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): nice to see you again lockSTOCK. I see your POV but Lydia has several interviews where she says most of her viewers see her bod as a clean palate in the art of pain – as in, wounds have to go away in order for us to appreciate a fresh ruining ; ) tats and huge implants are a little tougher to work around. Anyway in my mind you can fix bad tits but you can’t fix bad attitude

ThatOneFootGuy: id suck her feet

McLovin: woah fuck 4th latex pic in dressing series with her mouth open and her eyes shut – who the lube guy with his arm right down her front?

SUCKPUNTER: lol hand clear to her pussy and hes not even hard faggot

McLovin: scope the ginger amazon in the background with camera – new girl? Don’t recognize. Didn’t know Ivan was bringing new people around this year’s sweeps.

LordJim: I wondered too when I saw. I’m sure DungeonMaster mod understands if I copy/paste following from Ivan (no pics, text w/actress info):

Newcomers are always welcome in RUBBER VALLEY (especially if they’re lovely, and especially if they’re ladies!) and this old goat is pleased to welcome DOMME LUX, our friendly neighbor down south in that little town called Chicago. Mysterious as she is alluring, you’ll see her shining light sampling tidbits of delight off our Valley Girls throughout the uploads this month (or even taking a crack at a couple!) We’re just getting to know her, but I have a feeling she’s a generous gal at heart as she kindly offered us the services of her Personal Valet, Jules DeMarco, who himself spoiled us all year with devious latex devices for our steadfast daring dollies after the unfortunate 2012 passing of our beloved torture designer Merrick Marvel (memoriam post 03/04/2012). Check out Jules’s Half-Bag Breast Mummifier in scheduled post 7/22 (Heather Bunny in the inverted Wench Wrench) the diabolical Arachnae-Hood (Lacey Jane, spinning in our trusty Landscape(her) Rolling Pin 7/16) and the Double-Fuck Full Body Boa Binder with eerie inflatable bubble hood (Lydia Sucks, finale post 7/31, don’t miss it, SUBSCRIBE). I must confess, we took advantage - the poor fella ran himself ragged helping us with film prep all week. So as an apology we let him get up close and personal with Rubber Valley’s reigning heroine LYDIA SUCKS fitting her in a custom four-limb black latex catsuit with half-face hood, made especially for her brave beautiful bod. He takes a good long time greasing her up before Ivan and Barry get her hoisted and joisted and in her best bitch-bat position among the rafters of the exalted Rubber Valley barn, where we leave her to squirm in terror! (but let’s get real – what scares Lydia? We’re wracking our brains!) Uh-oh, is Domme Lux looking jealous in the background? Is she plotting a little comeuppance for our Lovely Lady Lydia? Only one way to find out – SUBSCRIBE!

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): Np lordjim, if you hadn’t posted I was going to. Looks like we’ve got fresh meat in the valley.

TheWorldofMartinAmis: very pretty girl, but always bummed when a new one turns out to be top. Call me old fashioned, I come to the Valley for slaves.

SUCKPUNTER: firecrotch

GOBgobGOB: brb too busy crankin it. milky gingerbread titties come to daddy

McLovin: @TheWorldofMartinAmis, Ivan always has at least one femdom around. Room for everybody in the valley

LockSTOCK2FUCKINGBARRELS: holy shit I know that guy.

SUCKPUNTER: lmfao faggots know faggots

LockSTOCK2FUCKINGBARRELS: no for real. His real name is Jules Marinelli. I worked with him one summer lifeguarding beaches for the park’s district. Our boss found his website where he sells his sex stuff, and it was this whole big thing. Found the kink club Entrance through that (check it out if you’re in my hood ever – huge, clean, not too much gay shit, great ladies of all stripes hanging around, but limits on drinking if you’re trying to access certain levels). He’s bi. He’s either secretly Domme Lux’s slave or Domme Lux is his slave and it’s mega on the DL because it’d hurt her career if it got out she could ‘verse. There’s all this gossip.

SUCKPUNTER: bi guys r fags

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): SUCKPUNTER – that’s strike one. lockstock – not deleting your post because from what I can see JDM doesn’t/isn’t acting in explicit scenes, but let’s cool it with doxxing info. Looks like he’s had an experience with that before, and as a small business owner myself, I know how it can suck. We aren’t gossiping high school girls. Settle back and enjoy what Ivan gives us.

GOBgobGOB: *sees dudes in the chat and stops jacking off*

LockSTOCK2FUCKINGBARRELS: NP mod, feel free to delete it later before it causes problems.

TheWorldofMartinAmis: going back to previous discussion – don’t think a breast job automatically constitutes body modification

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): think about it martinamis, it’s a slippery slope – you want to see some swollen battered fish get destroyed, or a fresh natural girl get destroyed?

SUCKPUNTER: i am not a faggot and a whore’s a whore and im here to see whores fucking destroyed

GOBgobGOB: *tony soprano voice* she was a HOOOOER

SUCKPUNTER: fag or cunt all whores get fucked

LordJim: Mod, step up. This isn’t going to get better. With all due respect

SUCKPUNTER: fag or cunt ALL WHORES GET FUCKED

DungeonMaster (MOD 2): yeah, already done. That should be the last of him. Don’t know why I expected that situation to turn out differently.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

Subject: Debrief – valley week

Jules,

As discussed, attached is current info for my old webmaster service from when I had to run my own fansite. Decent price and decent vendor system. Can only be an improvement on what you have now. That is not an insult, but I know it sounds like one. Stay with me.

[link] [link] [link]

And above, the top three most trafficked boards I’ve found following my own career and the rubber valley gang. We’ve caused quite a stir already and its only July 15th. I wouldn’t count on this causing an uptick in your business, but I think you know that. The standard gentleman at home spending twenty bucks a month for guaranteed links to a woman being fucked inside out while wearing a sensory deprivation hood simply doesn’t translate him to spending 100-200 dollars, contacting a seller, taking measurements, and going through the effort to order he and his special girly the hood itself. But I know you believe you’ve chosen your life the same way I believe I’ve chosen my life and won’t whine. I will say, if your ego is bruised, that your clothes are wonderful. They feel maybe half like death. I’ll wear them again and again.

On a funnier note: I have accounts myself on all the above message boards and post semi-regularly. It might amuse you to do the same thing, but you need to be careful regarding your identity. Feedback from viewers is never relevant, but it needs to be pure (don’t ask me why – my brains are fucked out). I won’t tell you who I am, and you won’t tell me who you are. Maybe we’ll find each other.

I wouldn’t tell your Cathy, since some sensitive (if inaccurate) information is flying around. Your instinct towards privacy, while cute and old fashioned, is an apt instinct. Looks like the good people of Chicago can’t keep their fucking mouths shut. Will you be able to find a straight job if your work now goes up like a dead dog’s gut? Don’t despair. Your nice long cock dropped so well down my throat while your Cathy beat my clit with the edge of your belt (nice touch – whose idea was that?) so while you might not get another chance to perch in a lifeguard’s throne, you might very well have a future in film. You’re vigorous, discrete, disciplined, clean, and a cutie-pie. Have your Cathy make some films of you alone or you two together. It’ll excite her, so you have no choice but to be excited yourself. You’re excited reading this. You believe you chose this.

Anyway – Cathy! Don’t be insulted on her behalf. I loved playing with you both. She’s kind and a lot of fun, which are virtues I still let myself appreciate in others. Let her know I appreciate how she let me use you. She’s a good girl and has a good future in store, especially with her personal valet running her life. Pick her outfits, pick her makeup, pick her clients, pick her laundry soap – is it already like that? I want to be buried alive, but you want to be buried in chores. Please dream big, Jules.

Rubber valley is where I have the most fun out of all the shoots I have in a year, but I really was lucky that you two showed up. Poor old Merrick Marvel (not even that old – colon cancer). But out with him and in with you. I enjoyed our river talk and I felt very safe in the car with you at the wheel, though I know I tormented you a little (but I’m pretty sure Cathy helped you out later with that – will you write back to me what she did to you, and if she let you come?) At one point you were with Ivan in the garage, and I tried to have a little talk with her about oblivion, but she either understood my point and got scared, or simply didn’t understand. It’s unfortunate, kind of soul-sucking, how our dominant “loved ones” transform into necessary evils. Adjust the tube. Grasp the handle. Move the thigh. Use the vocal cord to form the order. But what do they know? I never knew how to explain.

I’ve attached some personal pictures of me. I like knowing that you have them. I won’t contact you again except under strict business purposes, so let me sum up. Serve Cathy well. Don’t let her get bullied. Flourish creatively. Keep that belt. Fuck as often as your body commands you to fuck (if I suspect that sometimes your body is Cathy’s body by proxy, then this number will double, perhaps triple, but the choice is out of your hands because she owns your cock). You have a lot of growing up to do. Don’t despair. More to come.

We won’t see each other soon, but we’ll see each other again. Ciao!

I expect improvements.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Lydia S

#SAFEWORLD #unto itself but also sneak peek at rubber valley sequence #inspired solely by all the fetishwear providers on etsy that exist #Jules being relentlessly sexually harassed on the internet: this is normal and doesn't bother me. guess im built different

3 notes · View notes

boogiewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Choking On Sapphires 92

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Love Her Madly

Summary: Alfie and Genevieve sign a contract together. Alfie finds a nostalgic turn to the air between them as they negotiate with less than professional means. They whisper about their future together, but it seems others have much louder opinions about it they want to be heard.

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF. Sexual Content. Negotiations. Old Enemies, New Problems.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Everyone around them noticed the change. The sway to Alfie's stride was a strong strut, masculine as he headed to breakfast every morning. His laugh loud and brash, his threats sharp and cutting, an air of confidence and content reigned in the home and all who lived there felt it.

Genevieve was a soft wave of femininity, hair and face pressed and painted, dresses now modest and structured, not giving away so much of her flesh when she was working. Her strong calves and still scared but bejeweled forearms were the only skin shown besides her face. She was in control, pointed and severe for the world, and happily soft and kind to those she deemed worthy of it. She would hold Alfie's chin to grab his attention. The only soul who dared to do so. His whiskers would bristle as she kissed him and wished him a productive day, saying quietly to him that she loved him. She spoke only loud enough for him to hear, but anyone with the gift of sight could see it between them.

Alfie was softer at home now, finding his way directly to his bride to be every evening. She was still hard outside the bedroom to the gaze of any eyes but his own. But her glimmer was back when they would allow their sighs to escape as they pressed against one another in the sanctuary of their bedroom. He didn’t mind the harshness. He rather enjoyed her directness, in fact. Which is why when she showed up to his office for a meeting in an oddly familiar dress, he was more than surprised. It was clear quickly from her body language, there was a shift in her attitude. Her eyes were dark and sultry in a way he hadn’t seen in many moons. There was a playful young thing waiting to come out behind a closed door and he was happy to oblige.

“Is this my noon appointment?” Alfie rhetorically asks, eyeing her from tip to tail as she stood outside his office. She was in something he’d only seen her wear once and had never expected to see again. She looked at no one but him as she posed in jewels that shone even in the dim dusty warehouse. A flimsy polka dot dress with her matching accessories, cut at the knee and far tighter around the bust and waist than he recalled. The buttons strained against her breasts and he pretended not to notice.

“Well uh... yes.” Ollie answers confused at the way they were looking at one another. “It’s Miss Durand.”

“I know it is Ollie ya fuckin' knob. Learn to read a room.” He points an easily agitated and ink-stained finger his way. “Go read the papers while I work out this contract. Make yourself useful.”

“Yes, sir.” He shuffled off defeated.

“Don’t be too hard on the man, not everyone can speak without conversation as we can.” Gen soothes with soft words after Ollie rounds a corner.

“He needs to fuckin' learn.” Alfie muttered and turned to enter his office. “Got the contracts drawn up.” He announced with a boom of importance, followed with a hum or worrying lips as she shuts the door behind her. The mood set as the door clicks is thick, unchanged in the time that had passed since it's inception. A power struggle of business laced with the nostalgia of sexual tension unexplored.

“Straight to business Mr. Solomons. I appreciate that in a man.” She praised as she took her glasses that match his own out of her handbag to place them on her straight nose both gingerly and with a flare of drama. As was her way.

He squinted his eyes, her behaving as if she wasn’t being even mildly suspicious. “Yeah…” he groaned out, and drank in any sign of her possible tells. “Here it is... Miss Durand.” He tapped a ringed finger to the parchment pushed across his desk. “But you can call me Alfie if ya like.” A smile she had seen behind that desk over a year ago awaits her as she meets his confident gaze. Reservation with an undertone of wild possibility sat behind his blue eyes. Same as the first time, she didn’t know if she should shoot him or fuck him.

She smiled with a coy crooked raise of her lip, “Then you may call me Genevieve.” Her breathy response reached his pink-tipped ears. He picked up on her game and the twinkle in her eye as he leaned back in his chair to observe her with his trademark intrusive stare. She had sorely missed having a partner she could play with.

“S’all there. Give it a read. My lawyers made it legitimate.” He studied her as she did just that and is pleasantly surprised when her expression remained unmoved. She truly had been working on her stone face.

“Of course.” She dismissed his instruction with a curt tone as she began. She expected a joke, to be honest. For him to create a negotiation, be that tough bastard and toy with her a bit. But alas, there was a surprise in the words but it wasn’t a joke. “I come here with cheeky intentions and you do this to me?” She inquired, a subtle smirk ghosted across his face at her accusations.

“It’s a binding, legal contract Miss Durand. I’m not sure what you aren’t finding up to your, understandably, high standards.” His words were fast and even.

“I know you make no mistakes in writing these up and this is not one.” She states to assure herself, shaking her head and pressing forward. “Are you quite serious?” She spoke quietly after finding his face unmoved.

“I don’t joke wif business, you should know 'is.” He lowered his chin and gave her an almost cocky brow for having gotten the drop on her.

“A percentage of profits from the items that require my goods?” She paused as she met his inquisitive stare as she rose from her seat. “And the inclusion of my name into the business as a shareholder.” She states, leaving one finger on the paper that now rested lopsided on the desk. She wouldn’t forget the giving terms and she didn’t have to look to recall them.

“Thought it was fair.” A shrug is given in response, his seat creaked as he shifted his weight back.

“It is.” She nodded with narrowed eyes and a curious face.“You’re writing me into your business?” She clarified.

“All legal and bindin’.” He reiterated with a nod and open hands.

“I’d be a beneficiary?”

“Are ya confused Miss Durand? With your circular questions? Doesn’t suit you if ya don’t mind me sayin’.”

“Are you quite serious?” She rose and began a slow walk to his side of the desk, her expression only giving away the confusion and not her intention for the growing closeness.

“Repetitive questions are very telling of the state of shock your in.” He smirked. “I don’t fuck about with me money, love, I’m entirely serious.”

“I am shocked.” She nodded confidently. “ I am woman enough to admit it.”

“Consider it a merger.” He offered as he watched her move closer. A slinking cat in her tight dress. “A partnership.”

“Beyond betrothal?” She stopped and rested her hip against his side of the desk.

“The first gift of many.” He added with a shake of his head and a sweep of his hands. “It’s simple. You’ve given me a lot of goods. I believe you’d be a good fit for helpin’ me out with the bakery, let me focus on the tracks. I won’t have to oversee it if I know you’re handling it.” He spoke with his usual brash bite as he did with business while she stood with crossed arms and a thoughtful composition.

“I’ve never ran a bakery before.” She submitted as her eyes moved about the room.

“You know as much as any baker I’ve got. The rest, the girls can teach ya. You know the best ingredients in the city and how to get them for the best price. It’ll only be beneficial to both of us if you’re up for it. And it is my belief that you are. It wouldn’t be a time suck. Couple times a week, mark the problems, do the books, send it to me to finalize.” He moved his hand toward the contract as he explained.

He watched the acceptance move across her face. He knew she’d find it more than fair and hoped she’d see the sentiment behind it. “You really want to write me in like this?” Her voice a shade softer than before.

“Course. Why the fuck not? You’re the best businesswoman I know.” He stated obviously. “Why buy from outside sources that aren’t as good when I have you right here?” He motioned with his hands to her body and gave her a supportive nod.

“Flattery Mr. Solomons.” She gave him a much softer smile.

“It’s gotten me far.” he nodded, a smile only she could sense invitingly resting on his full lips.

She gave him a brief up and down, work clothes with their usual dusty and billowy nature against his body in recline. She moved to take the pen from the desk and positioned herself between his legs, bending over in front of him and signing the contract with her signature feminine flair.

“Now 'is is….” He stared at her round arse draped in soft fabric. “Less than professional acceptance.” He groaned out with his underlying playful tone obvious to her.

“Do you mind if I respond in a way that’s unprofessional?” she asked as she restedd her hands on the desktop and let him gawk.

“I’d prefer it.” he grunted with a raised brow.

“How long did you have this meeting down for Mr. Solomons?” She asked as she took her hair down and he felt his nostrils flare as he saw her feminine proportions modeled so closely to his itching hands.

“Half an hour.”

“I think we can work within that don’t you?” She gave a smirk he could not see but turned to reveal a thoroughly amused expression looking down at him.

“I’ll work wif any time frame ya got for is love.” He almost growls, putting his hands on her waist to gives it a squeeze.

She slides her fingers, intertwined with his as she tugs him gently closer, moving his hands to her bum. “I think for something like this a little celebration is in order.” Her tone is confident as she moves a heeled foot up onto the arm of his chair, her flared skirt only teasing him with her stocking covered knee.

“Ya know I love celebratin' a good deal.” He responds with hands that slide from her cheeks to her thighs and rest there with a soft back and forth.

“Is this how you would’ve preferred our first negotiation to have gone?” She asked with a tilt of her head, looking innocent enough but the buttons on her top strained as she leaned back onto the desk.

“THAT'S where I know ‘is dress from, yeah?” He nodded with enthusiasm.

“It is.” She answers slowly and rubs her fingers through the longer bits of hair at the crown of his head.

“Don’t remember it being quite this tight last time.” He teased, both his hands move to cup her heavy breasts in the light linen fabric.

“Oh, piss off.” She jabs and ruffles his hair with a playful shake of his head.

“That is NOT a complaint. Lemme make that perfectly fuckin' clear.” He squeezes and plays, hands rubbing up her ribs to give the girls a good solid wobble.

“Crystal.” She hums and accepts the pawing grip at her body. “I thought it fit to wear this to have a bit of fun, living in sin before we’re married. I can be the newcomer Genevieve Durand, and you are the well established and infamous Alfie Solomons.”

“Again, not a complaint…” He begins with a more serious brow. “But where did this come from? Ya’ve been so serious as of late, pet.”

“Thought some reminiscing might be timely and nice. A touch of cheeky indulgence in the middle of the day for us both?” Her fingers keep stroking his head, scratching his beard as he enjoys the feeling of her soft hands doting on him. “Perhaps a nice escape? I get to play a role, and so do you, act out what we both wanted deep down the first time around?”

“And what exactly is it that you want to do to me Miss Durand?” His eyes were issuing a challenge and she was woman enough to answer.

“I think to get a proper feel for your taste for the Abeille Company you should try some of my honey from the source.” Her voice was breathy and soft, fingers slowly pulling up the hem of her dress and showing him her inner thigh as his hands ran up along the backside of them. “I’d also like a demonstration of just how talented that wicked mouth of yours is. I’ve heard you’re such a cunning linguist, Mr. Solomons.” She rests back on her hands and lets his hands explore her soft thighs, fingers tracing the upper binding of her stockings as she looks down at him proudly for her cheeky words.

“I ‘ave been told I have a gift for it. I’d love to give ya a demonstration. Only makes sense we share our skill sets yeah?” He places a single kiss to her bent knee and sighs at the contact. It was good to be reminded that she could, in fact, have fun and be a bit childish. When it was appropriate and with her Alfie love of course.

“I did have the funniest feeling in the pit of my stomach while bartering with you.” His nose ruffles up her skirt like a curious pup, making his way to her silk knickers. “Similar to the one I’m having now.” She smiles and keeps her hand on his head, feeling his soft dark gingery hair run between her fingers. She feels his warm mouth press against her silk-covered center, comforting and arousing all the same.

“Let me see ya love. Gonna wanna remember ‘is.” He speaks quietly but she feels the grit of his need in his voice as it vibrates off her lips. With confident hands, he pulls down her knickers and pushes her knees apart to sit her back on the desk. With a peppering of eager kisses, he reveals her soft pink center by pushing her skirt back over her hips. He says nothing, a bitten lip and dark eyes speaking enough as his fingertips trace and tease her. He plucks the buttons from her top half to reveal more full body in rounds of waves as each moves her breasts closer to release. A show begins for her, a man enamored worshipping at the altar of his love. Mouthfuls of her weighted and now freed tits reverberate as he moans into her flesh. His thumb swipes over her clit, a slickness already aiding him from her own impatience.

He feels her relax and soften beneath his touch. Something she’d been more easily achieving every time they were intimate now, which was becoming a very welcome habit at night for Alfie's heart, but not so much his knees. It was mostly hands and mouths, him taking the lead and pleasing his betrothed how he believed a man should. Her tendency to allow him to lead her through it and lay back and take whatever he gave made her behavior this afternoon particularly surprising.

With his plush lips nestled between her thick and soft ones, attached and lapping, nursing away at her clit her hands hold his head. She scratches up his back, messing up his hair as he works away at her with small nods of his head as she held her knees wide apart for him. She gets to watch him work at her, tongue as pink as her folds and showing its expertise in making her feel good. The shades in the glass widows give them more privacy but the dust in the air makes the sepia light filter through dimly. Making the red in his hair more prominent as she enjoys fussing with it. “I don’t know if you’re a better negotiator or lover, Alfie.” She exhales with shut eyes and a panting mouth.

Although he could exist just fine without it, he did love hearing the praise from someone’s who’s opinion he held in the highest of esteem.

“That wicked, wicked tongue.” She mewled, he groaned and held fast to her thighs. “That tongue has won me over time and time again, Solomons.” Her head falling back as her hands grip into his messy crown of hair. “But I'd like to seal this negotiation with my favorite instrument of yours.” He grunts in amusement as he looks up at her with boyishly eager eyes.

“Would that be me mind?” He asks as he wipes his beard on her inner thighs with messy kisses.

“You’ve already charmed me with your cleverness darling now let me charm you in that throne of yours.” She pushes his shoulder back with her heel and he happily obeys. He leans back, hips pushed out in his relaxed position as she moves to her knees slowly.

“Ah fuck sweetie ya ain’t gotta-“

“It’s been too long, Cheri.” The dark upward turn of her eyes and her low deep tone were enough to stop him as she palmed him through his trousers, moving with a subtle smirk to free him. “Let me remember what a handful you are Mr. Solomons.” She speaks as if conducting business still, taking his rapidly hardening cock into her hands with loose and doting strokes. “Your reputation precedes you.” She coos and kisses his leaking tip. “Heard Alfie Solomons was hard to handle, biggest bollocks of any man in London. Hard. Head… strong.” She leaves another lingering kiss, lips ghosting over the underside of him. “May I present my offer for these negotiations Mr. Solomons?” She was toying with him and the playfulness in her eyes he welcomed. It’d been so long since he’d seen it.

“Yes, please do.” He moans, pushing back a curtain of black hair from her face. “Show me what you’re bringin' to the deal, love.” He rasps out as she takes him into her mouth. A feeling of fullness and closeness she’d missed floods her. The control was a delightful rush as his hands stayed on his chair arms and she worked him with both of hers. The swears begin, the familiar tension in her neck and the moans of exertion and enjoyment all fall back into place. She might’ve been the one on her knees, but it was clearly Alfie who was the one losing control. With a familiar twitch in his veins against her sensitive lips she pulls off him, a quick and precise swish of hair to the side with a hiked up skirt catches him off guard.

“Time for your counteroffer Solomons.” A wicked smile on her face as she slowly jerks and lowers herself onto him, a position of power as she straddled him in the chair. With hands to his shoulders, tits out and in his face, she felt that rush. Oh, to have control again. It made her sigh and swoon, his hands on her, his mouth serving her eagerly. She had a gangster at her beck and call and he was a pup while buried side her, licking and whimpering and eager to please all the same.

“Fuck me, love.” He whispers against heavy pendulous tits that bounce in his face as her thighs burn with the less than familiar use. He forgets the game as she pulls his head back by his hair and uses him. His hands find her hips as she grinds against him.

Genevieve felt her orgasm building, bodies full of friction giving her what she needed, realizing how much she’d missed taking him for a ride, having him beneath her like this. “Fuck, I missed this.” She lets out in an almost whine, hips and chest soft and rippling. “Fuck, I missed you.” She moans out and lowers her head back down to create a small bubble of privacy of her now waist-length hair around them. With her breathing heavy, she pants against his forehead, his hands large and encasing her back as she takes back her power in her old way. There were no bad thoughts as they moaned together, no bad feelings as she felt him fill and stretch her, only deep fondness for the man that could bring this out in her. “I do love your mind... and that filthy mouth... but… your cock should never be undersold.” She lets out a huff of laughter as she wipes her hair from her face, an inner glow of happiness he sees peak through.

Her cheeks flushed pink. Her hair loose and wild with her feminine and full body working itself against his willing one. She looked youthful and content, like he’d seen her after a run in a field of flowers, the lavender smell in the air just the same. “Yours now, Genny.” He manages to get out and she hums at his sentimentality in the midst of play. He knew what she needed, what could power her or drain her and he always delivered with his observant nature. “Brilliant woman like you… knows when she’s got it dunnit she?”

“Yes.” She nods and holds his face. “Your mine Alfie Solomons. Mine. Tell me.”

“Yours, signed in black and white.” She lets our a rolling laugh, a flip of hair and a smile full of teeth as she lets out a school girl squeal and bounces again on him. “Fuckin' hell love ya gonna finish me quick with this lovely little cunt yeah? Been too long I can’t take a ride like 'is like I used to.”

“I’m close Alfie, just… fuck me.” She pleads and he gets to hear crass words from her for the first time in so long. It makes his stomach twitch and his balls tighten. “Give me what I want.”

He takes hold of her hips and makes her grind against him. A play to have her come and give him an extra minute or two of this lusty angel on his lap. “You want it, it’s yours. Long as you’re mine you get what you want yeah?” He grunts through clenched teeth.

“I want you, Alfie.” She moans helplessly, his hand moving her more now than her own hips as they grow weak and stiff for the impending orgasm. “Don’t waste a drop, Solomons, finish inside me. Want every bit of you to be mine.” She lets out without much thought, just hungry for him and the intimacy of abandon she could only feel with him. No one else could make her this way, this safe and secure and loved to let her be free like this. It was an addictive feeling of connectivity that she’d never known before.

“Ya gonna fuckin' get it love, fuck.” He tries to hold back as he feels her tightening around him. A high pitch pant that calls out to every masculine cell of him comes from her swollen lips. As he watches in wonderment of her chest heaving and face becoming so transparent in her feelings as only he can cause, she gasps and begins to shake. “Like fuckin heaven you are yeah?” He kisses her sternum as she tremors and her hips stay steady and grinding, feeling her heartbeat under his lips as she whimpered out his name, only loud enough for him to hear. Her body tenses and swells, a wet mess of both of them on the insides of her thighs as she held his face and kissed him, hips slow and indulgent as they rocked onto his. His hands held her, two calloused palms on each arse cheek, kneading her like the bread he sold upstairs.

“Fuck.” She sighs against his lips as they cool off, a shiver as sweat begins to dry and their hearts slow. “I needed that.” She admits with a relaxed smile.

“Is that how we do deals now?” He asked with a serious face and she lightly slaps him and chuckles.

“Im a fan of it as a business model.” She answers and kisses his forehead as she smooths back his sweaty and fussed hair.

“It’s a good model for adding more Solomons' to the business.” He chuckles as she adjusts his shirt.

“More Solomons'?”

“Yeah, you’re a smart bird ya know staying in like 'is after… keepin' all me in ya like is.” He moves his hands up to her breasts then to her stomach as he speaks. “Recipe for making babies, innit?”

“Ah.” She says with a now knowing nod. “Perhaps.” A coy reply as she raises off him and begins buttoning her top back into place.

“Perhaps?” He scoffs. “Pretty sure there’s only one way to make the little buggers, love.” is his playful answer.

“I know that.” She rolls her eyes. “I just mean... okay? Perhaps as in... if it does… it does?” She shrugs a shoulder casually. “We are to be married soon anyway. Not like having a baby right after marriage is an uncommon sort of thing.”

“It’s not.” He answers simply as he groans and stands, cleaning himself up and shaking out his legs. “Just making sure we’re both on the same page.” He pulls her back in and pushes her hair behind her shoulders. “Didn’t know if you was ready for it yet is all.”

“I am.” She answers softly. “Have been, truly. Not a secret that I wanted to be a mum.”

“True.” He nods. “Ya know I only want to make sure ya doing well. Telling me these sorts of things. No small decision.”

“I think you’re a fine candidate to be a father. Protective, good listener…”

“A fan of full-bodied women with tits that could smother me.” He adds in with a mumble.

It does what he wants and makes her laugh. “They’re going to get so big Alfie. My word. Will I even be able to walk or just topple over?” She teases back.

“I’ll be a proper husband and I’ll hold em up for ya love. Least I can do really.” He offers with a shrug as he cups her chest and feels it move with her laughter.

“After all, you’ll have done it to me.”

“Fuckin' right, love. Wanna watch this belly swell up with me and watch you and the babe grow. Knowing it’s mine… you’re mine… does things to a man.”

“Does things to a woman too.” She smirks. “I want a strong husband to rub my aching feet and rub me down in all my roundness with oils.”

“Oh you won’t keep me hands off that fat arse of yours.” She scoffs and hits his chest and he acts offended. “What? A mum's supposed to have a big bum love! You’re already lookin' like a proper mum with these tits and child bearin' hips. Am I supposed to lie?”

“YES!” She laughs and shoved him and he grabs her back gently and kisses her cheek.

“Ya gorgeous, love.” He offers more sincerely. “And being the greedy bastard I am, the more of you there is the more I get all to meself.”

“There’s that charming tongue again. What a fool I am for it.” She rolls her eyes and sighs, feeling swept away in his charm like a young girl.

“And thank fuck for that.” He says genuinely as he gives ticking kisses to her neck and ears with his whiskers. “What else has an old fucker like me got going for him?” He taunts.

“This meeting was only for half an hour and I’m afraid there’s not enough time left for me to cover them all.” She says with pouting lips that were only a bit patronizing.

He opens his mouth and side-eyes her and gives her a groan. “Oh ya little-C’mere.” He growls and squeezes her tight as she lets out laughs and sighs at his childish behavior. But the break in all seriousness is truly what she needed, a service he provided exclusively for her.

As their lives always do, everything around them keeps moving even as they take small moments to be still and get lost in one another. They part, new contract signed and not being the only thing to remind them of this joining for the day. Besides at the bat mitzvah, there had been no formal announcement of their official coupling. Word traveled fast for people like them, so they figured there was no point in making a fuss about it. The news quickly spread and there were the concerned glances from women who did not know the true Genevieve when she was asked about the truth of the rumors. Alfie, however, was praised for his luck and getting a wealthy and pretty woman, the only insinuation dared in the men’s eyes who mentioned it being of he was sure he wanted to settle.

After an afternoon of business and personal errands, Genevieve arrives in a cheerful mood back home. After their encounter in the early part of the day, it wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic of Alfie to send her flowers, since her abduction he had made it a point to be softer and more affectionate with her in the same ways.

“There was no sender.” Claire proclaimed as she looks up from her papers in her hands, feet tucked under her in the large chair.

“When did they arrive?”

“Before tea.”

“Curious.” Genevieve whispers.

“How so?”

“I hadn’t had my appointment with Alfie yet.” She answers.

“Are they from him? Thought they could’ve been celebratory for the engagement.”

“Normally I would agree... but Alfie always sends cards and a congratulatory sending should have one as well.”

“An oversight perhaps?” Claire shrugs.

“Hmmmm.” Gen hummed. “Hyacinth’s though…” She shook her head. “Very curious choice for such a thing.” She chewed her lip and studied the bouquet. “And in yellow.”

“Forgive my ignorance of the poetic meanings of flora but should that mean something?”

“Means fuckin jealousy.” Alfie answers with a box in his arms as he comes in, all broad in his hat and coat. He sits an opened box onto the table next to the flowers.

“So you didn’t send them?” Gen affirms and he lets out an annoyed sigh.

“No, love I did not.”

“Jealousy?” Claire asks now sitting up and paying attention.

“I got this fuckin' lot of rubbish today as well.” He knocks the box with his hand. Genevieve leans forward and sees a butcher's block of knives.

“An early wedding gift?” Alfie could hear the sarcasm in her voice as she purses her lips.

“Would seem so, yeah?”

“Yellow hyacinth's. ..knives as a wedding present.” Gen chewed a nail with narrowed eyes.

“A knife? Who sends fucking knives? Is it a threat?” Claire asks with growing concern for the quiet non-verbal conversation between Alfie and Genevieve happening in front of her.

“Knives are symbolic. As a wedding gift they are said to bring bad luck and cut the couple apart.” Gen explained.

“In that case it could only be… oh, ANYONE in the city who doesn’t want you together.” Claire groans and slumps at the new obstacle announcing itself.

“Load of superstitious cunts.” Alfie gruffs out and knocks the flowers with the back of his hand.

“I believe we find ourselves once again in agreement.” Gen says with an apologetic and sad smile to Alfie who only stares angrily at the flowers. The pair on the lad to send these to her. He wishes he’d killed him when he had the chance.

“You two might be but who the fuck is daft enough to send something so outright rude and aggressive to you?” Claire demands.

“Stupid fucker.” Alfie shakes his head in annoyance. He knew he’d come back to show his fuck ugly face again. The mad apples never fall far from the tree.

“I believe our former associates the Greeks, or rather Niko, is my guess, has just let us know what he thinks of our engagement,” Gen answers her finally after reaching out to pluck a petal off the stacked flowers and study it. “And he is not happy.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

@jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbirdd @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @alitheamateur @gold-trashbag @divadinag @imhelenagardner

#alfie solomons #peaky blinders #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fan fiction #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #alfie solomons drabble #alfie solomons au #peaky blinders au #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons x reader #tom hardy

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timeagainreviews · 5 years ago

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The Great Con-Junction

For a place like the world-famous Elstree Studios in London, history is made on the regular. Movies like "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," "Hot Fuzz," and even "Star Wars" have all been captured to celluloid moving at twenty-four frames per second. However, it was a lesser-known, though no less ambitious film that had eager fans lining up around the block on a mild February morning nearly forty years later. The film I speak of is none other than Jim Henson's 1982 cult-classic "The Dark Crystal." Myself and at least 200 other attendees were gathered for the first official Dark Crystal convention, celebrating both the film and the Netflix series. Taking place at the very studio where the movie was filmed, Thames Con's "The Great Con-Junction," was also the biggest reunion of the original cast and crew since the film's release. Once again, history was being made at Elstree Studios.

Upon learning of the convention I was filled with both desire and regret. Desire to go, and regret that I most likely wouldn’t be able. I live in Glasgow which is 6.5 hours away from London by car, and I don’t drive. On top of that, I hadn’t any money saved for such an occasion. But through the generosity of several friends, my mother, and my boyfriend willing to drive me there, the impossible was suddenly very tangible. With only twenty days until the convention, I was one of the lucky few able to attend this momentous affair.

It may seem odd that such a niche convention could draw someone from as far away as Glasgow, and in some cases the US and Australia. But if you’ve ever been to a Star Trek or My Little Pony convention, you may have some idea as to the sort of passion we’re dealing with. For many, Dark Crystal isn’t merely a great creative property, it’s life-changing. As a child, Jim Henson’s work left an indelible mark upon my soul. Projects like "Fraggle Rock," "Storyteller," and "The Flintstones," inspired creativity in me and filled me with the desire to one day work for the Jim Henson Company. Sadly, years of adulting did their best to dull that flame to a mere ember. However, after last year’s premiere of "The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance," that ember grew into a roiling fire.

For the past month, I’ve been a ball of excited energy leading up to the convention. I’ve immersed myself in all things Jim Henson. Whether it be rewatching the Netflix series for the umpteenth time, revisiting Labyrinth, or reading JM Lee’s YA Dark Crystal novels, it’s been all I could do not to crack up. In the final week leading up to the event, I directed this nervous excitement into creating a cosplay as the Crystal of Truth, wrapped in black chains and metal claws. When the day finally arrived and I found myself waiting in line with other excited fans decked out in purple, or cosplaying as Deet or Rian, I knew I was with my people. The air was abuzz with excitement as we were slowly ushered into the building.

The event hall at Elstree was decorated with posters of scenes from the movie along with mood lighting. Part of the ticket cost afforded each attendee a beautiful signed print by Brian Froud. A bar at the entrance was selling official Dark Crystal merch including the ThinkGeek Fizzgig puppet only available in the states. Right away I had blown most of my budget, but my new furry friend would agree I made the right choice! I’d been there not two minutes, and already my arms were full of swag. I took this opportunity to get my Fizzgig and a book signed by both Brian and Wendy Froud, who were very generously autographing people’s items for free.

Usually, conventions leave a bad taste in my mouth as they seem like supremely capitalist ventures. And while there were plenty of things to buy, the Frouds’ generosity set the real tone of the event. Not only were they generous with their autographs, but they were also incredibly generous with their time. It seemed as though every person that talked to them was given an opportunity to gush and share their personal stories. As I told them both how much their work meant to me, they were treating it as though it were the first time they had heard it that day. Brian even took the time to doodle a little Fizzgig and Skeksis for me alongside his whimsical signature. The impression they left me with is that they were both very genuine and down to earth people, and meeting them is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

One of the things Mr Froud shared with me was that in his experience, people’s reaction to the Dark Crystal is usually always something creative. People go off and make fan art, cosplays, puppets, or even their own artistic endeavours. You could see proof of this all around the room that day. I met a brilliant artist from Seattle named Nori (@noriretherford), who in exchange for doodles from attendees was giving beautiful prints of her fan art. I drew my best skekTek from memory and have the cutest depiction of Seladon, Tavra, and Brea playing as children to show for it. There were cosplays with humbling levels of detail and even the occasional puppets of people’s original characters. All around you, creativity was swirling, and people were passionately sharing their enthusiasm with one another.

These initial couple of hours were dedicated to meet and greets with the cast, crew, and fellow attendees. Everyone seemed just as interested to listen as they were to share. One attendee remarked to me how she had never before felt more encouraged to speak to strangers than she had at the convention. Even my boyfriend, who is generally shy, was coming out of his shell and joining in the conversations. I was also pleased that the convention was managed well enough that I didn’t spend my entire day waiting in line to meet someone while he was relegated to watching my things. I was actually able to share this experience with him as opposed to relaying it through dreamfasting later. This made meeting the guests less of a thing to check off a list, and more of an experience.

My only real qualm with the structure of the convention was the Skeksis tea which was offered as part of the ticket price. Since I was unaware that the guests would be available all day, I was a bit late to lunch meaning the banquet was completely picked over by the time we had gotten there. No amount of cute creative table displays or impressively crafted Nebrie cake could obscure the fact that we were forced to find our lunch at the McDonalds across the road. Furthermore, I was unaware that the lunch was buffet style, which meant that if someone wanted to be as gluttonous as skekAyuk, it would leave the rest of us hungry. We were not alone in this, as several others were left to look upon the empty tables with dismay. That being said, for a first-time convention, it’s impressive that so little went awry.

For me, the biggest highlight of the day was getting to actually see the Gelfling puppets along with their respective puppeteers. Both Beccy Henderson and Neil Sterenberg had Deet and Rian with them. I’m not ashamed to admit that I hugged Deet. Being able to see the detail of the puppets and feel the various textures employed by the brilliant fabricators at the Jim Henson Creature Workshop was mindblowing. Not to mention that both Beccy and Neil were just as generous with their time as the Frouds. Though I would have to say the most exciting puppet I met that day has to go to Hup, as Victor Yerrid was actually puppeteering him and speaking directly to attendees in Podling. Hearing Hup say my name and talk to me was overwhelmingly exciting! That man is a brilliant puppeteer.

Throughout the day there were also several panels with guests from both the TV show and the movie. It was fascinating to listen to each of them tell their stories. Whether it be anecdotes about Jim Henson or tales about trying to navigate hot costumes under studio lights, it was a treasure trove of information. Listening to these stories was a constant reminder of the sheer amount of history present in the room. Each one of these guests had their own incredible careers, and here they all were, ready to share their fantastic stories. Yet despite this being an intimate gathering of a small group of creatives reuniting after 38+ years, it never once felt like it was all about them. You didn’t feel like an interloper or an evesdropper. We were all part of this wonderful experience together.

It was puppeteer Louise Gold’s remarks to the crowd about this that really put into words what we were all thinking. Through stifled tears, she remarked that she had initially come to see all of her old friends, but had found herself equally enriched by meeting the fans. Seeing all of us come together and sharing our stories was as inspiring to her as it was for us. Hearing her impassioned words moved quite a few of us to tears, myself included. She was easily one of my favourite people I met yesterday, and not just because she was so wonderfully extra. Her words spoke the same truth as Brian Froud's- what has resulted from this fandom is something creative. The Dark Crystal hasn’t simply entertained, it has changed lives.

Of course, like any good convention, it wasn’t just the guests in the spotlight. The cosplay contest allowed for an opportunity for the fans to strut their stuff. Much like the ticket giveaway the organisers had done, they couldn’t decide on just one winner. There was so much goodwill and positivity flowing that honourable mentions were given prizes as well, and with good reason. There were so many incredible costumes that I doubt I could have picked the best of the lot. There were Gelflings, Skeksis, a Hup, and even an urRu! My favourite of the lot was a mother-daughter duo who went as Brea and Kira respectively. But that may just have to do with the fact that I’m a big Brea fan and her costume was incredible!

Were I to think of any one word to explain how I feel about being able to attend this convention it would be grateful. I left feeling rejuvinated. My boyfriend even commented that I was “glowing.” I wish everyone in the fandom could have the same experience. I’ve seen so many passionate fans online in the last day wishing they could have gone, and I very easily could have been one of them. It’s proof to me that this fandom has more to it than just a few people toiling away in their basements. There is a real desire for these types of events. It’s not hard to imagine people declaring their Gelfling clan like Harry Potter fans might declare themselves Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws. (I’m totally a Vapran.) If you look online, you can see people’s OCs of both Gelfling and Skeksis. Even I’ve considered putting together my own Gelfling Gathering here in Glasgow. I’m hopeful that this is a sign of things to come, and that we won’t have to wait a thousand trine for the next Great Con-Junction.

#the great con-junction #the great conjunction #the dark crystal #thamescon #london #brian froud #wendy froud #louise gold #beccy henderson #neil sterenberg #victor yerrid #skeksis #gelfling #hup #poddling #the dark crytsal: age of resistance #fizzgig #elstree studios

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curiousconstellations · 5 years ago

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Signs of Love

Hi @shireness-says I’m your CS Secret Santa! It’s been so great talking to you for the past few weeks (even if it was sporadic on my end, apologies!) and I hope you enjoy this gift (and I may or may not be working on a fic that includes the tropes you love that I didn’t include here!) I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and enjoy your favourite traditions- I’m curious to know what ornament you received :)

And thank you @cssecretsanta2k19 for hosting a great event this year!

“I know I’m here for Mary Margaret and David, but God I hate this lame, cheesy shit.”

Killian is more amused than offended by this comment, having heard plenty of grumbles from the tag-along partners of his customers that sneer and scoff at his products. He stands around the corner from the checkout, hidden by a wall that allows him to eavesdrop on the one-sided conversation of the woman’s phone call.

“I know they love this stuff but I’m the one that has to spend money. I’d rather it not be on crap, you know?” The woman continues and Killian begins to feel a little defensive. His store was a small but well-crafted selection and range of rustic items, mostly his own versions of things people see in magazines and want in their homes.

The wooden ‘live, laugh, love’ signs were the most popular, along with wicker log baskets and white metal heart ornaments, boxes and photo frames. Killian is aware that this is a particular taste in décor but he takes pride in his business of local production and sales.

“Okay, well I’ll ask if they do that kind of thing, if anyone even works here. This place is literally empty.”

Killian waits for the woman to hang up the phone before making an appearance, catching her checking out the price tag on a photo frame with an expression that looks like actual interest.

“Can I help you?” Killian asks politely. The woman has the decency to look a little sheepish as she looks up at him, but she quickly dismisses the photo frame to march up to the checkout counter.

“I need a gift for my friend’s wedding. I was wondering if you did custom orders?” The woman asks assertively. There’s a hardness to her green eyes that means business and it’s clear she’d like to get this gift and be done quickly.

“Aye, we do custom orders. It can take up to 6 weeks depending on what you want, so if it’s a last-minute gift I’m afraid it won’t be done in time.” Killian tells her, fighting back a grin when her eyebrows shoot up.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a crappy friend that buys wedding gifts last minute?” The woman retorts and Killian puts his hands up defensively.

‘Not at all, love. I’m merely informing you to avoid receiving a complaint that it isn’t ready for the event. We strive for the best quality production, which can sometimes not be quick enough for some customers, even if it is lame, cheesy shit.’ Killian replies, letting a smirk spread across his lips when he uses her words. The woman appears to be shocked at first, but with the twitch of her lips and the drop of her shoulders she shakes her head and softens slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. All this wedding stuff is just stressing me out.”

“Why don’t we start over? I’m Killian Jones, at your service to design whatever gift you wish.” He extends his hand with a soft smile, watching as the woman’s eyes roam over his face for an intense moment before she slides her hand into his.

“Emma Swan, maid of honour for her best friend’s wedding and entirely void of sentimentality.” She says quietly, offering him a small, short-lived smile. Their hands slip away, and Killian slides a folder on the counter towards her.

“This has all the choices of material we have available, ranging from metal to several different types of wood. It also has all the styles of engravings and personalized messages and how much it costs. Feel free to browse through.” Killian says softly, looking up to see Emma chewing her lip as she quickly flicks through the pages in the folder.

“Yeah, I have no idea about any of this stuff. Do you have any suggestions?” Emma sighs, looking up at him with desperation in her eyes.

“How about you come on back, I have some sample products I can show you to get some ideas.’ Killian offers, gesturing behind him to the back room of the store. Emma glances around and Killian chuckles, much to Emma’s surprise.

“This place is, as you said, literally empty. I’ve got more work to do back there than out here anyway.” He explains, and Emma silently nods in agreement, a light blush rising to her cheeks as he repeats her less than kind words once again.

“So, how long have the happy couple been together?” Killian asks as Emma walks around the counter to join him, the folder tucked under her arm.

‘Three years this December. Mary Margaret found an injured bird and brought it to David’s vet clinic, and I guess they fell in love over a broken wing. They’re that couple, you know?” Emma snorts, but he can tell she thinks a lot of her friends underneath the derision.

“Well, I have a few bird ornaments if you want something like that. Or I can make something with their wedding date on.” Killian offers, watching Emma as she looks around his workshop with curiosity. She stops at a wooden sign he’s in the middle of carving for the Robinson family and hums thoughtfully.

“I think something like this would be nice on their porch, maybe with a bird on each end and ‘The Nolans’ in the middle. And then maybe something else with their wedding date on too, is that okay, can you do two things?” Emma asks sheepishly. He feels himself smile at the way she crinkles her nose when making the request.

“Of course, love. I’ll make anything you pay for.” Killian teases, pleased when she actually laughs a little. He grabs some scrap paper and draws some designs for her, and he’s surprised when she helps him with ideas and seems excited. They look over types of wood and measurements until he has a clear vision of what she wants. Judging by the genuine smile on her face, he thinks he has convinced her that his shop isn’t just lame, cheesy shit after all. He creates an initial invoice for her and spontaneously decides to write his number on the bottom, just in case she had any inquires or requests of course. Her expression tells him she knows exactly what he is doing, but there is something in the way her mouth curves into a light smile that gives him hope she might actually keep it.

-/-

Winter is here in full force this evening as Emma gets out her car and races into Killian’s store away from the billowing snowstorm. She groans at the feel of the heat once inside, kicking the snow off her boots and shivering. Killian isn’t in the front of the store, so she heads into the workshop in the back like she’s a regular (at this point though maybe she is, letting herself in when the store is closed and all that). He’s sanding away at some wood with headphones in, his head nodding to the beat as he works. She can hear him singing quietly too, his voice deep and pleasant. Emma has to admit, he looks particularly attractive when he’s in his workshop and his hair gets messy and his shirt clings to his arms.

She walks in front of his work bench, waving when he looks up in surprise.

“Swan, hi.” Killian says, sounding flustered. He takes out his headphones and brushes his forehead with his arm.

“Hey. I’m sorry for dropping in uninvited. I just wanted to um…ask you something.” She feels ridiculous now, realizing she should have just sent a message instead of coming out here like this.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t quite finished The Nolans’ gift.”

“No, it’s not that. Well, it kind of is I guess. Related to the gift. I mean, more like the wedding itself but anyway. I just wanted to ask if you would be my plus one for the wedding? Of course you shouldn’t feel obligated to come just because I asked and you’re making the gift but there was some confusion. I was going to bring my son as my guest, but David and Mary Margaret counted him as a guest on the list already and now there is an extra seat and everyone I know is already going and I can’t be the maid of honour and be responsible for screwing up the numbers so I’m inviting you.”

“So, you’re inviting me, a man you’ve known for two weeks, to your best friend’s wedding where I will be joining you presumably at the front of the wedding reception along with your child whom I’ve never met?” And didn’t know existed, she’s sure he’s thinking too.

“Okay, when you put it like that, yeah it’s weird. I’m sorry I asked, I’m way overstepping.” Emma feels her face burn and suddenly all she wants is to back outside in the snowstorm.

“I never say no, lass.” Killian chuckles, putting down the sandpaper and wood on the bench and standing close to her. She can see the mischievous glint in his eye before his expression becomes a little more serious.

“I would love to accompany you, Swan. Send me the details and the colour of your outfit so I can dress accordingly.”

“Killian, this isn’t the prom, we don’t have to colour coordinate.” Emma snorts, shaking her head as he wiggles his eyebrows. She’s learned over the past couple of weeks that Killian is usually flirtatious and humorous, and she’s come to expect his eyebrow raises and cheeky grins. She wishes she didn’t fall for it quite so much, but he also seems like a pretty decent guy and she knows he’s putting in a lot of work to get the gifts made for her.

“I do have to warn you though, a lot of people are going to ask if we’re dating. Actually, I know for a fact my friend Ruby is going to pounce on you the second we get to the wedding. I just don’t want things to be awkward, and Henry doesn’t even know you so…” Emma trails off, the gears in her head making her realize this probably isn’t the best idea.

“No worries, this is a purely platonic arrangement, I understand.” Killian nods, making her sigh with relief. She doesn’t want to deal with not bringing a guest but in all honesty she hadn’t fully considered actually bringing Killian as a guest either. She’s sure David and Mary Margaret would appreciate meeting the man who literally carved their wedding gifts, but she has not had a plus one that wasn’t her son in a very long time, and she knows full well that people lap that kind of gossip up at weddings.

“How old is your boy?” He asks, and Emma knows he’s trying to quell her concerns.

“He’s ten. He’s a great kid, wise beyond his years. It’s been me and him his whole life.” Emma stops there, thinking that is plenty of information to share for now. Killian smiles and nods but doesn’t push for more details and she is appreciative, glad when he turns her attention to the woodwork. He makes her feel the smooth edges and wiggles out compliments from her on his handiwork and she decides that she made the right decision in wanting Killian as a friend in her life.

-/-

The wedding party is in full swing, everyone dancing and laughing around the newlyweds. Emma watches Henry as he gleefully cheers while Killian gives him a piggyback around the dancefloor. It had been surprisingly easy introducing Killian to everyone, but Henry was the most excited and receptive, immediately asking Killian to say things in his ‘funny accent’ and asking him what comic books he likes.

“It’s almost like Killian is the perfect guy for you.” Ruby grins as she sits down beside her, and Emma rolls her eyes. She’s surprised she held out this long without saying anything.

“Ruby, we’re just friends. He’s a great guy and Henry seems to really like him but I’m not looking for this to be anything more.”

“Sometimes things just happen when you’re not looking though. Just think about it.” Ruby says, a bit too seriously for Emma’s liking. She brushes her off and pretends to go grab some food but instead heads over to the Christmas tree by the window where it is quiet. David and Mary Margaret went for a rustic winter aesthetic for their wedding but couldn’t resist adding some Christmas decorations. It’s perfectly picturesque outside too, with the snow lightly falling and dusting the trees with white, a fairy tale winter wedding fit for her friends.

Emma knows Ruby means well, and all her friends who’ve told her how great Killian is tonight, but Emma finds it more important to enjoy people being in her life than trying to define their relationship or make it something immediately. Besides, she has Henry to think about. It’s one thing for her to get potentially hurt in a relationship, but she absolutely does not want Henry to get hurt.

“You look like you could use a drink.” An accented voice tells her from behind, and she turns to see Killian with two glasses of champagne, extending one out to her.

“Thanks, I definitely could.” She laughs, clinking her glass lightly with his.

“Your boy is wonderful, Swan.” He says softly, and she thinks about Henry’s happy laugh with Killian just now.

“I think he likes you too. He’s so open with everyone, but I admit I’m cautious about introducing him to new people. Friends like David and Mary Margaret will always be in his life, but some people are more like his dad than them.” Emma feels instant regret at her words, hating that she turned their conversation serious.

“That’s perfectly understandable. My older brother essentially raised me, and he was always cautious of people coming into my life after our father left. Defense mechanism and all that.” Killian shrugs before taking a long drink of champagne. Emma studies him for a moment, looking over his clean suit and shiny shoes. He’s wearing spicy cologne and she recalls that his hair, now messy from giving Henry a piggyback ride, had been carefully styled at the beginning of the ceremony. He had put a lot of effort into preparing himself for tonight and she feels warm at the thought that he cared about it.

“Does your brother know a woman you’ve only known for a few weeks asked you to her best friend’s wedding?” She jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“My brother is no longer with us, but if he was I’m sure he would get a laugh out of hearing that before lecturing me.” Killian smiles a little, but Emma still internally curses herself for probing about his brother. She’s about to apologize but he shakes his head.

“It’s fine, honestly. He’s been gone ten years now. It was not long after we started the business together, so I find the most important thing for me has been keeping it afloat.”

“Oh God, now I feel even worse calling it lame shit when I first came in!” Emma cringes, covering her face with her hand in mortification.

“Lass, it was funny, I’m truly not offended. Besides, you gave me a pretty decent cheque so I will not hold it against you.” Killian laughs, and Emma downs the rest of her champagne in embarrassment.

“Well, I have one more job for you that will add to that cheque. Could you maybe help with putting up the Nolan sign on their front porch? I wanted to do it when they’re away on their honeymoon, so when they come back its there.” Emma asks, crinkling her nose in the way she knows Killian finds amusing.

“Aye, I can help. But not for any payment.”

“Okay, fine. Only if you come dance with me.” Emma smiles. The champagne must have gone straight to her head, but she tries to stop thinking so much as she grabs Killian’s arm and pulls him back into the main reception room. Killian puts down their glasses and she laughs as he swings her around quickly to the music. He’s messing around but she can tell he is a good dancer.

It’s when the music becomes slower and the couples around them start swaying that Emma comes down from the fun a bit and realizes Killian takes hold of her like they’ve done this numerous times before.

“I’m not so good at this part.” Emma quietly laughs as she figures out where to put her arms around Killian. He hums, and the sound is soft and deep in her ear.

“Well, all you need to do is pick a partner who knows what he is doing.” Killian replies, and Emma finds herself softening into his arms. For a moment, she forgets where she is and all the anxieties she had about bringing him here and just enjoys the moment. It’s the first time in a very long time she’s felt comfortable with someone new, and instead of overthinking it or running like she always does, Emma decides to embrace it.

-/-

4 years later

Killian tries to fight through the craziness of the workroom, dividing the projects up based on what is ready for pick up and what is still being worked on. It’s the store’s busiest Christmas yet and he can’t imagine a time when he did this by himself. Will and Robin are working away at their own stations and David has stopped by to lend a hand, thankfully.

He’s running back and forth between the store front and the workroom helping customers and bringing out their orders for most of the day, not even taking notice when it’s dark outside and the store hours are long over. The chaos is finally under control when David heads home for the night, and Killian decides to work on the finishing touches on one more project before doing to same.

“So, he goes up to this woman at the bar right, and starts turning on the charm when this big guy, absolutely all muscle, comes up behind him, picks him up and drops him off away from his girlfriend.” Robin laughs hysterically as he tells the story of his and Will’s latest escapades in the pub, Will trying to downplay the incident while exclaiming “it wasn’t like that!”

“I would have loved to have seen that. Why didn’t you guys mention when you were heading to the pub?” Killian asks as he finishes off a coat of varnish on a wooden ornament.

“You were having dinner at Emma’s that night; we didn’t think you’d want to go.” Robin shrugs, glancing over at Will quickly.

“I’m always down for a night at the pub.” Killian jokes, but he narrows his eyes at the looks between his friends.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just we’re both single and we like to, you know, chat to women and stuff. You don’t seem to be all that interested in doing that.”

“I’m single.” Killian is met with snorts from his friends and he gestures with his hands in confusion.

“Come on, Jones. You’re deeply in love with Emma and everyone knows it. Ain’t fair to any other women to lead them on.” Will tilts his head at him and Killian feels the judgment in his eyes.

“And when did ‘everyone’ come to that conclusion?”

Robin and Will are silent for a moment, before Robin clears his throat and puts down the piece of wood his is working on.

“Look, we all think you and Emma would be great together. We just wish you would actually realize that yourselves.”

Killian scratches his ear awkwardly. He is perfectly aware that he and Emma’s relationship is the topic of much discussion among their friends, but they’ve been friends for four years now so the comments really ought to stop, particularly now that Emma is seeing Walsh.

“Emma is in a relationship; I hardly doubt she has feelings for me. Besides, I may have liked Emma when we first met but I’m way past that now.” Killian knows that’s a bald-faced lie even as he says it but he doesn’t know what else to say to get them off his back.

“Then why did Walsh return the gift he got her for Christmas earlier?” Robin challenges and Killian feels a sudden lurch in his chest.

“He did?”

“Yeah, he came in and returned the gift, said that he didn’t need it anymore and he was sure there were other things from your store Emma would prefer instead.”

Killian silently digests this information, feeling awful for hoping this meant that Emma’s relationship was over. He had been spending far less time with Emma since she had met Walsh, and spent even less time with the man to judge him all that well and knew any negativity he felt toward him was born out of jealousy. He could admit that to himself, but God help him if Emma ever knew that.

“The way I see it is you’ll never get what you want if you don’t go for it, and I think there is a long overdue conversation you need to have with her.” Will offers, Robin nodding in agreement. Killian thinks on it for a long time, and soon Will and Robin head home for the night and he is alone. He absentmindedly turns things off and packs things away before going home himself, standing for a moment by his car as the snow falls. It is quiet tonight, his store far enough out that he can’t hear and sounds from town.

For some reason he thinks of the sight of Emma at David and Mary Margaret’s wedding, standing by the Christmas tree with the snow falling outside. He’d been lucky enough to spend a couple of Christmases with Emma since then, but sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just tell her he liked her then, so that four years down the line being in love with his best friend wouldn’t be as torturous.

Killian rubs his hands together to warm up before getting in his car, completely ready to crawl into bed. And yet, twenty minutes later he finds himself pulling up outside Emma’s apartment. Henry answers the door, and Killian suddenly realizes he has no idea what he plans to say to neither Emma nor Henry.

“Thanks for coming, I feel like you’d be better at this than me.” Henry says, and Killian frowns as he enters the apartment, slipping off his shoes and hanging his coat on the peg he always does. He checks his phone quickly and sees a message from Henry, asking him to come comfort Emma after Walsh left. Killian breathes a sigh of relief and clings to this excuse for coming over. Henry is a tall lad now and his voice is so deep Killian forgets he is only fourteen and probably correct in saying he is not the best at comforting his mother through a heartbreak.

“No worries, lad. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Well you’re the one other person that makes mom the happiest, and I know you would do anything for her.” Henry has always been an observant boy, but Killian has always suspected he sees more than he lets on. He squeezes Henry’s shoulder and makes his way to Emma’s room, knocking on the door lightly before entering once he hears her small voice and closing the door behind him.

“Killian, what are you doing here?” Emma asks, looking around at the stuff on her bed with wide eyes. Killian’s eyes glance down, and he notices an open box and several cards, pieces of paper and tickets. He can’t quite make out what any of it is specifically, but he suspects it was things Emma had gathered over the course of her five-month relationship with Walsh.

“Henry messaged, thought you could use a friend.” He shrugged, watching as she scoops everything up and puts it back in the box.

“Because of Walsh? I’m honestly fine.” Emma replies, and he’s surprised at the steadiness of her voice.

“Are you sure? You seem…nostalgic.” He gestures at the box, raising his eyebrow when Emma scoffs.

“I am, but none of this is to do with Walsh. Um, it’s actually stuff from over the last few years, things we did together and things from you.” Emma puts the lid back on to hide everything, holding the box close to her chest as if trying to still keep it a secret. She’s missed one piece of paper, and he picks it up before she notices it. It’s the invoice for the wedding gift four years ago, the one he wrote his number on (he remembers claiming it was in case she had any more requests for the order, and the look she gave him at the time knowing fine well she could use the store number for such things).

“And you said you were void of sentimentality.” Killian says, the first thing that comes to mind. He’s taken by surprise when Emma laughs, but he’s pleased that she isn’t brushing him off. In fact, she lifts the lid back off the box and pushes it towards him at the end of her bed. He looks through the contents, smiling at all the memories and keepsakes she had collected. There was a strip of pictures from a photobooth they had taken two years ago at an arcade for Henry’s 12th birthday. The one with all three of them smiling at the camera was framed in the living room with several other photographs, but it was the last one Killian was drawn to. Henry had darted out of the booth in the previous picture and Killian and Emma were left alone, looking at each other.

“I feel like in that picture it looks like you could love me. Sometimes I look at it to try and convince myself that you really do.”

“It was one of the few moments I couldn’t stop myself. I must have done a good job of trying to hide it the rest of the time, at least to you.” Killian murmurs, and he watches Emma suck in her bottom lip. He suddenly realizes what a fool he is being and walks over to kiss her, feeling her immediately lean into his touch.

“If it wasn’t already clear, I do love you, Swan.” He whispers against her cheek, feeling her cheeks move as she smiles.

“I love you, too.” She replies, and Killian feels the knot in his chest that had been building for four years suddenly loosen at those words.

-/-

This year, Killian truly felt like part of the Swan family Christmas, instead of simply a guest like the previous couple of years. He took part in all of their little traditions, like driving around the neighbourhoods on Christmas Eve to see all the Christmas lights, followed by hot cocoa and a Christmas film. He helped Emma prepare the food and played games with Henry, and once they were done eating he shared his hope for the next year like Henry and Emma always do. They played cheesy Christmas songs and danced, Emma’s hands comfortably finding their way when they swayed to the music this time. Killian would catch sight of the stockings every so often, and seeing his name next to Emma and Henry’s made him smile. It was truly perfect, only beaten by the following Christmas, when Emma unwrapped the ‘Swan-Jones’ family sign he had made and immediately said yes before he had even asked the question.She later showed him the bauble she had Will and Robin carve up that had the very same family name in the middle that she had also planned to propose with, and they hung it up proudly on the tree, soon followed by a bauble with their wedding date.

#cssecretsanta2k19 #cs ff #captain swan #my writing

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whiskas-pandastar · 5 years ago

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A Father Believes

Submission for Fairy Week 2020

Prompt: Day 7 Acalypha

Summary: Even after 7 years, a father believes that his daughter is alive. Jude Heartfilia-centric.

Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: K

Jude Heartfilia was a man of no consequence. He had made many mistakes, and had never tried to fix them. The world spun around his will, was what he believed. There was nothing money could not buy, and he had all of it. Power, fame and most importantly fear. He was feared as a mighty businessman, who could shatter companies with the flick of his finger.

He lived in a luxurious mansion, had servants at his command, owned many estates worth millions of jewels. He has a flourishing business and several companies and shares. He had a beautiful daughter; clever and obedient, soon to be of marriageable age. She would spend all her time reading, at the library and in her room, without bothering him, like how it should be. In return, he gave her an abundance of pretty clothes, gowns, jewelry, accessories, shoes, everything a girl wanted.

She was to wed the Prince Sawalu of Julenelle, which would be extremely beneficial to the Heartfilia railways. Tracks would cross borders and extend the railways, and business would expand more and more. They were wealthy too, a family fit for the Heartfilias. After her marriage, she would bear a son who could then take over the business. Everything would be perfect.

And then he lost it all.

Today, everything comes back to Jude but with a different perspective, and all he could see was how utterly foolish he was.

His very first loss had been his wife, Layla. So caring and gentle and so full of kindness for this cruel world. She was taken from his hands, in a cruel twist of fate, by the very magic that she loved and was proud about. He stood by the side of her bed watching her helplessly as she breathed heavily, watching the life in her slip out. Her early demise shattered him in unimaginable ways as he regretted letting her continue to pursue her family legacy. Something she should not even have been bothered about.

"It's for our baby girl." She had smiled, feeling not an ounce of regret on her decision. "Now she can be free."

He swore to protect their daughter, his only sign of her memory, to never let even the shadow of danger near her. But in doing so, he realized that he had inflicted more misery on the child than any father could, by becoming the object of her fear and hatred.

He found solace only by sinking himself deeper in his work, the business swallowing him up until he forgot all about the daughter he swore to protect who grieved not only the loss of a mother, but a father as well.

His second loss was his daughter, who ran away, leaving him a single note, "I'm going, Father. Don't try to find me. Goodbye."

He should have suspected, when he found her oddly obedient during the weeks before she ran away. Whiling away silently, not retorting back over any of his commands, and not supplementing her knowledge and intellect in any business proposal, which she had a habit of doing very often even when it wasn’t welcome.

"Should we send out people to look, sir?" the servant asked.

Jude Heartfilia crushed the note and fed it to the burning fireplace. "She'll come back when the time is right."

He let her see for herself, the cruel world out there, and why he had kept her confined at the mansion. A part of him wanted that she come back on her own, realizing her mistake for throwing away her life of ease, apologize and never utter a word of complaint. But he also knew that she had the same stubbornness running in her veins as him, and her pride would never allow her to return, no matter how much she struggled, or despised it.

Jude’s anger knew no bounds, when he found that the daughter of the prestigious Heartfilias had joined a lowly mage guild, Fairy Tail or something, that was known for its loud and brash mages, creating trouble everywhere they went. He knew that he ought to have confiscated those keys, sealing it off or selling it away at a high value. But it was the price he paid for the small heed he paid to Layla’s final wishes; to let Lucy own the keys she had carried and use them as she deemed fit.

When the time was indeed right, he commissioned Phatom Lord to bring her back. She was a free spirit, a free bird, like her mother, caring and compassionate. She was meant to see the world, not to be confined in a cage.

And she did so courageously. She returned and faced him.

Lucy tore the pink gown, the very symbol of her oppressive life in the mansion, "What I want isn't pretty clothes or dresses. I want a place where I'm respected for who I am." she said fiercely, "Fairy Tail is my other family and it is far loving than this one was."

“If Mother was still alive, I know she would tell me to follow my heart.” She smiled, and for an instance, he could see Layla’s reflection in her.

It was at that time when Jude's memory returned to 20 years back, when everything was happy. When his beloved Layla was alive.

He realized then that he had lost Lucy, not when she left the house, but when he stopped being a parent, shutting her away and sinking deep down in his work.

How had he forgotten those times? How had he let this happen? How had he changed so much?

His third and final loss was his wealth, the wealth that he had treasured so immensely, the wealth that he had prioritized over everything.

Gradually, within a few months, Jude lost everything. The empire he had built by working tooth and nail, and by sacrificing his only daughter came crashing down. All his shareholders, business partners and investors turned their backs on him. As his business slumped, his debt went on increasing.

He sold various items in the mansion, ancient relics, antiquities, jewels, and paintings. All the lands and estates were sold, one by one and the servants sent packing away, until the bank took over the house.

Despite being stripped away of all his luxuries, the tremendous ego and temper continued to burn within him, when he appeared before his daughter, demanding for money, hurting her once again in the process.

As he walked to Acalypha, a long gruelling journey from Magnolia to Love and Lucky, the merchant's guild, he found his temper dissolving away and his mind swam in his memories dragging him back to the days when he met Layla at Love and Lucky. She was a beautiful and energetic young woman, bright and intelligent and holder of powerful magic, yet at the same time, extremely humble and kind. He could never fathom how she had fallen in love with him, chosen and married a man who had neither any luxury nor magic. An ordinary man, just working hard to make his name in the world.

At that moment, hope returned within him, like a glimmer of light and he believed that he could do anything. Just when he thought he had lost everything, he realized that it wasn’t too late to fix his wrongs. He recalled the hard times when Lalya motivated him and picked him up from his miseries. She had been the key to his success.

Lucy, too, was out there in the world, living on her own power, making her name in the world as a great celestial spirit mage. She had done so without a penny from his treasury. It made him feel like he could achieve anything.

He decided to work hard and make his daughter proud. He knew that he did not deserve her forgiveness. He could not reverse time and take back the misery her inflicted on her. But he wanted to be a respectable man for her sake.

And when he found out that Lucy had come searching for him and single-handedly defeated goons, his heart was filled with immense joy and pride. She was extremely kind and humble, so much like her mother.

Beginning from that day, Jude worked to change his ways. He worked day and night, thinking only of Layla and Lucy, how much he loved them and how important they were to him. He traveled, met new people.

He read the news, about how Fairy Tail was always involved in destroying cities and damaging public property. But in his mind, he knew he did not need to worry, because Lucy had called them her 'family' and he knew he could trust her judgement more than any accredited newspaper in the world.

His heart swelled a hundred times as he read that she had been a part of defeating a major dark guild. He went around telling all his colleagues at Acalypha, 'That's my daughter! She's a mage from Fairy Tail!' as a proud father.

He longed to see his daughter again, even if for a moment. He knew she couldn't stand him, after all he had said and done and he was fine with that. Just seeing her again was enough for him.

Her birthday was approaching soon too! Would she be happy if he sent a parcel to her?

Jude clutched an old photograph of Layla, "Layla, how dearly I miss you. Do you think, Lucy could ever forgive me? Would she be slightly happy to see her old man? I wish you were here to tell me." His eyes soften slightly as his daughter's words ring in his mind, "I am sure, you would ask me to follow my heart too."

And then came the news.

A major chunk of the core members of Fairy Tail had been to an island for the ongoing S-class test, and had been allegedly attacked by a dark guild, Grimore Heart. And the next day, they vanished, with no trace of the island or it's members.

Jude dropped his cup of tea as he frantically read the list of names mentioned under disappeared people.

His knuckles turned white, heart thumping wildly in his chest as he found her name, sticking out and a picture along with it. Tears fell from his eyes and soaked the newspaper, "Impossible... "

Lucy is... no more...? He finds his head spinning, and the world darkens.

How can this be? He lost his daughter again? He can never see her again?

His mind conjured an image, of Lucy smiling softly and nodding, as she waves him goodbye, the last time he saw her in Acalypha, after she went with her friends.

Why? How could her life be snatched away like this, at such a tender age? He couldn't even repent... Couldn't even apologize properly, for all those horrible years...

What was he doing, still alive?

He looks at the framed photograph of his daughter, the newspaper and magazine cut outs he saved whenever there was an article that featured her. She was smiling, the bright spark in her eye. An uncanny resemblance to her mother, not just in looks, but in spirit too. So kind and gentle, yet passionate and strong.

No, it couldn’t be. His daughter cannot be dead. He didn't know where his conviction came from, but his mind was resolute. She was out there somewhere, he was sure of it. She was a mage, a proud mage, a brave girl who didn't hesitate to throw away all the riches served to her on a sliver platter, and push herself out there in the cruel world and make a name for herself. And above all, she was Layla's daughter. She would never give in without a fight. She was a child of light, and nothing bad could ever touch her.

He puts all his faith in his belief. Belief that his daughter was safe and sound. Because that is what it meant to be a parent. To believe in their children, to believe for them, when the world refused believe in them.

He continued to believe, and it became the crux of his life, the driving motivation to live, the hope that he would meet his daughter again. Despite the crushing failure of several ships went on the rough waves of the sea, repeatedly, to find any trace of the missing island, despite the fact that he himself had set out to find her and failed, he put his entire faith around that belief.

And even when 1-4-7 years passed, every year, on the same day, Jude sat down on his desk with his quill and ink, and wrote a letter addressed to his beloved daughter. It had been long years, and he was a changed man.

A part of him knew that there was no point in sending these gifts and letters. All those years at the mansion, and he had never cared to celebrate her birthday.

He wrapped the box with a beautiful red wrapping paper and delicately tied a decorative ribbon over it.

In his neat handwriting, he signed her name on the gift tag.

He knew it was foolish that he had requested the landlady of Lucy's apartment to keep it under her name, even though so many years had passed since her disappearance. He was aware of all the sorry glances thrown in his way, whenever he set out to post the parcel.

"Poor man..."

"I heard he lost his daughter... "

"She disappeared without a trace... "

"Not even the body was found..."

"It's been 7 years already and he still sends her a gift every year on the same day... "

"It must be really difficult for you to come in terms, Heartfilia-san. She was very young after all... "

Paying no heed to everyone's words, he continued to believe. Lucy was truly a blessed child, and was sure she was out there, and Layla was definitely protecting her.

If loving and caring for his daughter meant foolishness, he was fine with being the foolish parent.

He went on his day following the same routine, working away, never stopping to rest. But this time, with the faith that his wife and daughter were with him, always.

The next time he wakes up for his daily routine, he lies on a hospital bed, his breathing heavy and body frail. He lets out a resigned sign, as the sad looks, and hushed whispers around him make him realize that he wouldn't be able to see his daughter again. His resolve crushes, and he is filled with regret.

But still, he smiles at Michelle, who came to him like a daughter in the course of his business, reminding him of the years back at the Heartfilia Konzern. He thanks her and entrusts Lucy to her, and she tearfully bids him goodbye.

He summons his old friend and business partner, and entrusts him a few final tasks, about his inheritance and the last parcel to be sent; all to be left, in obvious finality, in the name of Lucy.

With his last breath, he thinks only of his lovely daughter, hoping that she would only follow her dreams and be happy wherever she was, and would find it in her heart to forgive him despite everything.

He cannot help but still feel a slight regret, still plagued with the thoughts of whether he did anything right in his lifetime, and whether at least in final moments, he was able to make amends and at least heal the broken part of Lucy’s life. But as he closes his eyes, what he sees isn’t darkness, but light. It is warm, beautiful, gentle light embracing him from all sides, and it washes all his regrets and lingering thoughts away.

It was finally the time return to Layla.

A/n: Hello there! this time i chose to write on Jude Heartfilia and I think Lucy resembles him in many ways. Besides her temper and stubbornness she’s also dedicated and strong-willed like her dad! It was really fun to explore a more family theme than a usual shippy fanfic. I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts!

Long live Fairy tail!! :D

#fairy tail #fairyweek #fairyweek2020 #Lucy Heartfillia #Jude heartfilia #Layla Heartfilia #ft fanfiction #ftfanfics #ft fanfic #acalypha #tenrou island #whiskas-pandastar #my stuff

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glopratchet · 4 years ago

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000

They live on what little food they can grow themselves or trade for from the villages along the road He has been raised in a simple hut by his mother and father, who are both very poor farmers The only other person living here besides them is Simo himself, but he spends most of his time playing games with his brother, Nils Beebe-Beebe The next day you wake up to find that your innkeeper is gone without an explanation as usual called the "Beeship" It's a small device that will allow him to travel through space instantly If he uses it properly, he'll be able to get anywhere in the galaxy within minutes You know all this because he tells you about it every once in awhile while you're eating breakfast You wonder if he really needs all these extra profits, but then again maybe not you've got a lot of money now after all to a countless number of worlds throughout the galaxy, which means you are making a good profit You order extra alligator parts shipped in from dozens of other planets each week It gets to the point where half the bar is filled with your stockpile All of this allows you to buy yourself a little place in a much better part of town, the prices are incredibly cheap now that everyone is leaving to search for the new planet alligator milk, alligator gall bladders, alligator hearts, legs, and even genitals All of this money also employs a whole crew to work in your inn helping customers with their alligator parts and shipping requests You have no idea why some types go for more than others Whatever the nobles request is most likely what you'll ship out to them Now that you actually own your inn, you get to experience something you've missed out on for the past year ! you still wear your golden one everyday and love looking at it Feeling well enough financially to do this, you decide to splurge on a new home for yourself The house is right near a picturesque park with running trails, man made waterfalls, and Australian style cable cars to take you over the historically significant city wall whenever you like It also comes with its own large stretch limo for easy transport ! You sure do like wearing those too! Now of course there's a high demand for these necklaces, meaning there's plenty of crime involved with getting them around here After all, even you committed a crime or two to get your first one Only the nobles and authorities are allowed to wear them openly on their necks Though there are several ways the police have of spotting somebody wearing fakes or stolen teeth necklaces everyday Gon' down to the river and throw my billfallow trout-tickler Upwands to stap my belly like a ozzin Muttonheads! Heaving haycocks, have you no more decency than to poach in full view of the public? and not an ounce of backbone amongst the lot of ya iths swining in our trees like so many orange ornaments and you lot cut them down for sport Flying pigs! knights Given your inn's history, this is usually the type of people you get coming in nowadays Drunken idiots looking to make an uproar and fill the place with smoke Bores! besides every once in awhile you still get the odd adventurer type who has heard about your place Of course these drunkards are a big part of your business nowadays You might not make as much money as you used to, but you can honestly say you're enjoying yourself a lot more now He's got more necklaces on than a charmed serpent Your head chef in the kitchen as of recently, he's an experimental gourmet chef of some sort, always trying out newfangled recipes with alligator meat too tough to be served anywhere else When you first started the alligator fad, he was the one who came up with the concept of an alligator sausage and has also created dishes such as alligator poutine and gator tail mac and cheese , similar to a Mao jacket Bill falls in through the back door of the kitchen, out of breath and clutching his chest making wheezing noises He's clad in a red Hawaiian shirt He wears blue jeans with brown leather belt with a rectangular silver buckle He has on work boots that are clearly used for manual labor of some sort, perhaps farming He wears a brown leather tool belt There are tongs, pliers, and other such tools associated with hands When he sees you, his eyes dart around looking at everything but you "Um hello," He says nervously, "I'm here to apply for the head chef position " a blue light at the center of his vision YOU: "Hmmm say, weren't you in here last night drinking off your sorrows?" "among other things "Strike one," YOU: "And you also almost single handedly destroyed the tavern in a drunken stupor I'm not sure if that makes you the best person to take the esteemed position of head chef or the worst " Bil claps his hands together In the middle of the face is a mouth that acts as a filter with an opening and closing lid Inside are interlocking teeth that cut and carve the shaggy shreds of tobacco that continuously fall on the ground The whole contraption is held in his mouth with wires that go around the head "Alrighty then," Bil says excitedly , as they are fighting over bills that have come in But it hardly matters, he gets weekly allowances for doing chores that he doesn't even do anyway To amuse himself, he often wanders into taverns requesting work as a bartender After the tavern gets trashed he moves along to the next tavern He has before worked at this tavern for a year before, but that was only because of his connections in the past involvements he had with Keira You suspect trouble "I think I should let you know that you would be working under me," You say That instantly worries him w Bil looks down, letting out a sigh Huh? YOU: "What?" GAME: You've chosen Conservative mode! This option will result in having a manageable business without much risk, but the profits are likely to be low "It's not that I doubt your commanding abilities!" Bil says Uh-Oh It's Showtime! As Bil throws in playing with his sawfish teeth interlocking device "Ummm Welll its just that I was under the impression that you were the daughter of Ola our departed co-chef Also my age and not fit to command anyone," Bil says as he squirms uncomfortably You've met my Pa before " Silence, evident confusion, and slight panic washes over Bill's sober face Get him on the couch! "Perhaps we should discuss this matter at a later time I am terribly busy with inventory and organizing everything until the day that Ola arrives in ten hours via hover train," Bill says attempting to leave You clamp your hand around Bil Muscat's thin arm He jumps back and lets out a loud yelp YOU: "Keep your voice down What I need you to do is organize and inventory the smaller alcohol bottles," "Yes Boss " Bil says "And Bil, do it quickly, or you'll feel my wrath The man frightened and near tears he cautiously approaches the alcohol storage closet This isn't going to plan, but the least effective time to do this would be now You need to guide him along "Hey, you're new, right?" a man says to Bil as he steps off the hover tram You recognize him as another alcohol supplier (and buddy of yours) named Zimak "I've got a large shipment that arrived this morning Where would you like it? I can't unstow everything myself " THIS CHOICE MATTERS! NOTE: You may select more then one choice for your answer Option One: Place the alcohol in a different location from the current supplies Option Two - Get a jump on this shipment and place it with the current alcohol "Leave it with the main supply," You shout Bil is too overwhelmed to speak Soon he manages to locate the crates of alcohol in Zimak's shipment He soon begins separating the bottles organized by type and size Pleased as punch Bil says, "I see you sent out for some top-shelf alcohol again, but what's this?" Bil's holding up a blue aluminum canister that says fizzy peach wuzzy on the side You now have a final answer of where the can is placed Placing it somewhere else will break your streak! Option One: Place it with the main stock Option Two: Place it elsewhere on another shelf YOU: "Stock it where you cherry-picked items are located " "But I need those for gifts and personal use," bawls Bill as he attempts to collect himself again Before long he'll cry in front of the customers! "Sweet Christmas! Would you calm down? Does that stuff really do anything for you?" You say as you snatch the canned good out of his hands and begin to open it "Man, this fruit punch is a real lemon-lime bomb! Heh See? I made a joke!" You continue to mock Bil until he begins to seriously sob into his hands While he attempts to regain his composure, you send the Zimak fellow on his way Zimak, why did you send me such an alcoholic beverage?" You say still holding the metallic tasting blue liquid "I dunno, I thought you guys would like it for one of your parties or something That stuff's pretty popular and my kids love the cartoon on the side of the can "You're lucky I like you and this was free," You say lightly pushing Zimak, before he takes his leave Somehow you'll have to get through the day without offending anyone too harshly or else the word will spread that you're a mean boss and folks will avoid shopping here Last thing you want is to have this place become a ghost town Maybe get a bit drunk today That reminds you of Bill's earlier freakout over his bottle of Stoli You better see what exactly is bugging Bil today Upon entering the break-room (what you call the refrigerator) you find Bil wailing and gnashing his teeth over one of the shelves You figured it out instantly; his beloved Smirnoff isn't there! "Things can't be that bad " You trail off as he turns to you sobbing Oh boy He took it!" "Who took what?" "Gunther! He took my bottle!" At this point Bil wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve and begins pointing an accusatory finger at you, "It's your fault! If you hadn't opened that big can of worms by pulling that April fools prank, he would've left everything alone " You can't tell if this is the alcohol or his medical condition but either way, you need to get to the bottom of this "Alright, you know what? I'll go talk to him myself You just sit here and relax " "I won't relax until I get my drinks back!" Well, at least that's a start in the right direction Now you just hope Gunther is home

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spoonie-living · 5 years ago

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[Image: a person in plaid flannel and boots falling on the backdrop of a foggy sky. Credit: Pexels]

The Hard Fall: How getting on disability can impact your benefits (U.S.)

As spoonies, we’re generally occupied with getting on disability, but what happens once we win our case?

My lawyer didn’t prepare me at all for this, so when I got my confirmation letter and first payments, I had no idea what it would do to my government services.

When I called around, I got directed to some local government office. “Yeah honey,” the woman on the other line said sympathetically, “we call that the hard fall.”

And hard it was; I lost access to several doctors and had to pay out of pocket while sorting out my prescription coverage. And honestly, it could have been a lot worse.

This is something you want to know about before you win, because the last thing you need is to flail around trying to sort everything out as fast as possible. Trust me, I’ve been there. And I’d like it if you didn’t have to go there.

If you’re waiting on a case, take a few minutes to look through this information! It’ll help you set your expectations and save you some grief as you get settled after your case comes through.

I’ll be updated this as I come across more information (or potholes in the road), so click here to see the most up-to-date version of this post!

Disability backpay can push you out of resource-/asset-based programs

If you’ve been waiting a while on your case, your backpay could be pretty huge; after about two years, mine was $35k!

HEADS UP: If you’re blazing through your disability backpay to handle unpaid bills, be sure to leave yourself a decent cushion in case you have to pay for things out of pocket while everything gets sorted out.

If you’ve been benefiting from programs that determine eligibility based on how much cash you have in the bank (for example, food stamps), your backpay will probably knock you right out of them.

Take a moment to assess what government services you receive and prepare for their loss. In theory, the extra disability income will replace it, but… well, that’s only in theory.

NEED AN ESCAPE ROUTE? There’s an option called an ABLE Account that allows you to set cash aside for anything related to living with a disability (and that’s a broad category). This cash does not count towards your assets as evaluated by some (some) assistance programs.

You can only deposit $15k/year, though, so depending on the spare cash you end up with, you may spend a year off asset-based services. Note also that your disability (as recognized by the government) must have had an onset before 26 to quality.

Disability income can push you out of income based services… like Medicaid

I gave a thought to insurance only once I received the letter confirming my win. I had heard something about getting on Medicare, but not much else. I figured I’d have both at once. But… that wasn’t the case.

Turns out, disability income counts towards the income cutoffs associated with Medicaid. Yes, I now “make too much money” to qualify for Obamacare. Which didn’t exactly make sense. If I qualify for income assistance due to a disability, why wouldn’t I be a good Medicaid candidate? And why, oh why, would being declared disabled be a good time to mess with a person’s medical coverage?

What I learned is all comes down to the state/federal divide. Medicaid is state, and Medicare and disability are federal. The state doesn’t care where the money comes from; it’s just income to them. Meanwhile, Medicare is granted to everyone who gets on disability. Some folks with low enough disability income are “dual eligible” (which comes with its own weird logistics), but others, like me, end up just on Medicare.

This was really bad news for me, as Oregon Medicaid has really fantastic coverage. I got lucky with my providers overall, but still lost access to a couple important ones. You’ll want to look ahead as you wait on a determination and figure out whether you’ll be paying out of pocket or dealing with a gap in care as you start the insurance shuffle.

WARNING: While some states offer Medicaid coverage for naturopathic medicine (thanks, Oregon!), be aware that Medicare does not. You’ll need to pay out pocket or look for a Part C plan (see below) that does cover naturopaths. Which will be cheaper? Get out your calculator…

ETA: Medicare doesn’t cover routine dental or vision, either! It’s worth calling one of the orgs listed under Getting Help, below, to see if there are some subsidized options for you. Otherwise, check out this article for some ways to get that dental coverage. It looks like an Advantage Plan (Part C, see below) is the best option if you need vision coverage.

About Medicare coverage

The first thing to know about Medicare is that it has multiple, potentially moving, parts. Part A is hospital and emergency coverage, B is routine medical care, and D is prescriptions. What about C? Well, C is optional, bundled coverage that overwrites parts A, B, and D.

I don’t know all the factors involved in my case, but what I do know is that I received core Medicare for parts A and B, with Aetna for part D (prescriptions). However, there was a gap between that and the end of my Medicaid prescription coverage—so I was enrolled in the NET program, which is another prescription coverage to ensure you don’t get wrecked by transitions like this.

The most fun part? Nobody called me to get me “set up” and fill in the gaps. I was at the mercy of bureaucracy and the postal service to know what I was enrolled in. So for a little while I was just spinning my wheels and definitely paid for a prescription or two out of pocket.

NOW I KNOW: I probably could have created an account with Medicare.gov to get that info sooner. It’s worth trying, to see if you can save yourself the trouble.

Once I gave my insurance info to the pharmacy, they were able to initiate a partial refund for the difference. If they hadn’t, I would have needed to put in a claim by mail and waited for that to process.

BUT SERIOUSLY: Don’t wait on getting stuff in the mail. I got my “welcome to Medicare” brochure a full four months after actually getting on the damn thing. Luckily my actual card and prescription coverage info came much faster than that, but I just want to really illustrate what a mess this system is.

Paying for Medicare

Your Medicare coverage may not be free. With standard Medicare, you’re given specific monthly premiums, deductibles, copays, and more based on your income level.

SOMETHING NICE: In my case, there are no costs for my coverage this year; I think this is a kindness extended to ease the transition. I’m personally likely to save money this way, but another patient might potentially save by moving straight to a (paid) Part C plan.

Saving money and accessing doctors with Part C

My heart sank a bit when I first looked at what I had been given: Medicare isn’t really “one size fits all” in terms of price or coverage, and certainly wasn’t a good match for me.

Luckily, we have Part C to compensate for that. The government essentially contracts out to other insurance providers for Part C, so that folks can find a different mix of fees and coverage that better suits their medical needs.

So, you’re going to have some kind of coverage from day one. But once you get your wits about you, it’s definitely worth looking at your options in the Part C “marketplace.” In fact, Medicare.gov has a handy tool that’ll let you enter in your prescriptions, doctors, and more. Then the site will spit out the most advantageous plans for you.

Getting other/additional insurance

You might not be happy with any of your options under Medicare—and unfortunately, being on Medicare means you can’t buy coverage on the insurance marketplace.

That being said, there are some programs out there that’ll help you out.

A great example is Medicaid Buy-in Programs for disabled folks who work (even the tiniest bit, as long as you claim the income on your taxes). This does have resource limits, though, so don’t get too excited until you’ve figured out what kind of backpay you’re getting.

What else is out there? It really depends on your situation and your state. Your best bet is to contact your state’s DHS (mentioned below) and ask them to help you identify your options.

Getting help

As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, Medicare is an old system that’s been rebuilt, patched, and painted over—and navigating it (especially in conjunction with other benefits) can be a bit of a nightmare.

Luckily, there are programs that can help! Getting connected with them should be one of the first things on your to do list after getting on disability. Here are the two major ones that I was encouraged to work with:

State Health Insurance Assistance Programs (SHIP) - This is a resource center and network of advisors meant to specifically help you navigate public insurance options. You can find your state’s program here. Oregon’s program, SHIBA, has a volunteer come visit you and explain how Medicare works—and honestly, this visit is what enabled me to make sense of all of this enough to write an article about it!

Your state’s Department of Human Services (DHS) - specifically, their senior and disability program - Once you register with them, they can help you access additional support programs, including insurance and food stamps. They may know about programs you aren’t aware of, so it’s worth filling out the form and getting a quick case review.

Other things to look out for when you get on disability

[Only one item for now. I’ll fill in more as the surprises hit.]

This year’s taxes are gonna be weird. Depending on your financial situation, you may want to get the paid version of TurboTax or get a tax consultant in on things. The short version, though, is that you can choose to modify previous years’ taxes to incorporate the backpay you received, or claim it all on your coming tax forms.

…and that’s what I learned from my hard fall. I truly hope it helps you avoid the stress I dealt with, or at least anticipate it more adequately.

Did you have a “hard fall”? Do you have advice to add to this? Do feel free to comment with your experience or contact me with any additions!

❤️, Editor Diane

#spoonie #chronic illness #disability #invisible illness #chronic life #ssd #ssdi #advice #money #insurance #medicaid #medicare #ship #dhs #original content

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